Browsing Topic Best Sleeves Quotes

There comes a time when you roll up your sleeves and put yourself at the top of your commitment list.

You will never outrun your unresolved issues, so best to roll up your sleeves and address them head-on.

A good thing to have up your sleeve is a sanctified funny-bone.

You see, idealism detached from action is just a dream. But idealism allied with pragmatism, with rolling up your sleeves and making the world bend a bit, is very exciting. It’s very real. It’s very strong.

Your sins are what make you fantastic. It’s what makes you alive. You should wear your sins on your sleeve. You should be trying to top your sins on a daily basis.

Any man who can look handsome in a dirty baseball suit is an Adonis. There is something about the baggy pants, and the Micawber-shaped collar, and the skull-fitting cap, and the foot or so of tan, or blue, or pink undershirt sleeve sticking out at the arms, that just naturally kills a man’s best points.

Look at a gown of gold, and you will at least get a sleeve of it.

Always keep in mind that if God didn’t want a man to have mulligans, golf balls wouldn’t come three to a sleeve.

Michael Jackson’s album was only called Bad because there wasn’t enough room on the sleeve for Pathetic.

God always has another custard pie up his sleeve.

I’m learning to use others’ weaknesses. I don’t hammer a man’s soft spot constantly, because he may strengthen it. I just save it as a trump up my sleeve for moments when I really need a point.

So my doctor told me to watch what I’m eating – to read food labels. I’m in the store reading the Fig Newtons label: I’ve always liked Fig Newtons. I’m reading the label to make sure everything’s fine: fat content. I looked at the serving size; two cookies. Who eats two cookies? I eat Fig Newtons by the sleeve: two sleeves is a serving size. I open them both and eat them like a tree chipper; Fig Newton shavings coming off the side.

Some people wear their heart up on their sleeve. I wear mine underneath my right pant leg, strapped to my boot.

We are wise women, we are giggling girls. We both carry a smile to show when we’re pleased, we both carry a switchblade in our sleeves.

Could’ve sworn I heard you say Amen this morning, showing some kind of sign that you believe. Did it fall from your tongue without warning? Or just another trick to fall from your sleeve?

No, if I wore a sleeveless shirt, people would try to feed me after the match. If you got the guns, go for it. I got two breadsticks sticking out of my sleeve. I’ll stick with sleeves.

Always roll up the sleeves on your shirt. It gives the impression that you’re working, even if you’re not.

I’m a jacket man. And if I’m without one, I am kind of seriously disabled. I don’t know how to operate in shirt sleeves.

Patch was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior. Not that I wanted a look under his clothes.

You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves in your heart–your stories, visions, memories, songs: your truth, your version of things, in your voice. That is really all you have to offer us, and it’s why you were born.

That’s an unfortunate place for a birthmark, I said, more than a little unnerved that it was so similarly positioned to my own scar. Patch casually but noticeably slid his sleeve down over his wrist. You’d prefer it someplace more private? I wouldn’t prefer it anywhere. I wasn’t sure how this sounded and tried again. I wouldn’t care if you didn’t have it at all. I tried a third time. I don’t care about your birthmark, period.

She was wearing a pair of my pajamas with the sleeves rolled up. When she laughed I wanted her again. A minute later she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn’t mean anything but that I didn’t think so. She looked sad. But as we were fixing lunch, and for no apparent reason, she laughed in such a way that I kissed her.

One of the things I like to do is people’s hearts are on their sleeve, whether it’s a good or a bad heart. And I think that’s one of the things living in a world with Powers would do: it’s too theatrical not to express yourself constantly. It would change them socially and sexually, everything would be altered because of superheroes.

I’ve found that when you roll up your sleeves and join people in their daily work, they tend to open up quite a bit and let you know what they really think about the issues facing our country and what kind of job they think the government is doing.

If I’m hip, we’ve got a problem in this country. I really shouldn’t be held up as any model of hipness. If anything, I think I’m sort of old school in my approach to objective reporting and not wearing my opinion on my sleeve. There’s a lot of that in American TV news these days. Too much, in fact.

I eat Fig Newtons by the sleeve.

I can never bring you to realize the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.

I’m a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve, fall in love-at-first-sight and go with it sort of girl. It’s all about having fun with someone and learning how to communicate with someone, in a way that you enjoy.

A person who is keen to shake your hand usually has something up his sleeve.

Cynie Cory roams the outer reaches of the heart’s territory, from the snowy winter of family life to the tropical jungles of love. She wears her heart on her sleeve and it is as big as the country she writes about. Is she the quintessential American girl? You bet she is, part Annie Oakley, part Emily Dickinson—sharpshooting poet of wild nights. She zooms in on the detritus of love—the broken fragments, the fallen leaves—and puts together a collage that is as heartbreaking as it is beautiful. Watch out—she’s driving down your street.

Time will tell … whether folks want to point and stare at the black woman filmmaker who made a certain kind of film, and pat her on the back, or if they want to actually roll up the sleeves and do a little bit of work so that there can be more of me coming through.

A first-rate organizer is never in a hurry. He is never late. He always keeps up his sleeve a margin for the unexpected.

The only damn thing I ever learned in all my years in art school was a piece is never done, it is just finished. You have to trust your inner voice, your instincts, when they tell you pencils down. And you roll up your sleeves and you start over again.

Let everyone witness how many different cards fortune has up her sleeve when she wants to ruin a man.

Well I’m still working on The Incredibles. So I’m going to take a little time off. I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve. I’m not ready to talk about them yet, but expect the unexpected.