You should be more careful. You could have broken your neck or as big as you are landed on someone and killed them. (Tory)
An ex-wife is a woman with a crick in the neck from looking back over her shoulder at her matrimony.
[Y]ou weren't born with a talent for witchcraft: it didn't come easily; you worked hard at it because you wanted it. You forced the world to give it to you, no matter the price, and the price is and always will be high. . . People say you don't find witchcraft; witchcraft finds you. But you've found it, even if at the time you didn't know what it was you were finding, and you grabbed it by its scrawny neck and made it work for you.
A Locrian, who proposed any new law, stood forth in the assembly of the people with a cord round his neck, and if the law was rejected, the innovator was instantly strangled.
I was on top of Keanu Reeves, he was on his back and I was on my trunk, and I was breathing down his neck for hours and hours. It was. . . very erotic.
What matter the colour of the collar around a man's neck, if the chains linked to them were identical?
Jealousy is the lifelong noose hanging about the neck of love.
The professionals resemble and recognize each other by virtue of the stigmata that their trade has left upon them. They are like the dog in the fable, whose collar has made an indelible mark around his neck. The amateur is the shaggy wolf whom no dog had better trust too far.
A drunkard is like a whiskey-bottle, all neck and belly and no head.
Most Internet business theorists are really looking at preserving the necks of giant, Fortune 500 companies, rather than promoting the digital, peer-to-peer economy that actually wants to happen.
Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
Oh, I'm being eaten By a boa constrictor, A boa constrictor, A boa constrictor, I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor, And I don't like it--one bit. Well, what do you know? It's nibblin' my toe. Oh, gee, It's up to my knee. Oh my, It's up to my thigh. Oh, fiddle, It's up to my middle. Oh, heck, It's up to my neck. Oh, dread, It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff. . .
Pride, that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff.
I may be paralyzed from the waist down, but unlike Gray Davis, I'm not paralyzed from the neck up.
Only then did I see. Something was amiss with Patrick's snap-on one piece, or "onesie" as we manly dads like to call it. His chubby thighs, I now realized, were squeezed into the armholes, which were so tight they must have been cutting off his circulation. The collared neck hung between his legs like an udder. Up top, Patrick's head stuck out through the unsnapped crotch, and his arms were lost somewhere in the billowing pant legs. It was quite a look.
We don't have a studio, we don't have a radio station, we don't have anybody breathing down our necks to make a budget. We don't have any benchmarks that we have to hit. Our benchmarks are ones that we have set.
I'd felt that a man without a woman was like a neck without a pain.
I hate the word proper. If you tell me a thing is not proper, I immediately feel the most rabid desire to go 'neck and heels' into it.
We all have many more abilities and internal resources than we know. My advice is that you don't need to break your neck to find out about them.
Earlier today former Vermont Governor Howard Dean became the new head of the Democratic National Committee -- no word on who will be the neck.