Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Backwashed. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Backwashed Quotes And Sayings by 100 Authors including Henri Cole,Robin Hobb,Simone De Beauvoir,Richard Eder,Wiz Khalifa for you to enjoy and share.
the wrinkled sleeve of the head
Burned over water.
If I were the earth it would disgust me, all this vermin on my back, I'd shake it off.
A prettiness mummified by years of chalk dust.
Tatted like a Mexican, fresher than a freshman.
If you're dirty, what in this world isn't?!
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry
He's picked clean! Eaten by cats!
Rugby backs can be identified because they generally have clean jerseys and identifiable partings in their hair ... come the revolution the backs will be the first to be lined up against the wall and shot for living parasitically off the work of others.
Cleaning me up is just a preliminary step to determining my new look. With my acid-damaged hair, sunburned skin, and ugly scars, the prep team has to make me pretty and then damage, burn, and scare me in a more attractive way.
The bleached ceilings, walls, and floors gleam in perfection. Drained of color, wiped of contamination, forever untainted they exist; a cold reminder of my purity.
Whoa. Back up. I smell?
I've got two backs, me - and I'm glad! Tits can be ... mwa, I know, but they're always in the bloody road. Even in bed.
We are washed both on coming into the world and on going out of it, and we take no pleasure from the first washing nor any profit from the last.
I paint with my back to the world
If you see a defense team with dirt and mud on their backs they've had a bad day.
What happened to your tan.
The waves of time wash us all clean.
Not blemishes. Adornments.
That's the classical mind at work, runs fine inside but looks dingy on the surface.
Just washed, How chill The white leeks!
We see not our own backs.
and Wash-ing-ton went back to Mount
My hair's naturally dirty-dishwater light brown. Ugly.
Shined, combed, brushed and gorgeous
From being used so much, kneaded with sweat and sighs, the air in the room had begun to turn to mud.
the laundry, and took, in amicable
Seeped into his bones from decades of sitting outdoors in
When in doubt - wash!
Love us dirty, for any one will love us clean.
I washed mud off of mud.
The razorous shoulder blades sawing under the pale skin.
You never realize how much of your background is sewn into the lining of your clothes.
He was bald-headed except for a little fringe of rust-colored hair and his face was nearly the same color as the unpaved roads and washed like them with ruts and gullys.
It was black-black, so thick it drank two containers of relaxer at the salon, so full it took hours under the hooded dryer, and, when finally released from pink plastic rollers, sprang free and full, flowing down her back like a celebration. Her father called it a crown of glory.
Standing at the original Victorian counter was a man in a long black leather coat. His hair had been grown to counteract its unequivocal retreat from the top of his head, and was fashioned into a mean, frail ponytail that hung limply down his back. Blooms of acne highlighted his vampire-white skin.
Our backs hut from gathering them: how hard they were to find among the concealing leaves, the frosted deceiving grass.
His body had almost no hair and his naked little circumcised johnson was nearly as pale as the rest of him, white as a boy's - perhaps over time one's genitals emerge from the pots and bubbling vats of love permanently stained, like the hands of a wool dyer.
In backbends, one touches the body physically, mentally, intellectually, consciously and spiritually everywhere.
Everything truly important is washable.
I washed walls, polished door knobs and the tiny window. The scales and stench of defeat floated into the pail's dirty water. The
Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.
Don't spit down my back and tell me it's raining.
This is just how I pictured it in my head. Raw and gritty, and dirty as hell.
Last night's memories flooded over him like a tsunami. He'd been tipsy, but not drunk. He remembered it all, every single mind-blowing-intensely-erotic-second of it. Well if he wasn't sure, the crusty substance on his back was a clear indication. Asshole. Could've got a rag. Michaels
It is time to buddle (scrub in water) all that is not illutile (unwash-awayable). Baudelaire said that humans were deluded if they thought they could wash away all their spots with vile tears, but Baudelaire was French and therefore knew nothing about hygiene or shower gel.
Check the tone of that look, Sunshine. That look will get your ass blistered
Everything about me is stripped of color, just as Metias has been stripped from my life.
The freshness of an unworn garment in her hands couldn't extinguish the feeling that she was a damaged, hole-ridden item, thrown to the back of a closet to be forgotten.
Yesterday's dirt and mistakes have moved through me. I am shiny and pink inside, clean. Empty is good. Empty is strong.
This is me. Back me up or back the fuck out.
A lean cheek, - a blue eye, and sunken, - an unquestionable spirit, - a beard neglected:- Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation.
It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.
Green hills wash sunlight blue.
Many go out for wool, and come home shorn themselves.
out for the laundry. 'When
Do not row your boat,
In the backwaters of past.
Strung out on lasers and slash back blazers.
Messy hair, uncombed, gel-free, un-styled and perfectly imperfect.
Sunlight is bad,' he wheezes. 'It's the exact same stuff as breeds maggots in wounded soldiers' legs. And when there's no war on, it fades wallpaper.
What in the name of Voldy's pasty-white rear end was that?
Faded like morning fog in the rising sun, sports team logo on a cheap T-shirt, ninety-nine dollar paint job on a Chevy.
Whiteness is filthy.
Commence mental back patting.
Never was a continent naturally so clean, and made so dirty, as Australia. There was not an animal pest, scarcely a vegetable pest; fools and the old world supplied them all.
That curiously clean, semi-transparent look of the genteel, isolated poor.
Look ... I got this all dirty.
There are stains on their knees, stains on their arses. Dirty Leeds.
skin the off-white of a dirty motel sheet.
It all comes out in the wash. It's just the spin cycle that makes you crazy
If you paint a man leaning over your own back must ache
This world is painted on a wild dark metal
When a New Yorker looks like he has a suntan, it's probably rust.
The back must slave to feed the belly.
Elegance and beauty have been banished.
Head to toe, Rainbow.
Women never look so well as when one comes in wet and dirty from hunting.
Cracked. The tub was as old as God and pitted. There
Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.
showered and dressed in jeans and a white eyelet
Iron was black and sheenless, but cleansing and polishing washed away its blackness.
Wash me, cried the slave to his Maker, and I shall be whiter, whiter than snow!
Dirty, stained, withered, broken things seem beautiful to me.
A customer facing crucial decisions:
What should I wipe myself with? What should I brush with? His personal hygiene was deteriorating rapidly as he stared at the rows of possibilities, sweating profusely. Would he ever bathe again?
It is often said that the Japanese are extremely clean at home, or inside any house or office, but dirty and untidy outside. 'Go and look at a railway station,' I was told, 'and you'll be horrified.' I went and was horrified; horrified by the cleanliness of the place.
All the backs in the history of this game are the same when there isn't any hole to run through.
Skins tanned to the consistency of well-traveled alligator suitcases.
eaten for lunch.
So, here are my windows, stained all with me.
The house was clean, scrubbed and immaculate, curtains washed, windows polished, but all as a man does it - the ironed curtains did not hang quite straight and there were streaks on the windows and a square showed on the table when a book was moved.
We could not salvage our clothes; we threw them away and changed into fresh uniforms. We even abandoned our boots. Maggots had worked their way into nooks and crannies of our shoes and occasionally fell onto the floor.
The summer colours have been drained from their bodies, and they've grown pale and flabby again.
Beauty when unadorned is adorned the most.
There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it's not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up.
Clean was not skin deep when it came to killing.
I would like a bit of me - that's how I put my back out!
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
They wore their strange beauty like war paint.
still dripped down my naked torso as I brushed my teeth in the vanity mirror. My dark hair looked
Dumped doesn't even begin to describe it. If you're going to use a trash metaphor, incinerated is more like it.