On the bright side, I'm sure this isn't the last time you'll ever get firebombed, so maybe you'll have better luck next time.
She kept forcing herself to remember the entire conversation, playing it back and playing it back, all the way through, forcing a finger down her memory's throat.
...Use your finger to trace the scar upon my chest- I lied - it wasn't a knife wound, but a scrape from a nail sliding under a fence to see you...
I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger bowls of champagne and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental and profound.
Whatever the mind can conceive it can achieve; I can CREATE whatever I can IMAGINE!
She had awoken this morning and slipped the amethyst ring off her finger. It had felt liked a blessed release, a final shadow lifted from her heart.
A brick could be fired out of a cannon, in an attempt to bring down a brick wall, just as index fingers could be severed and flicked at politicians, to try to correctly redirect blame.
She waits for his reprimand or words of disapproval. He kisses her instead. Hard. Lips demanding, fingers tightening on her chin. He consumes her with this single act.
Jace snorted so loudly that she turned on him with a frown. He wiggled his mud-caked fingers at her. His nails were black crescents. "Filthy inside and out.
Brains don't really smell, but what's amazing about the brain is that it's almost like scrambled eggs or soft tofu, almost like a gel. The brain controls so much of what we do, but you could put your finger right through it.
It's been amazing to step out of a bottle of ink on to an iPad. There's no better time than right now to embrace this fabulous sandpit of technology. Because intuitively, at the touch of a finger, most of it is possible.
He twirled a finger, the universal symbol for roll down your window -- universal despite the fact that no one had manually rolled down a window in twenty years.
Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
Confidence, darling." He leans across the table and touches a finger to my cheek. "You could learn something from me, you know.
Women writers make for rewarding (and efficient) lovers. They are clever liars to fathers and husbands; yet they never hold their tongues too long, nor keep ardent typing fingers still.
The wedding ring she’s wearing is collar enough,” Jack bit out. “I know. I put it on her finger. You can see that fucking diamond from space.
Yes, it was dangerous, but we are not put into this world, Mr. Burton, to avoid danger when an important fellow creature's life is at stake. You understand me?
Where do one's fears come from? Where do they shape themselves? Where do they hide before coming out into the open?
You’re like this frosting.” She swiped another swirl of it on her finger, stood and leaned forward to touch it to his bottom lip. “Pretty, momentarily pleasurable, but with no real substance or sustenance.
You can cower,” she told them in a clear voice, wrapping her long shaking fingers around the cold iron bars. “But I will stand.
It was as if the future were a treacly adhesive fluid that had been spilt all over the present, so that everything he touched made his fingers too sticky to be of the slightest use.
