The bank robber’s pants were so neatly pressed that no one even considered him a threat as he walked into the bank. And why should they? He was the bank president. The time – 2011!
He pressed the button with his finger, feeling every millimeter as it went down. He still didn’t know what it was supposed to do. That red button, the one everyone knew wasn’t to be pressed ever, under any circumstances. Well, nearly any circumstances. Nobody knew what it did. But they were all about to find out.
“You pressed your jeans?!” he cried incredulously. “Who the heck presses jeans?” Foley looked down and his creases, and smiled a secret smile. Then turned his backside to the mirror to check out the new angle.
I am pressed up against a wall. you have me up against a wall. but not in a passionate way full of exchanged body heat and breathes and love and kisses. you have me up against a proverbial wall with nowhere to move. it’s suffocating and smothering and I need you to let me free.
The inquisition wasn’t all that great, we know that. I had friends who were beaten, pressed, scourged, and relentlessly tickled because of what they believed. Banana sandwich pressed with lays chips peanut butter and honey is what i’d rather be doing.
If you had not been there, wherever there was, at the wrong time, would it have come down to this?
You couldn’t believe it. Yes, you felt the flickering light flash across your vision, the cold metal beneath your hands, and the even colder stare of the detective sitting across from you.
He was pressing you for details you didn’t have.
I got PRESSED into a large cheese grater today, it hurt. HOWEVER! As I was being slowly shredded up into millions of random, jaggedy little slices, I found myself thinking about my life… maybe investing in the world’s largest cheese grater wasn’t the best Idea after all…. :D
His shirt was pressed to perfection. Sitting there on the bed waiting for him to put it on before heading off to work. I laid it out carefully, as to not destroy my work. I was moving on to his pants when he came into the room. “I can’t be with you anymore. I want a divorce.” I figured he could press his own pants then.
buttons are always fun to press, especially on people. It’s a great way to see how they take stressful situations… pushing their buttons. I guess you could also press clothes, like with an iron and everything. Getting your clothes pressed sounds “professional”. It’s rather fun and interesting.
Again, you’ve mislead me.
Again, this agitation has grown too much for me to bear.
My trust for you is broken.
I’m done.
I’ve let you make too many mistakes.
Too many times that I’ve heard “I’m sorry.”
I’m sick of you pressing on my mind, but my mind keeps pressing towards you.
When can we reach the end?
Elaine pressed her nose against the freezing cold glass as she watched the fluffy snowflakes fall to the ground. The first snow of winter, she thought jubilantly. She rushed down the hallway to the closet and pulled out her stocking cap and rain boots. Careful not to wake up the dog, she quietly opened the sliding glass door and stepped out into the crisp winter air.
for time, for wine. for an opinion about anything. something to fill the void. Emptiness, silence is not welcomed here. Therefore I press on. I won’t stop because of that persistent nudge moving me forward. Onward, go, motion, f=ma.
i pressed on the button. it turned green. i didn’t know what to do. i decided that it was a sign. it was green for a reason. so i did what i thought i needed to do. i pressed hard on the gas and i drove. i drove so far. far away from everything i knew. it was time. i needed to do this. it was the best decision I’ve ever made. thank you to that button, for turning green.
I just don’t know to begin. You’re pressed for time, I realise that, but it’s important that you know that i can’t feel my face, I can’t feel a thing. I cannot speak for the spittle spraying out of my mouth
For time, like a lithiograph; linocut; woodcut, any cut. Pressing the issue, I always do that more than I know I should, but sometimes it brings results but not always the ones I want. Press harder!
I am pressed for time, for ideas, for life, it seems! Never stops…except for these few minutes I suppose! But if pressing your life produces sweet grape juice after crushing, then it’s worth it, right? Except a corn of wheat fall to the ground and die it abides alone, but if it die it brings forth much fruit…John 12
Pressed for time, pressed for space, pressed up against everyone and everything. The world is spiraling around you, trying to consume you, take your soul, take your life. Telling you to take your life. Die and be consumed, trapped in this box, trapped and pushed in from all sides. Compressed until you no longer recognise who or what you once were. Losing all sense of everything, leaving the normal for the better, the better for the worse.
one day i pressed the wrong button in an elevator and it took us to the wrong floor. we all got off on that level and had to race down to the right floor. you never know what pressing the wrong button could lead you. while on that wrong floor i bumped into someone who is now one of my good friendds. life comes at you in ways you wouldnt expect. just take it and run with it.
i don’t know i think pressed is like pressure which i feel a lot of because i do so much i wonder if people undersrtand how much i do do they realize what i go through? pressed is also llike shirts my dad get his shirts presse at the cleaners place but my mom picks them up most of the time so he looks goood
He pressed up against me, his sneer completely visible.
“And what are you going to do?” He teased me as I struggled. It was, to my dismay, no use. He was stronger than me.
“I’ll make your life a living hell.” I spat back up at him.
He smirked and I felt tempted to head butt him.
He leaned in, oh so sweetly, and whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear, “Try me.” And he kissed me.
She pressed the button, even though she’d been warned not to. No one had told her why the button was forbidden, only that she wasn’t allowed to press it. Suddenly, the room exploded and she died. The end. O.o
She was pressed against the wall.
His hands groped on her body, his tongue invading her mouth.
She let out a shaky breath, and had the urge to just push him away.
What was she thinking?
She was married, dammit. Why?
She kissed him back, with an urgency .
Pressed for time. Press the button. That was easy. Press it against a wall. Press the petal. Push it to the floor. Press-ure. She was pressed in the middle of the elevator. Press exit.
Her soul pressed against the skin
as she wept and sold her sins
to the cadaver living within her.
Regret held her hand while she
crossed narrow streets through the
pale light of the old marquees.
Pressed. I’ve been presssed against a wall for a while now. I havent even been trying to fight my way out. I’ve just been crouched up in the corner feeling sorry for my self. WEll, this ends now. Its time to get my life back. Get ready world. This might get a little crazy.
Down into the darkness, all sides in against her skin, compressing the air, forcing out light and thought and life. All she can do was panic, the blood spraying through her veins, pumping n constriction to the world she found herself in. Soon she would perish, in a ball, in terror.
When people get publicity fro the press, and they dont’t want it, they’ve been pressed. pressed is a past tense verb to press, as in “she pressed the button” pressed, one word, one meaning, one past tense verb.
it doesnt make sense that people feel pressed for things like time because they really should have given more thought before they did something that would make them get behind enough when they feel like they would be pressed for time. also, when you press your clothing once they get wrinkleled, what happens when they get wrinkeled again? it sucks.
There are many things pressing on me right now. I need to get some lotion my hands are dry. I need to finish coding this obnoxious html that is annoying me. I need to cool off. I need to impress. I need to go to the gym, loose weight, eat right and be successful.
Keep pressing until it hurts. This is an example of the kind of figurative language that is meant both literally and figuratively, simultaneously, when put into the context of Mike and Harvey from the show Suits.
He pressed the cold metal barrel of the gun into my neck, and before he pulled the trigger asked for my last words. I said, “I forgot to feed my cat. Luv ya whiskers.” then died.
The bank robber’s pants were so neatly pressed that no one even considered him a threat as he walked into the bank. And why should they? He was the bank president. The time – 2011!
I’m pressed against a wall. You have me up against a wall. I can’t do this anymore.
He pressed the button with his finger, feeling every millimeter as it went down. He still didn’t know what it was supposed to do. That red button, the one everyone knew wasn’t to be pressed ever, under any circumstances. Well, nearly any circumstances. Nobody knew what it did. But they were all about to find out.
the fresh apples were pressed into apple mush, later to be processed into a wonderful baby food that we all find so comforting and
“You pressed your jeans?!” he cried incredulously. “Who the heck presses jeans?” Foley looked down and his creases, and smiled a secret smile. Then turned his backside to the mirror to check out the new angle.
close bodies in a bed together because it is cold and rainy out. i hope that he kisses me,
I am pressed up against a wall. you have me up against a wall. but not in a passionate way full of exchanged body heat and breathes and love and kisses. you have me up against a proverbial wall with nowhere to move. it’s suffocating and smothering and I need you to let me free.
The inquisition wasn’t all that great, we know that. I had friends who were beaten, pressed, scourged, and relentlessly tickled because of what they believed. Banana sandwich pressed with lays chips peanut butter and honey is what i’d rather be doing.
If you had not been there, wherever there was, at the wrong time, would it have come down to this?
You couldn’t believe it. Yes, you felt the flickering light flash across your vision, the cold metal beneath your hands, and the even colder stare of the detective sitting across from you.
He was pressing you for details you didn’t have.
I got PRESSED into a large cheese grater today, it hurt. HOWEVER! As I was being slowly shredded up into millions of random, jaggedy little slices, I found myself thinking about my life… maybe investing in the world’s largest cheese grater wasn’t the best Idea after all…. :D
His shirt was pressed to perfection. Sitting there on the bed waiting for him to put it on before heading off to work. I laid it out carefully, as to not destroy my work. I was moving on to his pants when he came into the room. “I can’t be with you anymore. I want a divorce.” I figured he could press his own pants then.
buttons are always fun to press, especially on people. It’s a great way to see how they take stressful situations… pushing their buttons. I guess you could also press clothes, like with an iron and everything. Getting your clothes pressed sounds “professional”. It’s rather fun and interesting.
Again, you’ve mislead me.
Again, this agitation has grown too much for me to bear.
My trust for you is broken.
I’m done.
I’ve let you make too many mistakes.
Too many times that I’ve heard “I’m sorry.”
I’m sick of you pressing on my mind, but my mind keeps pressing towards you.
When can we reach the end?
Elaine pressed her nose against the freezing cold glass as she watched the fluffy snowflakes fall to the ground. The first snow of winter, she thought jubilantly. She rushed down the hallway to the closet and pulled out her stocking cap and rain boots. Careful not to wake up the dog, she quietly opened the sliding glass door and stepped out into the crisp winter air.
for time, for wine. for an opinion about anything. something to fill the void. Emptiness, silence is not welcomed here. Therefore I press on. I won’t stop because of that persistent nudge moving me forward. Onward, go, motion, f=ma.
i pressed on the button. it turned green. i didn’t know what to do. i decided that it was a sign. it was green for a reason. so i did what i thought i needed to do. i pressed hard on the gas and i drove. i drove so far. far away from everything i knew. it was time. i needed to do this. it was the best decision I’ve ever made. thank you to that button, for turning green.
this automatically makes me think about being pressed for time or pressing a shirt that is wrinkled.
or maybe someone pressing a handprint onto something.
I just don’t know to begin. You’re pressed for time, I realise that, but it’s important that you know that i can’t feel my face, I can’t feel a thing. I cannot speak for the spittle spraying out of my mouth
For time, like a lithiograph; linocut; woodcut, any cut. Pressing the issue, I always do that more than I know I should, but sometimes it brings results but not always the ones I want. Press harder!
I am pressed for time, for ideas, for life, it seems! Never stops…except for these few minutes I suppose! But if pressing your life produces sweet grape juice after crushing, then it’s worth it, right? Except a corn of wheat fall to the ground and die it abides alone, but if it die it brings forth much fruit…John 12
Pressed for time, pressed for space, pressed up against everyone and everything. The world is spiraling around you, trying to consume you, take your soul, take your life. Telling you to take your life. Die and be consumed, trapped in this box, trapped and pushed in from all sides. Compressed until you no longer recognise who or what you once were. Losing all sense of everything, leaving the normal for the better, the better for the worse.
He was pressed for time. The clock face was mocking him with its waving arms and effortless work. Oh, how much he hated that smirking face.
one day i pressed the wrong button in an elevator and it took us to the wrong floor. we all got off on that level and had to race down to the right floor. you never know what pressing the wrong button could lead you. while on that wrong floor i bumped into someone who is now one of my good friendds. life comes at you in ways you wouldnt expect. just take it and run with it.
i don’t know i think pressed is like pressure which i feel a lot of because i do so much i wonder if people undersrtand how much i do do they realize what i go through? pressed is also llike shirts my dad get his shirts presse at the cleaners place but my mom picks them up most of the time so he looks goood
pressed in a book like delicate petals, turning brown, becoming crisp. i trade my hues, my floral scent, for a brown exterior that is sure to last.
He pressed up against me, his sneer completely visible.
“And what are you going to do?” He teased me as I struggled. It was, to my dismay, no use. He was stronger than me.
“I’ll make your life a living hell.” I spat back up at him.
He smirked and I felt tempted to head butt him.
He leaned in, oh so sweetly, and whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear, “Try me.” And he kissed me.
She pressed the button, even though she’d been warned not to. No one had told her why the button was forbidden, only that she wasn’t allowed to press it. Suddenly, the room exploded and she died. The end. O.o
She was pressed against the wall.
His hands groped on her body, his tongue invading her mouth.
She let out a shaky breath, and had the urge to just push him away.
What was she thinking?
She was married, dammit. Why?
She kissed him back, with an urgency .
Pressed for time. Press the button. That was easy. Press it against a wall. Press the petal. Push it to the floor. Press-ure. She was pressed in the middle of the elevator. Press exit.
Her soul pressed against the skin
as she wept and sold her sins
to the cadaver living within her.
Regret held her hand while she
crossed narrow streets through the
pale light of the old marquees.
Pressed. I’ve been presssed against a wall for a while now. I havent even been trying to fight my way out. I’ve just been crouched up in the corner feeling sorry for my self. WEll, this ends now. Its time to get my life back. Get ready world. This might get a little crazy.
hands are pressed together with yours
Down into the darkness, all sides in against her skin, compressing the air, forcing out light and thought and life. All she can do was panic, the blood spraying through her veins, pumping n constriction to the world she found herself in. Soon she would perish, in a ball, in terror.
It was not
a rush.
Not really.
The teeth were growing closer,
and the glass was cracking,
but, they were not
pressed for time,
not really.
When people get publicity fro the press, and they dont’t want it, they’ve been pressed. pressed is a past tense verb to press, as in “she pressed the button” pressed, one word, one meaning, one past tense verb.
it doesnt make sense that people feel pressed for things like time because they really should have given more thought before they did something that would make them get behind enough when they feel like they would be pressed for time. also, when you press your clothing once they get wrinkleled, what happens when they get wrinkeled again? it sucks.
There are many things pressing on me right now. I need to get some lotion my hands are dry. I need to finish coding this obnoxious html that is annoying me. I need to cool off. I need to impress. I need to go to the gym, loose weight, eat right and be successful.
Keep pressing until it hurts. This is an example of the kind of figurative language that is meant both literally and figuratively, simultaneously, when put into the context of Mike and Harvey from the show Suits.
He pressed the cold metal barrel of the gun into my neck, and before he pulled the trigger asked for my last words. I said, “I forgot to feed my cat. Luv ya whiskers.” then died.
Oh I like it, there is so much interesting things around. One gets lost in things here.