The invitation to Miss Myra St. Claire's bobbing party spent the morning in his coat pocket, where it had an intense physical affair with a dusty piece of peanut brittle.
When I went for my medical school interview, I had an old paperback of 'Henderson the Rain King' in the pocket of my coat. I was wearing the best clothes I had - a pair of cords and a sport coat - but when I got to the office, all the other interviewees were lined up in their black suits.
Nothing shows both polish and utility like the nattily tucked pocket handkerchief or 'pocket square' in the breast pocket of a man's blazer, sport coat, or suit jacket.
I mostly eat peanut butter sandwiches. Peanut butter and banana, peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and potato chips, peanut butter and olives, and peanut butter and marshmallow goo. So sue me, I like peanut butter.
To Chloe's breast young Cupid slily stole,
But he crept in at Myra's pocket-hole.
We need a coat with two pockets. In one pocket there is dust, and in the other pocket there is gold. We need a coat with two pockets to remind us who we are.
I have heard of a man who had a mind to sell his house, and therefore carried a piece of brick in his pocket, which he shewed as a pattern to encourage purchasers.
I think that 'Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance' was mentally taxing, if only because I had to go to a Christmas party shortly after I had wrapped photography in Romania at two in the morning as the Ghost Rider. The invitation had a Christmas ornament on it with Ghost Rider's face on it as a tree.
If he had had all Peru in his pocket, he would certainly have given it to this dancer; but Gringoire had not Peru in his pocket; and besides, America was not yet discovered. (p. 66)
So I went in front of the judge, and I had my St. Jude prayer book in my pocket and my St. Jude medal. And I'm standing there and that judge said I was found guilty, so he sentenced me to what the law prescribed: one to 14 years.
I actually had the pleasure of meeting David Bowie at his 50th birthday party in New York City. I handed him the cassette of 'Eight Arms to Hold You,' which I had just got an advance of that day. He very graciously thanked me and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
He's Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull, with a big leather coat and a .44 revolver in his pocket.
I love carrot cake - that's probably my favorite - and I'm obsessed with peanut butter. I eat anything with peanut butter - maybe not carrot cake with peanut butter - but, I think I got this from 'The Parent Trap': Oreos and peanut butter; I like that. And peanut butter and apples, peanut butter and chocolate.
I moistened my lips. His gaze fixed on them. I think I stopped breathing. He jerked so sharply away that his long dark coat sliced air, and turned his back to me. “Was that an invitation, Ms.Lane?” “If it was?” I asked, astonishing myself. What did I think I was doing? “I don’t do hypotheticals. Little girl.
As we grow up, we are exposed to hate and greed and anger and jealousy and peanut brittle and all kinds of things, our subtly body erodes.
He was jingling his keys in the pocket of his coat -- one of those barn coats described as rugged and classic and four hundred dollar that were usually worn by people who spend more time in Land Rovers than barns.
Small, red, and upright he waited, gripping his new bookbag tight in one hand and touching a lucky penny inside his coat pocket with the other, while the first snows of winter floated down on his eyelashes and covered the branches around him and silenced all trace of the world.