He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.
He once had lips as cold as stone and a heart that equally matched, but I had managed to warm him up and now all I could sense was his need for me.
I wrenched open the windows. I stood while the cold air poured around my face like dark water, as if I was a rock and it was chiselling me into a new shape.
This was a townscape raised in the teeth of cold winds from the east; a city of winding cobbled streets and haughty pillars; a city of dark nights and candlelight, and intellect.
It is said that men condemned to death are subject to sudden moments of elation; as if, like moths in the fire, their destruction were coincidental with attainment.
Adventures are only interesting once you've lived to see the end of them. Before that, they are nothing but fear, and being too cold or too hot or too wet or too hungry, and getting hurt.
Yet my longing for her was like a bad cold that had hung on for years despite my conviction that I was sure to get over it at any moment.
Withstanding the cold develops vigor for the relaxing days of spring and summer. Besides, in this matter as in many others, it is evident that nature abhors a quitter.
The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.
She gave me the cold shoulder, so I heated it up in the microwave. Sometimes #love is leftovers.
..Holidays far apart from each other, going short of things, hours of cold and solitude? Fears? Does money cut distances short, bring people together?
Both his voice and eyes had the burning cold of alcohol. His strength no longer lay in his military experience or his knowledge of the map, but in his harsh, impetuous soul.
Why were we so far apart, even when we were together? It was a nice loneliness, like the sensation of washing your face in cold water.
Dragons breathe fire, but what if fire breathed dragons? I make love like that—instead of it being hot, it’s cold and scaly.
My sense of fashion is unmatched. Also, my socks are unmatched. My feet have grown cold, but my love for you has not.
and then I couldn't wait anymore, and my hand was on the back of her head, and then her lips on mine, the cold air gone and replaced with the warmth of her mouth, soft and sweet and hash-brown-tastic
Winter is nature’s way of sitting on the sofa and not doing a damn thing. When love grows cold, maybe it’s just impersonating January.
Terrible and ancient and scarred with the endless cold of space, the terrible and ancient things glistened with frozen moisture and colors played across the surface of the skin, colors that were never meant to be seen on earth.
A longing for the extraordinary had grabbed ahold of her and was burning her up inside, so hot and fierce that her heart had gone stone cold toward everything and everybody standing in her way. That was Mama. Fire and ice.
The cold rationalism simply covers for raw, wounded emotion. The more driven people are by the mind, the more they feel and further encode their feelings. The thickness of the tarpaulin cover is as the size of the emotion.
Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.
