Best 4505 quotes in «boys quotes» category

Guys, you don't have to act "manly" to be considered a man; you are a man, so just be yourself. Don't let society make you believe you have to prove your masculinity to anyone because you don't. You are you and you are worthy, full stop.

Guys, you don't have to act "manly" to be considered a man; you are a man, so just be yourself. You don't have to prove your masculinity to anyone.

Guys who know how to use a blowdryer... Their hair is too long!

He finds himself bored by the shenanigans of highly spirited young men. Their concerns reside somewhere between balder and dash.

He gave me a warm smile, and I blinked, realizing he was cute. I'd never really had the luxury of noticing cuteness or lack thereof in guys. Mostly it was the lethal/nonlethal distinction that I went with

He hadn’t said a word to me until we had been roommates for eight months. And even then it had only been, “You’re wearing my socks.

[...] he had his hand on your -" He put his hand at waist level behind me, without touching me. "He had his hand on my ass?" "No," they said. "Behind your back," Rashad said. "Like you're dating or something." He put his hand behind Skip's back. Skip hit him.

He let go of the rope one hand at a time and latched onto Lisa’s hands. Her fingernails dug into his wrists, but her grip was strong after a summer of lifting girls into the air. It was a tug of war battle between his friends and Shawn’s ghost. The wind died down as Shawn gathered all of his energy to pull on Mike. Even though he was terrified of what was happening, Mike knew that Shawn wasn’t trying to hurt him. After all these years, he was still trying to find a way out. Shawn wanted to go home too, and he saw the hope of being rescued falling away. “Shawn! Please! Let me go!” Mike called over the dying wind, “I’ll get you help! We’ll get you out! Just please! Let me go!” - Saving Hascal's Horrors

He likes girls on bikes, I like boys with guitars.

He looked at me now. "Remember I said, 'what if I didn't want to fix your bike?'" I remembered. "Yes..." "I didn't want to fix it, because I liked driving you places.

He’s beautiful and broody; what’s not to like?

He slid over to me and grabbed me closer to him. My smile fell from my face with the unexpectedness of it. His hands cupped my face, his lips hovering above mine. “You seriously want to know, Tess?” He closed the space and claimed my mouth with an urgent, hot, delving kiss. He smiled. “You are sexy, in your own goofball way, you’re sweet and beautiful and smart and funny and, although you kiss to the point where I feel like I want to go back for seconds, you’re my best friend, and that’s why I don’t want to tap that.

He snuffles. Oh, no. He's not going to cry, is he? Because even though it's sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this. Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

He's holding my hand! A boy is holding my hand! This is happening! I should let go. I should blush and act shy. Like a girl from the movies. But that's not what I do. I hold on.

He tip-toed past the double bed that had been placed in a corner - wrought-iron headboard, embroidered pillows, amulets against the evil-eye and a satiny, cobalt-blue bedspread. Blue was Iskender's favourite colour. It was the colour for boys, which meant the sky was a boy. So were the rivers and lakes. And the oceans, though he had yet to see one.

I am a guy," I say. "And I hate boys," she says. "But a guy's different," I say. "Maybe a little," she says.

He thought that fat boys were probably only allowed to love pretty girls inside. If he told anyone how he felt (not that he had anyone to tell), that person would probably laugh until he had a heart-attack.

He wishes he could remember everything. Anything. He doesn’t sense a bone in his body that can feel compassion or worthiness. Self-pity hides away as well, the lowest form of emotion not even capable of resting in his wrecked mind.

History chews up sexually uncertain boys, and spits us out as recycled, generic greeting cards for lonely old men.

He was like all boys: beautiful and callow, and like an insect he couldn't sit still.

...he would tell stories about the Holy City, about Solomon, a just king, a poet-king, a monarch with a thousand concubines. We weren't quite sure what concubines were, but we guessed: a concubine ... Concubines! One thousand! One thousand women in all colours and shapes - but all of them sexy, of course - one thousand - one thousand raving beauties lying side by side on a bed (what a bed! How wide it must have been!), all of them smiling, all of them reaching out their arms, all of them saying something in Hebrew - but the meaning was unmistakeable - "Come here, sweety." One thousand women. If one were to spend twenty, or fifteen minutes with each one of them, how long would it take to...? A problem that our math teacher never assigned us for homework...!

High time he had another tutor,' said Larry. 'You leave the house for five minutes and come back and find him disembowelling Moby Dick on the front porch.' 'I'm sure he didn't mean any harm,' said Mother, ' but it was rather silly for him to do it on the veranda.

His [Luke]letter went something like this: "Dear Mr President, Thank you for introducing me to the Hall of Famers and for showing me the Oval Office. I think if I work really hard I will have a chance for both." The next time I saw the president I told him about my son's ambitious plans. His response was beautiful: "Never get between a boy and his dreams

How boys transitioned from bothersome pests to men who made her pulse skip a beat and her head swim in a flood of pleasurable sensations was beyond her. Perhaps this was the true definition of magic.

Hutch called into the semidarkness of The Shed. 'Somebody's coming, Heck!' Then he, with the rest, faded from sight with that uncanny quickness known only to creatures of the wild and young children who are, after all, also creatures of the wild. ("The Shed")

Boys grow up to be men. And it’s men who cause all the trouble. They’re the ones who shed the blood and poison the earth.

I bitterly resent all that wasted time. And what I resent most of all is that the ones I did get never, never looked like the Greek statues.” “The Greek-statue types may have been too busy going out with other boys to notice you.

Boys will be boys, that's what people say. No one ever mentions how girls have to be something other than themselves altogether. We are to stifle the same feelings that boys are encouraged to display. We are to use gossip as a means of policing ourselves -- this way those who do succumb to sex but are not damaged by it are damaged instead by peer malice. Girls demand a covenant because if one gives in, others will be expected to do the same. We are to remain united in cruelty, ignorance, and aversion. Or we are to starve the flesh from our bones, penalizing the body for its nature, castigating ourselves for advances we are powerless to prevent. We are to make false promises then resist the attentions solicited. Basically we are to become expert liars.

I don’t have a crush on her! Yet!” “Say no more, Dylan-whatever your middle name is-Blair!” “David.” “Whatever. By the power and duty of big brother, I command you to not have a crush on my sister, until I know you better enough!” “That’s actually quite fair.” “But I don’t have a crush on her!

I could tell he was becoming sulky, as boys and men do when they're caught bluffing. And I ignored him, as girls and women do when they catch them out.

I decide to be brave. Being brave isn't always about throwing your body on the line in footy clashes. Sometimes it's about letting your heart show in your face.

I don’t like boys.” I shook my head. “That’s no impediment to them. Madame raised gentlemen of both sexes.

If there was some way of knowing which boys were likely to turn out to be decent men, boys that could love us back as passionately as we felt we could love them, then we could banish the likelihood of divorce and unhappiness to a statistically unlikely outcome.

I don't understand boys.

I'd watched enough TV in the lonely afternoons after school, before there was a cheese shop to go to, to know that there were boys who lied, who knew how to say just the right thing or give you just the right look. Boys who could make you feel a way you thought you didn't deserve to feel.

I felt drunk on Chase and high on summertime. Why did that sound just like a country song?

If Levi were a dog, he'd be a golden retriever. If he were a game, he'd be a Ping-Pong, incessant and bouncing and light.

I don't know why you care. He doesn't even know you're there

If there is one thing worse than self-pity, it was other people's pity.

If you continue to entertain "boys", don't be upset when you can't find a "man".

I had always been a boy in this place, and many of the trees and rocks and streams had been old men when I knew them. Some had died. All had changed. I knew that. I had changed the most.

If you ignore the mountain, doesn't mean mountain will ignore you too..

If you put enough closets together, you have enough space for a room. If you put enough rooms together, you have enough room for a house. If you put enough houses together, you have space for a town, then a city, then a nation, then a world.

I glanced over, he was still looking at me. ''Uh... do you need something?'' ''No.'' ''Oh, okay.'' ''It's just...'' he leaned in, ''...you have an onion ring taped to your back.'' ''...Excuse me?'' ''There is a ring of onion applied to you back with an adhesive strip.'' I searched his eyes, he seemed amused, but sincere. My hand flew to my back with a look of horror and there it was, with ketchup and everything.

I had a dream that boys would act like men for once…then I woke up.

If you put enough closets together, you have enough space for a room. If you put enough rooms together, you have enough space for a house. If you put enough houses together, you have space for a town, then a city, then a nation, then a world.

I had never been interested in boys and had no notion that I ever would, seeing being in love and loving as a great tangle in which you could lose your head as well as your heart. Yet standing there that afternoon looking at the young man. I could well see how such knots in life were made.

I hate gender stereotypes like girls love princesses and boys like guns. . . my point is that tying particular behaviors and interests to particular gender seems to be the major reason guys who like dance get called names.

I just thought I had to do it. You want this boy to like you, right? And he’s so solid, so sure of himself. He knows what he wants: you. Besides, maybe if he touches you, you’ll be real.

I have leveled with the girls - from Anchorage to Amarillo. I tell them that all marriages are happy It's the living together afterward that's tough. I tell them that a good marriage is not a gift, It's an achievement. that marriage is not for kids It takes guts and maturity. It separates the men from the boys and the women from the girls. I tell them that marriage is tested dily by the ability to compromise. Its survival can depend on being smart enough to know what's worth fighting about. Or making an issue of or even mentioning. Marriage is giving - and more important, it's forgiving. And it is almost always the wife who must do these things. Then, as if that were not enough, she must be willing to forget what she forgave. Often that is the hardest part. Oh, I have leveled all right. If they don't get my message, Buster, It's because they don't want to get it. Rose-colored glasses are never made in bifocals Because nobody wants to red the small print in dreams.