Best 24 quotes in «shameless quotes» category

--nor had I understood til then how the shameless vanity of utter fools can so strongly determine the fate of others

Mitt Romney - he had a Rock Hudson thing going, shoeblack hair and a well-hung resume, but even for a shameless, position-shifting phony he seemed a trifle insincere.

What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all others naked and shameless?

Thanks [Donald] Trump for exposing evangelicals as 'shameless hypocrites'.

After Evie had finished her plate, Sebastian tugged her to the billiards table and handed her a cue stick with a leather tip. Ignoring her attempts to refuse him, he proceeded to instruct her in the basics of the game. “Don’t try to claim this is too scandalous for you,” he told her with mock severity. “After running off with me to Gretna Green, nothing is beyond you. Certainly not one little billiards game. Bend over the table.” She complied awkwardly, flushing as she felt him lean over her, his body forming an exciting masculine cage as his hands arranged hers on the cue stick. “Now,” she heard him say, “curl your index finger around the tip of the shaft. That’s right. Don’t grip so tightly, sweet…let your hand relax. Perfect.” His head was close to hers, the light scent of sandalwood cologne rising from his warm skin. “Try to imagine a path between the cue ball—that’s the white one—and the colored ball. You’ll want to strike right about there”—he pointed to a place just above center on the cue ball—“to send the object ball into the side pocket. It’s a straight-on shot, you see? Lower your head a bit. Draw the cue stick back and try to strike in a smooth motion.” Attempting the shot, Evie felt the tip of the cue stick fail to make proper contact with the white ball, sending it spinning clumsily off to the side of the table. “A miscue,” Sebastian remarked, deftly catching the cue ball in his hand and repositioning it. “Whenever that happens, reach for more chalk, and apply it to the tip of the cue stick while looking thoughtful. Always imply that your equipment is to blame, rather than your skills.” Evie felt a smile rising to her lips, and she leaned over the table once more. Perhaps it was wrong, with her father having passed away so recently, but for the first time in a long while, she was having fun. Sebastian covered her from behind again, sliding his hands over hers. “Let me show you the proper motion of the cue stick—keep it level—like this.” Together they concentrated on the steady, even slide of the cue stick through the little circle Evie had made of her fingers. The sexual entendre of the motion could hardly escape her, and she felt a flush rise up from the neck of her gown. “Shame on you,” she heard him murmur. “No proper young woman would have such thoughts.” A helpless giggle escaped Evie’s lips, and Sebastian moved to the side, watching her with a lazy smile. “Try again.

If you are proud for bad reasons, shame waits around the corner

I am whatever I need to be at the time I need to be it.

Most priests wish they were as righteous as they seem to most members of their congregations.

One will become shameless if he does not fear insults in the worldly life. And in nischay [determination in the spiritual life] if one does not fear being insulted, he becomes independent.

I'm not hiding. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve. Everything anyone wants to know about me is right in front of their faces. Most just don't bother to look.

The funny thing about coming out is that ir relies on the belief that the information you're keeping about yourself is shameful. If you were raised to be somewhat shameless, it's less of a one-time shock and more like a lifelong rumble.

Some people are shameless and mean, but above that, they are also the fool. Anyone knows why?

The covers slipped between them. Amelia shivered as the cool air wafted over her naked back and shoulders. “Come back to bed,” she whispered. “I need you to warm me.” Cam stripped away his shirt, and laughed quietly as he felt her hands plucking at the buttons of his trousers. “What happened to my prudish gadji?” “I’m afraid”— she reached into his open falls and stroked his aroused flesh—“ that continued association with you has made me shameless.” “Good, I was hoping for that.

The shameless and modest, unconscionable and conscious cannot match and go together.

What’s your name?” he asked, a boyish grin creeping across his face. “Henley Brooks,” I murmured, tucking my hair behind my ear. “My name's Lucas.” “I know,” I replied, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth. His grin grew larger as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “No wonder you look so scared.

You didn't get to bring a date because the type of girl you'd pick would want to liven things up with a group orgy before cutting the cake," I pointed out. His smile was shameless. 'Exactly.

Shame often causes me to hide my mistakes from others. But really, when I make a mistake, I should make it loud and clear, so I can see that it didn’t work as a strategy, and be able to make a course correction, either by myself or with the help of others.

The point was, there'd be nothing to this if you were beautiful and sexy. The point was, in a world where everybody had to look so pretty all the time, this guy wasn't. The monkey wasn't. What they were doing wasn't. The point was, it's not the sex part of pornography that hooked the stupid little boy. It was the confidence. The courage. The complete lack of shame. The comfort and genuine honesty. The up-front-ness of being able to just stand there and tell the world: Yeah, this is how I chose to spend a free afternoon. Posing here with a monkey putting chestnuts up my ass. And I really don't care how I look. Or what you think. So deal with it. He was assaulting the world by assaulting himself.

There is the family of our birth and then there is a more noble world to which we really belong; the richness of this ideal world is often proportional to the poverty of the real, as personal grandiosity is proportional to shame.

The shameless people, who work in the so-called credible agencies, some of them, are the same group people, who rape innocent children. Does anyone focus on that issue; it is also the matter of honour, dignity, moral values and privacy?

Was that a tattoo I saw on your back?” He asked. “None of your business.” “I just didn’t peg you for the tramp stamp type.” “It’s not a tramp stamp. It’s my F-holes,” I corrected. His eyes had widened before he let out a long, deep laugh. “Jesus, Henley.” “For a violin, you A-hole.” I turned around, raising my shirt high enough on my lower back to reveal two curved lines on either side of my spine. I jumped when the pad of his finger ran over the design leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Wow,” he mumbled, and I turned back around to face him, letting the hem of my shirt fall from my hands. “What? You think it’s stupid.” “No… no. I think that’s the sexiest tattoo I’ve ever seen. How often does someone get to finger your strings?

You cannot really shame a man who sincerely does not care what others think of him.

All things atrocious and shameless flock from all parts to Rome.

I take it to be axiomatic that people are revolted by witnessing the shameless gratification of an appetite they do not share.