A Quote by Faith Salie

If you grasp the bathroom door handle to exit without using a paper towel, you're right back where you started, with who-knows-whose germs on your hands.
The best way to achieve a great style without a blow-dryer is, after washing your hair, take a towel and flip your head upside down, wrapping it up in a twisted towel for 15 minutes. Once you take it down, a lot of the excess water will have been absorbed by the towel.
Toilet paper - and no baby wipes - in the bathroom. If they're using dry paper, they aren't washing all of themselves. It's just unclean. So if I go in a woman's house and see the toilet paper there, I'll explain this. And if she doesn't make the adjustment to baby wipes, I'll know she's not completely clean.
I try to leave it in Christ's hands and trust that He knows the situation. He knows the position I'm in. He wouldn't have put me in this position if I couldn't handle it. That's what keeps me going, knowing that He's right there. I can call on Him whenever.
A narrative is like a room on whose walls a number of false doors have been painted; while within the narrative, we have many apparent choices of exit, but when the author leads us to one particular door, we know it is the right one because it opens.
Using a public bathroom is an incredibly embarrassing experience. I enter the stall but can't reach the lock on the door.
I can also tell in whose hands I am. Do these hands tremble? There can be no doubt: these are the hands of a military officer. Is it a firm pulse? I say without vacillating: these are the hands of a liberator.
I'm also conscious of what this confidence that has been placed in me means. I'm going to the Games through the back door but I'm working everyday to exit through the main door!
Wet towel under the door,' said Barry. 'It's what you do when you're smoking weed in a hotel and you don't want everyone calling security. You're always supposed to have a towel. I read about it in a guide for hitchhiking through the galaxy.
The mother- poor invaded soul- finds even the bathroom door no bar to hammering little hands.
She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H "hers"? It could just as easily be "his". Or "Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All
The law requires a paper towel ad to be scrupulously honest, but allows political candidates to lie without reproach. What's wrong with this picture?
My version of an Irish exit has an air of deception to it, because it includes my asking loudly, “Where’s the bathroom?” and making theatrical looking-around gestures like a lost foreign tourist. But then, instead of finding the bathroom, I sneakily grab my coat and leave.
& this girl right here? Who knows what she knows? So I'm going through her phone when she go to the bathroom and her purse right there, I don't trust these hoes at all.
Oh baby," he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers. The bathroom door clicks shut. She stays there for a long time. He's pulling his hair out.
When you play piano, your left hand and right hand are synced. Your brain basically has a clock, so that the right hand knows that 0.3 seconds after I hit this key, I need to hit that one. And the right hand knows not to hit keys that the left hand is playing, so the hands do not collide.
A lie always needs a truth for a handle to it. The worst lies are those whose blade is false, but whose handle is true.
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