He kissed her. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him, and he wanted it back.
I became quietly seized with that nostalgia that overcomes you when you have reached the middle of your life and your father has recently died and it dawns on you that when he went he took some of you with him.
That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do wit...
Just look at the fellow, standing there like a bloody Greek god. Do you think she chose him because of his intellect?” “I graduated from Cambridge,” Christopher said acidly. “Should I have brought my diploma?
If one prevents a man from working for the good of society while at the same time providing for the satisfaction of his own needs, then only one way remains open to him: to make himself richer and others poorer by the violent oppression and spoliatio...
With her eyes alone she could give this response, this absolutely erotic response, as if febrile waves were trembling there, pools of madness... something devouring that could lick a man all over like a flame, annihilate him, with a pleasure never kn...
They each had scars to deal with. Scars of a different kind, but scars nonetheless. If he could say something--anything--to make a difference, he'd do it, but there simply wasn't anything left to say. The reality of that made him downright sad.
He was so stark and male and beautiful that she hungered for him. Physically, to be sure. But also from someplace even more intimate, someplace where heart and soul melded into a yearning so strong, that she wanted to weep from it.
To use a man for what he is naturally best fitted is to keep him, if one can, from apostasy and dissatisfaction. At the same time, life's temptations come most often from that for which one has the greatest aptitude.
A man who needs the unusual to make him "wonder" shows that he has lost the capacity to find the true answer to the wonder of being. The itch for sensation, even though disguised in the mask of Boheme, is a sure indication of a bourgeois mind and a d...
There were dragons, in his dreams, as though some part of him knew the trials were not yet over, that there were battles yet to be fought. He slept fitfully, fidgeting, tossing and turning, groaning and crying out in his sleep.
All things therefore are charged with love, are charged with God and if we knew how to touch them give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow, ring and tell of him.
He had known several men who blew their heads off, and he had pondered it much. It seemed to him it was probably because they could not take enough happiness just from the sky and the moon to carry them over the low feelings that came to all men.
Fagan hated what his father was, but he still loved him. I reckon that's the way God is. Loving us enough to send Jesus but hating the way we live. Hating the sin, not the sinner.
While like most men, Sam prided himself on being equipped with a supernatural internal compass that kept him from ever being lost, he'd also learned to concede those rare times when that compass seemed to be temporary disrepair.
And what is I was only supposed to burn for a certain amount of time?" I whispered. "What if I was only meant to shine for a while?" "Then you truly don't know what stars are meant to do." I looked at him in wonder. "They are meant to give us hope in...
Why are we doing this?" Caine asked him. "You know damned well why we're doing this. Because it's a fight. It may be THE fight. I may be the final fight. And what else are we good at, you and me? What are we going to do if we ever get out there anywa...
I see the way he looks at you when you're not aware of his gaze. I see the way you care for him. And so when you think he wants you gone, it is not that. He is simply afraid to lose you.
The American bards shall be marked for generosity and affection and for encouraging competitors… . The great poets are also to be known by the absence in them of tricks and by the justification of perfect personal candor… . How beautiful is cando...
You know, just sit in the corner and glare at him the whole time. See if he crumbles.” “I’ve seen your hard-ass face, Tuck,” Charlie said. “Mostly, you just look constipated. Ford, you’d better do the glaring.
His face clouded over when Calvin and Peachy tried to explain women. Peachy pressed on bravely. “Now, the purpose of the vagina,” he was saying. He stopped and said to Calvin, “Why can’t we just buy him a book?
