The actor has to develop his body. The actor has to work on his voice. But the most important thing the actor has to work on is his mind.
Jon wanted nothing more. , he had to tell himself, . The realization twisted in his belly like a knife. They had chosen him to rule. The Wall was his, and their lives were his as well. he could hear his lord father saying,
Just then Jagger walks in, his hair all ruffled and his body hard and firm. We all stop talking and stare as he runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to straighten it up. “Take a picture ladies, it lasts longer.” he mutters
He lifted his head, the sight of his dark, disheveled hair, eyes glinting with longing in the lamp light, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the narrow thrust of his hips, made my ovaries ache deep in my belly.
She looked at him, his soft brown eyes and tall form, and contemplated raising herself on her toes and kissing his ear, or his cheek... Instead, impulsively before leaving, she reached up and smoothed his mussed hair. Mr. Bradford beamed.
He ached for creation. For life to somehow rise from the drawings in his sketching book. For his own energy, his own impressions to swirl and spin on a canvas. For a dream city he had tacked above his bed.
A great thunderstorm of sound gushed from the walls. Music bombarded him at such an immense volume that his bones were almost shaken from their tendons; he felt his jaw vibrate, his eyes wobble in his head.
Then faith's paradox is this: that the single individual is higher than the universal, that the single individual determines his relation to the universal through his relation to God, not his relation to God through his relation through the universal...
My thought is that the average adjusted boy is, if anything, more humanly wasted than the disaffected. So let us go on to discuss his stupidity, his lack of patriotism, his sexual confusion, and his lack of faith.
Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you an automobile.
It was difficult to hold Broca's brain without wondering whether in some sense Broca was still there—his wit, his skeptical mien, his abrupt gesticulations when he talked, his quiet and sentimental moments.
When a man loves a woman, as our old troubadours used to say, even if he has heard or seen something that puts his beloved in a bad light, he should believe neither his ears nor his eyes, he should listen to his heart alone.
Daniel's desk by the window is piled high with his drawings. The artwork is everything. He thinks of himself as the act of drawing. His body of work is his life, it is his continuity. The drawings show outwardly that inner place where he is still ali...
Death is someone you see very clearly with eyes in the center of your heart: eyes that see not by reacting to light, but by reacting to a kind of a chill from within the marrow of your own life.
And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself—more birds than women flocking round his body!
I fit my mouth to his and he tastes like water and smells like fresh air. I drag my hand from his neck to the small of his back and put it under his shirt. He kisses me harder.
...then Bony Lizzie walked right past me, knelt by General Stanton, and cut off his thumb bones. I had to remind myself that his cries of pain were just the after-effects of his body since his soul was long gone.
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. The soft melody of his lips was calming. I closed my eyes. I could smell his human skin, his human breath, his human hair, and for the first time, I would give anything to be human too.
He was the most wickedly handsome creature she had ever seen in all her days. His hair was black as night, his stature large, his muscles were etched with precision into his smooth skin, every last ripple chiseled into wicked perfection.
Welcome to His poem. His play. His novel. Skip the bowls of fruit and statues. Let the page flick your thumbs. This is His spoken word.
Her breathing hitched and his all but seized in his lungs for the want of her, the taste of her, the feel of her under his hands. His lips whispered against the curve of hers, where her cheek ended and her very sexy mouth began.
