A Quote by Shel Silverstein
Did you hear 'bout Ticklish Tom? He got tickled by his mom. Wiggled and giggled and fell on the floor, . . . . And all the more that he kept gigglin', All the more folks kept ticklin'. He shrieked and screamed and rolled around, Laughed his way right out of town. Through the country down the road, He got tickled by a toad. . . . . Giggling, rolling on his back He rolled on the railroad track. Rumble, rumble, whistle, roar- Tom ain't ticklish any more.
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I'm very ticklish. They say being tickled is a form of torture.
And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell.
Radley rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at my father. Alpha of the south-central territory and head of the Territorial Council. Sure, I did that all the time but I'd also peed on his lap when I was two. No one else got away with such disrespect toward an Alpha, which meant Radley either didn't know who my father was, or didn't care
'Yea and I beheld Sisyphus in strong torment, grasping a monstrous stone with both his hands. He was pressing thereat with hands and feet, and trying to roll the stone upward toward the brow of the hill. But oft as he was about to hurl it over the top, the weight would drive him back, so once again to the plain rolled the stone, the shameless thing. And he once more kept heaving and straining, and the sweat the while was pouring down his limbs, and the dust rose upwards from his head.
Jack was mid-jump when I burst into my room. I snatched his ankle,flipping him horizontal.He crashed down hard to my bed and rolled off onto the floor. And laughed. "Let's do that again! But this time I'll jump even higher." "No! No,you won't! What are you going here?" He sat up on the floor and shrugged. "I was bored." "I don't care! I'm not your babysitter!" His blue eyes twinkled.Honestly, whose eyes actually twinkle? Then his face crumpled,his lower lip jutting out.He blinked his ridiculously long eyelashes at me. "I thought we were friends." "Oh,knock it off.
Yes, Elizabeth.” Dash kept his voice low, but let it rumble with his arousal. “I lived for you and Cassie. But while I fought to live I dreamed, and it was this I dreamed of.
It's as if my left heel is my bass drum and my right heel is the floor tom-tom. I can get snare out of my right toe by not putting it down on the floor hard, and, if I want cymbals, I land flat on both feet, full strength on the floor.
Puck turned to Sabrina. "What is she doing down there?" Hiding, I guess." Puck leaned down and poked his head under the seat. "I found you." Ms. Smirt shrieked. Puck lifted himself up to his full height and laughed. "She's fun." He leaned back down and she screamed again. "I could do this all day. Can I keep her?
It kept him alive, he was certain; even more, it kept his darkest of his demons at bay.
I'd love to do a song with Tom Waits. Around when I was like 17 or 18, my buddy, D-Money, put me on the Tom Waits and I literally at that point got every one of his albums and kind of studied his music. I like that he provides an entire world for the listener. He's hopefully someone that I could vibe with down the line. I'm not sure how it would sound or even how it could work, but he's always been a huge influence.
The great Muhammad Ali used to have that phrase where he would say: 'Rumble young man, rumble' and 'I'm so pretty I'm ready to rumble.' I kind of just fine tuned it to 'Let's get ready to rumble.'
I've got more in common with a three-toed sloth than I have with Winston Churchill. There is no easy comparison with any modern politician. The more you read about him, the more completely amazed you are about what he did - his energy, his literary fecundity, his ability to work - just unbelievable energy.
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the Master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.
When someone asks you the question 'Are you ticklish' it doesn't matter if you say yes or no, cause they're going to touch you. If someone asks if you're ticklish and you don't want to be touched you should something like 'I have diarrhea, now don't touch me cause you'll make it come out... and yes I'm very ticklish'.
He had a newspaper rolled in his hand, bearing down on me like a puppy that had piddled on the carpet. "Bad Chloe,” I muttered. "What?” I’d forgotten his bionic hearing. “Bad Chloe.” I gestured at the rolled-up paper and put out my hand. “Get it over with.
He screamed for all he had lost...screamed for the half male he was...screamed for Jane...screamed for who his parents were and what he wished for his sister...screamed for what he had forced his best friend to do...He screamed, and screamed until there was no breath, no consciousness, no nothing. No past or present. Not even himself anymore. And in the midst of the chaos, in the strangest way, he became free.
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