Anything happening,” she whispered. “Aside from you blundering about like a lost elephant?” he asked, in the same low tone. She nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Aside from that.
Mind you, Thunder Bay has a lot of outskirts. It's actually two cities melded together, so in a sense it has twice as many outskirts as other places. It's understandable that we got lost....
…he glanced over his shoulder at her, regarding her, as he often did before they made love, as if she were a lost continent about to be rediscovered.
We have a very precise image - an image at times shameless - of what we have lost, but we are ignorant of what may follow or replace it.
The answer to our prayer may be coming, although we may not discern its approach. A seed that is underground during winter, although hidden and seemingly dead and lost, is nevertheless taking root for a later spring and harvest.
I have this recurring nightmare where I'm lost in a strange forest, and my only hope is your sense of direction. Enough to give a fellow the sweats, it is.
Her vision of the world under the water represented a beautiful stillness, a version of heaven. It was the lost city of Lena, her alternate universe, the life she yearned for but didn't get to have.
There is a core difference between sharing the gospel with the lost and imposing a specific moral standard on the unconverted.
If we knew how to find the lost, we would know how to rediscover the parts of our minds left behind in battle.
She used to write all the time,' Elizabeth explained, 'before she lost all that weight. Remember? When she was the butt of everyone’s jokes instead of the girl all the boys want to date?
When you feel lost turn towards love. Become a seeker of beauty in all things.
We had found nothing, and had been lost several times already in one morning, so this was shaping up into a top travel experience.
Art was my little private pleasure. Nobody had seen my art, not even my parents. Andy didn't know about it. My dream was to become a publisher, not an artist lost in New York.
My investigative technique mostly consisted of going through the list of interested parties and making as much noise as possible, until the culprit lost his patience and tried to shut me up.
A sense of mission lost in ink's jagged outcrops. I was trying to tell myself what I must have known before in a form I wouldn't recognize at first.
It's okay to talk about it. Death is so normal, I don't know why everyone gets so hung up about it. We all have to deal with it. Most people that you talk to have lost someone, but nobody talks about it.
And I wasn’t playing a role – I was trying to be myself. But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that ‘myself’ somewhere between two perfectly performed roles...
Our love is secret, like the location of the lost Templar Treasure. Quick, grab a shovel and help me look for it.
But that's just it; I can either focus on what I have lost, or what I have gained, and I choose the latter.
Wriggling around, two fingers deep in my back end like some teenage boy unsure what he should be tugging at inside his girlfriend’s nether region I wrestled a fifty free.
My father said it was a delightfully odd - and dangerously self-destructive - quirk of humans that we were far more interested in pointless trivia then in genuine news stories.
