Yes, it was dangerous, but we are not put into this world, Mr. Burton, to avoid danger when an important fellow creature's life is at stake. You understand me?
Where do one's fears come from? Where do they shape themselves? Where do they hide before coming out into the open?
You’re like this frosting.” She swiped another swirl of it on her finger, stood and leaned forward to touch it to his bottom lip. “Pretty, momentarily pleasurable, but with no real substance or sustenance.
You can cower,” she told them in a clear voice, wrapping her long shaking fingers around the cold iron bars. “But I will stand.
It was as if the future were a treacly adhesive fluid that had been spilt all over the present, so that everything he touched made his fingers too sticky to be of the slightest use.
At this moment, all I'm thinking about is what I'd give up for the chance to kiss her or to run my fingers through her dark hair.
It is not against reason, said the Englishman, to prefer the destruction of the world to a scratch on your finger – how much easier to understand the same price for the gash in your soul.
Walking the stacks in a library, dragging your fingers across the spines -- it's hard not to feel the presence of sleeping spirits.
Sometimes a journey arises out of hope and instinct, the heady conviction, as your finger travels along the map: Yes, here and here ... and here. These are the nerve-ends of the world ...
As amusing as it was to see him lovestruck, we had to stay on track. I snapped my fingers in front of Marcus's face. "Focus," I said.
At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.
After a few years of not talking, I tried reaching out to my father, but by that time he was already a few inches beyond my outstretched fingers.
I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers and greens in every lush shade imaginable offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow.
Comparisons are like rigid fingers—eager to point at a subject but unwilling to grasp it.
She pushed my chest like she wanted me off of her, but her fingers had my shirt clutched in them and I knew she was full of shit. She wanted me.
Magda was reading a book by a Trappist, in a better mood, and I was sitting on the edge of the bed, fingering my useless map.
For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.
The weight of the world is a trifle, if we all put our two fingers under it and try to lift together.
Learn this now and learn it well. Like a compass facing north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.
In a battle, an army of farts would surely beat an army of noses, even if those noses were armed with fingers that could flick long-range boogers.
Books. People have no idea how beautiful books are. How they taste on your fingers. How bright everything is when you light it with words.
