Quotes About Paper clips

Alex hopped onto the four-poster bed. He bounced up and down, grinning as the springs squeaked. What are you doing? I asked. Making noise. He leaned over and rifled through Randolph's nightstand drawer. Let's see. Cough drops. Paper clips. Some wadded-up Kleenex that I am not going to touch. And ... He whistled. Medication for bowel discomfort! Magnus, all this bounty belongs to you! You're a strange person. I prefer the term fabulously weird .

My next task was to secure a weapon. I remembered the old TV show, McGyver, where the hero would defeat the bad guys by making a device out of whatever he happened to find handy—a comb, two paper clips, a hub cap.

He chuckled, shaking his head. Man, you hunters. I break a pencil and there's hell to pay. I can see how that's deeply unfair, Chip. Especially if that pencil should try to kill you with it teeth and claws, or launch its brood of a thousand deadly paper clips against you.

As a mark of opposition, many wore paper clips in their lapels. The paper clip was a Norwegian invention; the little twist of metal became a symbol of unity, a society binding together against oppression.

He maybe, possibly, said that if he got word of anyone getting in your way, they'd find out whether there was any truth to the rumor about him knowing how to kill a man with paper clips.

It was full of the usual strata of desk-drawer shit, and I could have excavated for five minutes without finding anything more useful than pencil shavings and paper clips.

So yeah, conversationally speaking, we just faced off in a duel, where she had a gun and I had two paper clips and a rubber band. But it's fine. Although, hey, while we're on the subject, maybe you want to slice my nut sac off and put my two veg in your back pocket? 'Cuz I won't be needing them anymore after this.

My post-cruise sabbatical would spark the idea for my first book, Cheaper Than Therapy: How to Keep Life's Small Problems from Becoming Big Ones – The Lesson of the Paper Clips. How? In my data entry job all I did for 20 hours a week was paper clip printouts of computer screens. For three years. I loved it.

She stuffed the goodies into her hidden running belt, jogged out of the park, and went shopping for duct tape, a razor blade, paper clips, and another disposable phone.

Raining. Oh, brother, a scratch on the fender. Damn rabbi on his unicycle. Wait a minute, where are my car keys? Could have sworn I left them in this pocket. No, just some loose change and ticket stubs from the all-black version of Elaine Stritch' s one-woman show. Did I check my desk? Better go back inside. What's in the top drawer here? Hmm. Envelopes, my paper clips, a loaded revolver in case the tenant in 2A begins yodelling again.