And what little she allowed herself to say was said in a strained tone, in which her ingrained timidity paralysed her tendency to freedom and audacity of speech.
We're lucky." He slipped his hand around her waist and splayed it in the small of her back. "Most couples have only one first kiss. We'll have two.
She was surprised to find that something from deep down in herself welled into her eyes and burned her cheeks: a few poor tears shed by one who never cried!
Even more than the time when she gave birth, a mother feels her greatest joy when she hears others refer to her son as a wise learned one.
She was my opposite, but I wanted to be like her. I wanted to fall in love underneath a tree, fast and hard. I wanted someone to forget me and then remember me in their soul, like her Caleb did.
He’d managed to take hold of her being, her poise and twisted it that it’d mutilated so bad. Even she had forgotten how it had felt to be sane.
A few years ago, she thought someone had finally come to love her and accepted her unconditionally, but she was wrong. You couldn’t really define love with money. It was more than that.
When he remembered, his indrawn breath pulled her scent into his mouth, coating his tongue with her taste. He swallowed that delicious flavor as his heartbeat sped.
The greatest artists express their inner self; an artist paints her rage; a writer pens his fear; a dancer expresses her sadness through movement; and a musician's loneliness echoes in his performance.
Jessica was clearly in her element, moving with the music naturally and without effort. Even her lustrous golden hair swayed to the beat, completing the perfect picture of a dancer caught up in ecstasy.
My mom told me once that Wyatt loved her the way a boy will love his mother, but I loved her the way an artist loves another. Jo taught me what that meant.
The viscountess had raised the forefinger of her right hand and made a pretty gesture toward a stool at her feet. There was such intense tyrannical passion in the gesture that the marquis relinquished the doorknob and came back.
Taggle looked up at her, his amber eyes as deep as the loneliness Kate had felt before he became her friend. "The traditional thing," he said slowly, "involves the river and a sack.
You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.
But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.
But time has a way of stealthily deciding a person’s mind without her conscious knowledge, and as she studied and procrastinated, Poison found one day that she had come to know her choice.
I hope you're not smoking in front of her,' Lucia says to him. 'Yeah, I lie in bed and puff in her face, Lucia,' he says, irritated.
Her body was rounded like earth. Stories. Breath. . . . Her eyes have been painted closed. I understand. To tell a story you must travel inward.
I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again.
Her best friend was gone and nobody understood that no amount of makeup, fresh air or shopping was going to fill the hole in her heart.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Nor take her tea without a strategem.
