Boys Quotes - Page 128

If anyone saw Fall Out Boy's first 400 shows, we were the worst band of all time.

Rough boys I wanna bite and kiss you.

Tough boys running the streets, come a little closer. Rough toys under the sheets, nobody knows her.

I've been into golf, trying to get into the gym to stay somewhat fit. I've got two boys now, they're active kids.

You see, being bald and wearing that gray starship uniform, I would have looked like a boy. I wanted to look like a sexy female.

I'm an amazing mama's boy.

Wars are fought by children. Conceived by their mad demonic elders, and fought by boys.

A lot of what happens in consensual encounters and in the way we talk to both girls and boys about sex creates a medium in which assault flourishes.

Personally I have always liked boys, but if it's a girl, marvelous, because I was raised among women.

She looked at her own past, and, for the first time, she forgave herself: it hadn't been her fault, but the fault of that insecure little boy, who had given up after the first attempt.

From that day on, it was the desert that would be important. She would look to it everyday, and would try to guess which star the boy was following in search of his treasure. She would have to send her kisses on the wind hoping that the wind would touch the boy's face, and would tell him that she was alive.

The boy told himself that, on the way toward realizing his own destiny, he had learned all he needed to know, and had experienced everything he might have dreamed of.

Somewhere you are holding the person I love," the boy said. "So, when I look out over your sands, I am also looking at her. I want to return to her, and I need your help so that I can turn myself into the wind.

It's the oasis," said the camel driver. "Well, why don't we go there right now?" the boy asked. "Because we have to sleep.

I don't sit down and say, boy, I'm thinking about getting a great deal of money or I'm not going to have any money.

One of the things is that I've been very comfortable in every situation starting ministry in the inner city and ministering in places - Washington, D.C., feeding the homeless, the hurting, going to broken boys and girls. So culturally I understood all different aspects of life - from extremely wealthy to extreme poverty, socioeconomic differences, ethnic differences.

I don't have the advocates. I don't have a good old boys network. Part of what I want to do is to create a good old girls network.

I had my first kiss under a tree near the school. It was with a boy named Michael who rarely spoke, but he would sometimes give me one of the cookies from his lunch. Maybe it was the gifts that made me feel special? I don't know, but when our lips touched, it felt magical.

Look at the Intifadah in Jerusalem. One cannot understand that phenomenon, a phenomenon where people, often very young boys, are successfully harassing one of the best armies in the world, without appreciating their freedom to move!

I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told, and I have squandered my resistance, for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises. All lies in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lala-la-la-la-la...

Big box just wasn't our strength. We are a men's and boy's specialty store focused on providing high quality clothing with custom tailoring. Our customer is king. When we had seven stores, communication between the stores and with our customers became more disconnected. We started to lose that great family 'camaraderie' that is essentially the key to our success.

We had the boy's name picked out, but we didn't have a girl's. When he turned out to be a boy, we were so relieved. Literally, in the middle of contracting and pushing, and with my wife being drugged - out and half - lucid, we were still coming up with names.

From the minute we're born, boys and girls stare at each other, trying to figure out if they like what they see. Like parade lines, passing each other for mutual inspection. You march, you look. You march, you look. If you're interested, you stop and talk, and if it doesn't work out, you just get back in the parade. You keep marching, and you keep looking.

Some bruises you wear like badges of honour: when you got it playing rugby, or quad racing, or falling off something while drunk, no opportunity is lost to show off a good contusion. A bruise inflicted by someone else, however, is a whole other story: it's like a big flashing arrow marking you out as punchable, and before long there'll be boys queuing up to add bruises of their own, as if they'd just been waiting for somebody to show them it could be done.

If anyone had told me in the '60s that 20 years later we'd still be talking about whether pot was worse than this or that, I'd have said, Oh, come off it, boys.