October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.
Well-wrought poems and works of imaginative literature can do for us what stone-cold prose can never do. They can help us grasp the full dimension of ways of life other than our own.
I’d row a gondola like a column is not a row. My coffee may be cold, but my love is warm. When are you going to wake up and drink it?
I am Ebenezer Snooze, and I am frugal with my sleep. I buy warm coffee cold, so I can get a discount.
Draco's like... snow," said Hermione quietly, her gaze absent and distracted. "It's cold and cruel to begin with, but it's somehow beautiful, and you miss it when it's not there. And if you hold it in your hands close enough and long enough, it chang...
He was staring hard, not at his wife and me but at his daughter watching us. In his cold pupil, in the firm twist of his lips, was reflected Madame Miyagi's orgasm reflected in her daughter's gaze.
The sun still, surprisingly, came up and shone down onto the cold, metal leftovers. No loud noises. No screams. No breaking glass. Just silence and sunshine. You would be forgiven for thinking that this all happened on another planet. It didn’t.
I don’t know why Kate was trying to impress him, as far as I could see the guy had all the allure and social grace of a psychotic slug with halitosis and a bad head cold.
I miss your face. That big bright smile. You always had it, in any weather. It's hard for me to find one these days. These cold November days. Except when I think of you.
The scar on my chest, the beating of my heart, and the mountains that fostered my appreciation for the cold, hard, natural world—these were the few things that mattered.
I sailed on the cold air currents above the rooftops of Paris. I could see the river, the Louvre Museum, the gardens and palaces. And a mouse-yum. Hang on, Carter, I thought. not hunting mice.
I’m standing here on a deserted road on a cold night, wondering how something so beautiful could go so incredibly wrong. My name is Christian Castro and this is the story of how I lost it all.
Passion has helped us; but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason, cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, must furnish all the materials for our future support and defence.
Often I've wondered what it would feel like to be him," he whispered softly. "To feel the warmth of your skin under my cold hand or your hot breath on my lips. These last few days have been torment on my curiosity.
I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.
They rarely look at Baba -- the teenagers -- and then only with cold indifference, or even subtle disdain, as if my father should have known better than to allow old age and decay to happen to him.
The shadow is dark and the woods are cold, but they are not endless. No matter how lost you are now, you are not lost forever. You are findable. Love just keeps on looking. Love is forever tries.
I read somewhere that flying is like throwing your soul into the heavens and racing to catch it as it falls." "I don't think mine would ever fall," he murmured, looking at the clear cold sky.
The cold reality of what he is ― what I am ― sets in like cement and our former selves have been buried and smothered to death beneath the thick concrete of our separate fates.
Twas a cold Yuletide evening, and I wandered the stacks, shelving multiple titles that the patrons brought back. We toiled overtime at our library here, 'cause the powers that be cut our staffing this year.
It is yin and yang. Light is the left hand of darkness... how did it go? Light, dark. Fear, courage. Cold, warmth. Female, male. It is yourself, Therem. Both and one. A shadow on snow.
