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ribbed
«I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was a force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me-like food or water.»
«You see, dear, it is not true that woman was made from man's rib; she was really made from his funny bone»
Author: James Matthew Barrie
(Dramatist, Novelist)
| About:
Women
| Keywords:
bone, funny bone, rib, ribbed
«If I really got my ribs removed, I would have been busy sucking my own dick on the wonder years instead of chasing winnie cooper. Besides, I wouldn't have sucked other people's dicks on stage, either. I would have been sucking my own. Plus, who really has time to be killing puppies when you can be sucking your own dick? I think I'm gonna call the surgeon in the morning.»
«American grammar doesn't have the sturdiness of British grammar (a British advertising man with a proper education can make magazine copy for ribbed condoms sound like the Magna goddam Carta), but it has its own scruffy charm»
Author: Stephen King
(Writer)
| About:
America and Americans,
Grammar
| Keywords:
advertising copy, American Magazine, British, British and, charm, condom, condoms, copy, goddam, grammar, grammars, magazine, proper, rib, ribbed, scruffy, The Magazine
«The hills,Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the valesStretching in pensive quietness between;The venerable woods -- rivers that moveIn majesty, and the complaining brooksThat make the meadows green; and, poured round all,Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, --Are but the solemn decorations allOf the great tomb of man.»
Author: William Cullen Bryant
(Writer)
| Keywords:
Brooks, complaining, decoration, decorations, Great River, majesty, meadows, move in, pensive, poured, quietness, rib, ribbed, rock-ribbed, solemn, tomb, vales, venerable
«Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large, /where, creeping in and out among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first. And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning's dark. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books!»