Does it hurt?” He bent his head and lightly kissed her forehead. “Only when I laugh.” “I’ll try not to be funny.” “Epic fail, beautiful.
Daemon pressed his forehead against mine. "Oh, I still want to strangle you. But I'm insane. You're crazy. Maybe that's why. We just make crazy together.
He had a ten-gallon hat that hid a twenty-gallon fish tank inside his translucent forehead. He had fish for brains, as do most politicians.
As Grams treaded water, she tapped my forehead. 'What's in here, Poppy, is scarier than anything you'll encounter in the depths of the ocean. An imagination is a powerful thing.
You won't understand this now, Saira. Later, perhaps. When you are older. When you learn that life is not only about the choices make. That some of them will be made for you.
I jolt up, a scream lodged in my throat. Drops of sweat roll down my forehead and my throat hurts as if I've been screaming for a long time.
Wretched game, cricket, keeping romantic youths out in the sun when they should be indoors, applying balm to the foreheads of feverish young maidens.
All of these people, it was as if they were all turning to gold, all marked with an invisible X on their foreheads, as of course we are, too, the place and time yet to be determined. Yes, we are burning down; time is disintegrating.
There's a lot of head-shaking and forehead-slapping when you start to realize just how deep-seated misogyny can be, how systemic and entrenched certain modes of thinking are that are still very much alive.
I got my wife a mood ring. It works real good! When shes in a good mood it turns blue, but when shes in a bad mood theres a red mark across my forehead
Bud White: Merry Christmas. Lynn Bracken: Merry Christmas to you, officer. Bud White: That obvious, huh? Lynn Bracken: It's practically stamped on your forehead.
Saamiya Siddiqui: [handing Veer a pot of sindoor] Here, take this and make our Zaara yours forever. [Veer applies the sindoor on Zaara's forehead, thus marrying her]
He stepped closer with an intense, thoughtful look on his face. "We shouldn't do this." Her heart gave a hard thud. "You probably can't kiss." Another step closer. "What does the doctor say?" "We never kissed," she deadpanned. "Dr. Pratt and I are no...
The master-word is Work, a little one, as I have said, but fraught with momentous sequences if you can but write it on the tablets of your hearts, and bind it upon your foreheads.
I have an image of Turtle right on the forehead. She seems to go through the lobes of my brain. Sort of like swimming.
My forehead is starting to get wrinkled, but you’d hardly notice it because all the wrinkles in my shirt would distract your attention from my face.
As for her hair, or rather hairs, they are too complicated to describe, but one system went down her back, lying in a thick pad there, while another, created for a lighter destiny, rippled around her forehead.
Was that really all there was to love? Darkness undone, a hand on your forehead. In the meantime all you could do was wait--tired, alone, the minutes as long or short as a lifetime--for the face in your dream to appear.
Every morning when I wake up, I kiss her forehead as symbol of gratitude and appreciation and she repays me back with a lovely smile.
She was crazy but he needed her. Oh I am in so much trouble he thought, and stared blindly up at the ceiling as the droplets of sweat began to gather on his forehead again.
She turns to us, acts surprised to see us, then does the bit with the back of the hand to the forehead. "You're lost!" "You're angry!" "You're in the wrong school!" "You're in the wrong country!" "You're on the wrong planet!
