This great handsomeness I took into myself later when he desired me, but I took it as one breathes air, or swallows a snowflake, or yields to the sun.
She was flushed and felt intoxicated with the sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor. It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom.
Breathing involves a continual oscillation between exhaling and inhaling, offering ourselves to the world at one moment and drawing the world into ourselves at the next...
It’s always been you, Paige. I’ve waited my whole life for you. You’re the air I breathe, my heart and soul. Without you, I’m in hell.
Stories are life," protested Pico. "Without them, books would be only paper and ink, with them they breathe, the reader is drawn in, the stories become him.
Take away health, wealth, and material success and all you have is each other. Maybe that's the place we should start.
I have no heartbeat; I breathe no oxygen; I'm nothing to anyone; I'm not real. And yet I'm cursed with a brain that won't rest; it torments me.
Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
My father got a trade union scholarship to Oxford; he lived and breathed politics; he was always watching current-affairs programmes. But I have a five-year-old child's attitude towards the news. Mainly, that it absolutely turns me off.
It seemed like my professional life would take a more scientific route. I guess that plan started to become undone when, at the age of 17, I happened upon a screening of Alain Resnais' 'Hiroshima Mon Amour,' and it took my breath away.
I'm 42 and the age of a guy who has kids, so I guess I'm playing right where I'm supposed to be. I'm comfortable with that, but in the same breath I'd do something edgy. If someone came to me and offered me an edgy and funny story, then I'd do it.
After its hothouse incubation in the seventies, appropriation breathed important new life into art. This life flowered spectacularly over the decades - even if it's now close to aesthetic kudzu.
It's almost dawn. You can feel it coming. The world holds its breath, because there's really no guarantee that the sun will rise. That there was a yesterday doesn't mean there will be a tomorrow.
His smile wavers. I've been looking at him too long. 'Are you OK?' he says. I nod, take a deep breath. Then I lean over and kiss him.
And we were kissing like drowning people breathe-- like suddenly we'd discovered something that has never been so sweet before that moment.
My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.
I’m not dangerous,” I breathed. He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.” And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing.
Then, breathing slow, and almost deliberately, stops. But for a moment the old man doesn’t realize he is dead. He can feel Martin’s heart and mistakes it for his own.
Losing me will hurt; it will be the kind of pain that won't feel real at first, and when it does, it will take her breath away.
We are always waiting, aren't we? All in a state of hesitation and held breath. Sometimes it's glorious like a storm at the end of a hot day.
I wish for once that she could see the her that I can see; beauty that both steals my breath and gives it back to me.
