My life will be measured in years; his will be measured in memories. I'm determined that whatever time we have together will never fade from his mind.
We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
An intellectual is some one who isn't exactly distinguished by his intellect. He claims that label to compensates for his inadequacies.
He still smiles all the time, but now his smiles look like they're made out of water, about to drip down his face.
In his late forties, an age when men settle to comforts and seek a firm base, Paul began his roughest travels.
His (Paul's) entire personality within mutation. He was being turned inside out as he led Jesus light the recesses of his soul.
For what is the amount of all his prayers, but an attempt to make the Almighty change his mind, and act otherwise than he does? .
He puts his arm around me, the lights dancing on his dark skin constantly skipping across to mine, planting a myriad of emotions into each pore as if preparing my heart for tilling.
But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Ab figured that the chance of his recognising it would be about the same as a burglar recognising a dollar watch that happened to get caught for a minute on his vest button five years ago
Anyone who conceives of writing as an agreeable stroll towards a middle-class life-style will never write anything but crap.
It might seem that the empirical philosopher is the slave of his material, but that the pure mathematician, like the musician, is a free creator of his world of ordered beauty.
Sky, wait.” The way his voice wraps around my name makes me wish the only word in his entire vocabulary way Sky.
A man, whilst he is dreaming, believes in his dream; he is undeceived only when he is awakened from his slumber.
I'm a fucking coward." "Maybe." Craw jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Whirrun's corpse. "There's a hero. Tell me who's better off.
If one does not get it into his head from the very beginning that the world is full of unseemly situations, for the most part his demeanour will be poor and he will not be believed by others.
He realised he was in a chair. The world was white and blurry in half his vision, and it took him a few moments to realise a sheet of paper was stuck to his face.
He inclined his head ever so slightly, displaying with his bearing the supreme confidence, even arrogance, that is the sole providence of cats, dragons, and certain highborn women.
Nick rubbed his hand across his face as he tried to make sense of her prattle. But that was the thing about Simi. She seldom made sense.
On the beach, Roran stood alone, watching them go. Then he threw back his head and uttered a long, aching cry, and the night echoed with the sound of his loss.
He perched the bat on his shoulder, giving a nod that he understood I needed his help. With one loud yell and a couple swings of the bat, he cleared me another path.
