• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
They don’t have to be flashy words, if you know what I mean, but if I’m going to trade in my nine year old for nothing more then a bunch of arranged letters, then by god, those words better be good ones, a couple of real doozies, something easy to manage, and not something that’s going to throw a fit and stomp around the house giving me heartburn and gray hair, because if you really need to know, I already have enough of those words to tend to.
I’m as in tune to the existential as the next person, but do not think for a minute that I’ll apologize to you or anyone for all the bad big-hair TV dramas from the 70’s; they’re not my fault, despite my former Farrah wings.
Bob wondered why his name was attached to a cute, short haircut for women when it would be more appropriate if it referred to a wispy, greying comb-over look for men.
The shampoo will run out, so short hair is best.
“Oh my yes, Needs No Comb Lad, unruliness isn’t just fun, it’s life-saving; the time we save not preening our Super-Hair is time enough to save the world.”
Patsy watched daily as her eyebrows disappeared but her chin hairs grew more pronounced.
If the birds don’t quit stealing all of the cat hair off of my back porch, I’m afraid it’s going to lose that charming Southern backwoods feel I’ve worked so hard at attaining; what are they going to do next, carry off the recliner and washtub?
Peter envied his comb’s simple life.
Her soft gentle hair.
Without his crown, the Frown Face King’s already unruly hair became even more twisted and snarled as he searched along the village shops, peeking under boxes and wagons, knocking over vendor tables until apples and quillons seemed to roll through every street, though no child dared dart out and grab one until the king was long gone; and as he scrambled in vain through the fields and the thicket, clawing his way through brush nearly as thick as the hair on his head, things began to get stuck in the Frown Face King’s wild mass of hair—things like twigs and leaves, skeins of yarn, a half-eaten pork sandwich, a tea pot, a hay fork, a bird nest with two featherless and wide-eyed chicks too scared to cheep, and what appeared to be Constable Wickman’s monocle (although in fairness, could have been one-half of the widow Charleton’s reading glasses, which had been missing for quite some time.)
Bearded babies do not pose a medical mystery at all—some babies are simply born with beards—and while we accept this as natural, the history of the bearded baby has not been so forgiving.(paraphrasing from the very informative website, Babies With Beards)
The chief didn’t collect the hair he was called in to remove from the hundreds of clogged drains, but he imagined if he ever did, he could have built himself one heck of a voodoo doll.
(Your hair is in my mouth.) It got caught betwixt our lips, and I bit yours so here it lies on mine; I don’t much mind.
Gentle summer breezes playing with long wavy hair.
The chief cleaned up hundreds of pounds of loose hairs from the empty apartment, but could almost swear the woman still had a full head of the stuff when she’d left.
Flouncy hair does not make you a rarefied beauty.
The lower the hair growth is on a newborn baby, the more disturbing it becomes, e.g., head, mustache, beard, underarm or chest, pubic.
Her hair was like the flow of a river and would haunt the rest of his living days.
She stared at Becky's hair unable to comprehend just how THREE weapons - not one, not two but THREE - could be concealed in the tightly bound hair.
The duck burrowed out of the tightly wound hair, stretched it's back leg, gave a duckly wiggle and flew off to places unknown.
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