Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Sprinkled. 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 Sprinkled Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Richard Price,Waverley Root,Julia Kent,Wilfred Owen,Kate Dicamillo for you to enjoy and share.
Splattered all over the wall, come right up off his feet like a pulled puppet just
Sweetly and subtly perfumed ... so soft it is best eaten with a spoon, a tenderness more appealing to gourmets than to those who have to pick, ship, handle and store it in constant fear of ruinous spoilage.
dazzled by the sheer essence of the whole,
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry
She were forced to describe it, she would say that it tasted exactly like squirrel: fuzzy, damp, slightly nutty. Have you lost your
It had acquired a name, Spatters, that reflected the desultory randomness of its outlines: the whole stinking shanty-town seemed to have dribbled like shit from the sky.
Is it solid or cream filled?" Dallas screams.
It could be a spoonful of diamonds, could be a spoonful of gold. Just a little spoon of your precious love satisfies my soul.
the way the dew sparkled as if a careless hand had spilled a thousand translucent gemstones on the lush green blades
I winced. I just said "creamed." I felt so deprived and miserably virginal.
Pour, varlet, pour the water
The water steaming hot!
A spoonful for each man of us
Another for the pot!
ground, then drank some and fancied it
It's salt. Why don't you sprinkle some on me, honey? Aren't I just good enough to eat?
My little cup brims with tiddles.
Drizzle happiness wherever you go.
Where did you get that candy again?" Leven asked, worried.
"The pile said 'flavored'," Clover answered back, his face a chocolatey mess.
"Flavored?" Leven said exasperated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Clover argued. "F-l-a-w-e-d
flavored.
Your steady rain of words soaked me to the skin
It was like somebody had sprinkled fairy dust on the whole city," said Cheryl Bertelli, one of Maud's delirious patrons.
He scattered his aitches as a fountain its sprays in a strong wind. He was very earnest.
Seeping in through his clothes and his skin until it was gone - or not gone. Absorbed.
With all the sweetness of a chocolate-coated razor-blade.
with a seeping glitter of dark blood,
misbegotten cockwaffle.
A fine silver rain, like cobwebs falling.
She sugared and milked
Crusted bloodstains marred the carpet everywhere, with chunks of matted gore thrusting from their centers, like ebony volcanoes oozing rivers of tissue. A
bread slathered in it on the griddle. Belinda poured some coffee, yawning as she dumped spoonfuls
powdered horn is snorted like cocaine.)
It was midsummer, but fresh water from the gasping sprinklers made the lawn glitter like spring.
That was like throwing three pickled onions into a thimble!
Inside or the outside. I touched paper. I spread
I'm covered with loser dust.
Please. Shit sprinkled with sugar was still shit. Baden
For the time being
Words scatter
Are they fallen leaves?
We came, we saw, we bedazzled! You know, and it's hard to be serious and thoughtful when you're dressed like a Skittle.
I was awesome wrapped in awesome smothered in more awesome.
It came out sparkling like liquid sky.
Dr. Wintermute beheld Mrs. Pinchbeck befeathered, beribboned, crinolined, corseted, frizzled, and festooned, though not wasted.
We thought it was drops
of dew and kissed
cold tears from the crossgrass.
The flakes stuck in my eyelashes. They fell on my sleeves. Huge. Flowers and stars. They fell onto each other, held their shapes, became small piles of perfect asterisks and blooms tumbled together in their discrete geometries like children's blocks.
A Spoon swoon, if you will.
And it rained a screaming. And it rained a rawness. And it rained a plasma. And it rained a disorder.
Burned over water.
It soaked into me like water into sand, fast and heavy-making.
bowls of cornflakes,
I'll be washed and ironed. I'll be washed and ironed and starched.
Me and Frosted went to get a drink.
But she ordered somethin' bugged, and I ain't know what to think.
She ordered potassium, calcium,
Carbohydrate, scotch with sodium.
She took me to her crib, threw me on the couch ...
I woke up the next morning with a spoon in my mouth.
Kissed. Worshipped. Seduced. Fucked within an inch of her life.
This was just too fucking weird. Fucked up sprinkles on a slice of psycho shit cake.
There was rain on steroids.
Treating 'water' as a name of a single scattered object is not intended to enable us to dispense with general terms and plurality of reference. Scatter is in fact an inconsequential detail.
Today the man looked a bit . . . chewed. No, humans wouldn't say "chewed." Frazzled. Was that the human equivalent?
I washed mud off of mud.
broke into a blaze of effulgence.
It was April in Minneapolis and snowing, the flakes coming down in thick swirls enchanting the city
Intoxicated? The word did not express it by a mile. He was oiled, boiled, fried, plastered, whiffled, sozzled, and blotto.
The delicious breath of rain was in the air.
You weren't to know how your touch
with the teaspoon stirred me ...
This is unexpected ... like squirt from aggressive grapefruit.
Her ruddy brown skin had the texture of pebbled linoleum.
To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
Unleavened Bread, all
Down came the dry flakes, fat enough and heavy enough to crash like nickels on stone. It always surprised him, how quiet it was. Not like rain, but like a secret.
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Splat. Without thought, she'd thrown mud all over his face. So much for femme fatale.
He sputtered in disbelief, then roared, What the ever-livin' feck -
Swathed in an old tweed coat on which the damp had settled like a thousand tiny pearls.
the news had spread like Nutella over a warm
Outside, the world whistled. The rain was stained.
It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.
Seeped into his bones from decades of sitting outdoors in
Sprinkled afresh with pardoning blood, I lay me down to rest, As in the embraces of my God, Or on my Saviour's breast.
Hild fetched a lump of grey salt for Mildburh and mortar and pestle to crush it in. She loved the gritty crunch and thump under her hand. It sounded like a cat eating a bird.
How come when you wipe up dust it's called dusting but when you wipe up a spill it's not called spilling? There's something to think about.
Black seeds spill like clusters of eyes, wet and crying.
What's this?" He brought the brown square to his nose.
"It smells musty."
"It's chocolate. You'll love it."
"That's what you said about Skittles. I vomited a rainbow afterward.
My knees could have been stirred with a spoon.
You are offered a piece of bread and butter that feels like a damp handkerchief and sometimes, when cucumber is added to it, like a wet one.
Anoint, v.: To grease a king or other great functionary already sufficiently slippery.
the sand was like sugar under his feet. They
Everything she touched either crumbled to dust or dissolved into a powder that gave off spores. The
I assume my stance, and take back the club, low, slowly; at the top, my eyes fog over, and my joints dip and swirl like barn swallows, I swing. There is a fruitless commotion of dust and rubber at my feet. "Smothered it," I say promptly. After enough lessons the terminology becomes second nature.
Shined, combed, brushed and gorgeous
vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes
spoon, jar, jar jar spoon
Spurting out like formula from a colicky baby's mouth, drops ejected from boiled frosting boiling, preliminary spurts from Old Faithful before the earthquake.
Her hair spilled over the pillow like a bottle of overturned ink.
There was a sliding noise and a tinkle exactly like the tinkle a spoon makes when it's put back among the other spoons, who have missed it and are anxious to hear its tales of life among the frighteningly pointy people.
The thick plottens.
Who spit in your porridge?
was like a crystal bowl filled with warm kettle corn. But when you lifted it up and checked the bottom, you could see a layer of burnt, unpopped kernels. The kind that makes you flinch from the unexpected bitter taste. The kind that may cause you to chip a tooth.
Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.
There was a rhythm, an
alternation in the dripping that I found as teasing as a coin
trick.
Indescribably delirious!
Buttered, I lie on my single bed, flat, like a piece of toast. I
It almost rained Saturday.The clouds hung low over the farm.The air felt thick.It smelled like rain.
In town,the sidewalks got damp, that was all.
It looked like someone had taken sidewalk chalk and smudged the colors across the sky with their fingers.
She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.
Brimming. That's what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.
Each time, Jane's heart banged, her skin chilled, and she clamped down on the distracting ache in her gut with a bowl of something naughty, like Cocoa Pebbles.
It was so dark, it was almost black and it melted on her tongue into an ancient flavor of seed pod, earth, shade, and sunlight, its bitterness casting just a shadow of sweet. It tasted ... fine, so subtle and strange it made her feel like a novitiate into some arcanum of spice.