A Quote by Rick Yancey
I start to unbutton his shirt. "Got to get these clothes off," I mutter. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that." Smile. Lopsided. Sexy.
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When I was working with Tom Ford, he would just look at me and ask, 'Will you wear it?' I'd say, 'Ah, too long, too short, lower waist, deeper V, unbutton' - that sort of thing. I don't create clothes, but I definitely know how to make them come alive.
Tawny," I barked. My voice held the authority of a drill sergeant. She jumped. "I am NOT making out with you until the end of time. You want to do this, then you've got to work for it. Now, TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES." "Oh," said Hugh. "I've waited ten years to hear you say that to another woman.
Are people crazy? People waited all their lives. They waited to live, they waited to die. They waited in line to buy toilet paper. They waited in line for money. And if they didn't have any money they waited in longer lines. You waited to go to sleep and then you waited to awaken. You waited to get married and you waited to get divorced. You waited for it to rain, you waited for it to stop. You waited to eat and then you waited to eat again. You waited in a shrink's office with a bunch of psychos and you wondered if you were one.
I think we need to be sexy and kind of mysterious and still pretty and beautiful. I like to hear that when a man sings. I don't really want to hear about taking my clothes off.
My heart born naked was swaddled in lullabies. Later alone it wore poems for clothes. Like a shirt I carried on my back the poetry I had read. So I lived for half a century until wordlessly we met. From my shirt on the back of the chair I learn tonight how many years of learning by heart I waited for you.
Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?" "If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.
We waited a long time to get married. He came with his baggage. I had mine. While we sorted our issues we got a chance to know one another better.
I stop writing the poem to fold the clothes. No matter who lives or who dies, I'm still a woman. I'll always have plenty to do. I bring the arms of his shirt together. Nothing can stop our tenderness. I'll get back to the poem. I'll get back to being a woman. But for now there's a shirt, a giant shirt in my hands, and somewhere a small girl standing next to her mother watching to see how it's done.
And I start to say, no. Start to ask him to please just take it off and put it away. Start to explain how it holds far too many memories for me. But then I remember what Damen said once about memories - that they're haunting things. And because I refuse to be haunted by mine - I just take a deep breath and smile when I say, "You know, I think it looks really good on you. You should defiantly keep it.
He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?
Everytime I say "sure" when I mean "no," everytime I smile brightly when I'm exploding with rage, every time I imagine my man's achievement is my own, I know the cheerleader never really died. I feel her shaking her ass inside me and I hear her breathless, girlish voice mutter "T-E-A-M, Yea, Team.
A Georgian man's shirt had a long tail, which he tucked between his legs rather like a nappy. Over it went his 'breech liners', the long, linen forerunners of drawers. All of this was intended to keep his unwashable outer clothes free from the sweat and stink of his skin.
It's funny because every time I go to a shoot, and I have clothes on, they inevitably come off. I just did one recently and the stylist was like, "So..." and you just know that they are going to get to the point where they say "Can you take your clothes off?"
I couldn't take my eyes off of Stan [Lee]! As good as the movie is, all I could think about is, "What's he thinking?" So the movie ended, and then he, very whimsically, expressed all of his feelings about how long he waited, and how the TV shows in the '70s were all, "If only they could do this," and now they could. And he didn't get choked up and blubbery, but he was moved. Like, "Ohmigod, it happened while I was alive." And I can't believe I got to see that. He was very raw. It was quite beautiful.
I get accused of having a haughty smugness. I have a lopsided mouth. I can't help it. I was born with it. It looks as if I am smirking. I have had my publicist tell me, 'Don't do that smile on the red carpet.' I'm, like, 'That's my smile.'
This is going to sound crazy, but the first thing I do when I get home is take off all my clothes - at home, just around the house. I take everything off. I can't stand clothes! I take everything off - my shoes, my socks, my watch, shirt, everything. I am completely naked.
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