Quotes About Trouble

Venice she is like the beautiful cortigiana—the courtesan—who has"—Zeggio frowned, searching for the phrase he wanted—"dropped on the hours of trouble." "Fallen on hard times," James said. "Fallen on hard times," Zeggio repeated. He murmured the phrase to himself a few times. "I see. The same but not the same.

If it has tires or testicles, it's gonna give you trouble.

I'm not a lot of trouble," she said. His gaze slid to her mouth. "You sure about that?" "Completely." And then she flashed him an indeed trouble-filled smile. And that's when he knew. He was the one in trouble. Deep trouble.

If thought bubbles appeared above my head, I'd be so screwed.

His expression was strained. I'm trying like hell to be the good guy here. I need you to go inside and lock the door behind you to keep out of trouble. I thought Wildstone was safe. It is. The trouble isn't going to come from the unknown. It's going to come from me. Go, Quinn. Now. And lock your door. She stared up at him, mesmerized by the thought of him being trouble, images going through her head of him proving it to her, all of them involving little to no clothing and a bed.

If it's got tires or testicles, it's gonna give you trouble.

His smile was badass wicked and filled with trouble as he put a knee on the bed and began to crawl toward her with nefarious intent in his sharp gaze.

Remember that marriage is a humbling journey. When one sinner marries another sinner, there is always going to be trouble. And when these sinners have little sinnerlings, there is even more trouble?

Age is always advancing and I'm fairly sure it's up to no good.

Troubleshooters? Michael asked. When there's trouble, I told him, they shoot it.

I turned to Grey again. "The point is, killing someone is almost never the smart move, long term. Sometimes it's got to be done if you want to survive—but the more you do it, the more you risk creating more enemies and buying yourself even more trouble." Grey seemed to consider that for a moment, and then shrugged. "The argument is not entirely without merit. Tell me, wizard, does it give you some sort of satisfaction to protect this man?

We need to get out, I said. My voice sounded raw to me. Trouble coming. No, said a beautiful Sidhe baritone. Trouble is here. They appeared from behind their veils, one by one, with so much melodrama that I was mildly surprised that they hadn't each struck some kind of kung fu pose.

That's just a fiction," I said, "a little game of protocol." "Little games of protocol are how one shows respect, especially to those with whom one does not get along famously well. It can be tedious, but generally is less trouble than a duel would be.

Nothing is truly safe in this world—and that being the case, why worry about threats that have not yet appeared? Far wiser to make what preparations one could, face trouble as it arose, and be happy in the meantime.

You are the help." "We're in trouble," I said.

More trouble in Faerie. Bigger trouble in Faerie. And I'd be willing to bet dollars to navel lint that I knew exactly which stupid son of a bitch the Council would expect to start poking his nose around in it.

Goodness, think of what trouble they'd be in if Folly hadn't practiced.

I don't know what to say." His eyes wrinkled up even more heavily at the corners. "Hell, Hoss. Then don't say anything." He turned and called over his shoulder, "You get in less trouble that way!

The evening had obviously been moving along entirely too smoothly, I thought. Something had gone wrong.

Murphy grabbed a gym bag out of her car and then followed me to Ebenezar's truck. She stopped about twenty feet short of it and said, You're kidding me. Come on, I said. You want to show up where there might be some trouble in your own car? That'd be nice for responding emergency units to see. So get in. What does it run on, coal? Ebenezar stuck his bald head out of the window, scowling. No idea. Mostly I just turn it loose to hunt down dinner for itself.

Okay," I said, fear making my voice weak. This is bad. This is very, very bad." Wish

Dad always said that he had enough trouble sorting the fiction out of so-called facts, without reading fiction. He always said that science was already too muddled without trying to make it jibe with religion. He said those things, but he also said that science itself could be a religion, that a broad mind was always in danger of becoming narrow.

What I was thinking was that she must have buggers in her bloomers or a chigger on her figger, or however you say it. It looked to me like something had better be done about it pretty quick, or her pants would start blazing and maybe they'd set the fairgrounds on fire and there'd be a panic with thousands of people getting stomped to death, not to mention the property damage. And I couldn't think of but one way to prevent it.

There is a common superstition that "self-respect" is a kind of charm against snakes, something that keeps those who have it locked in some unblighted Eden, out of strange beds, ambivalent conversations, and trouble in general. It does not at all. It has nothing to do with the face of things, but concerns instead a separate peace, a private reconciliation.