God, this kiss. It was the kind she'd remember forever, that would invade her dreams and haunt her in quiet moments. The kind her older self could look back on and know, once, she'd really lived. The kind that, no matter what, she could never, ever r...
My name is Mr Bread." He began writing his name neatly on the board. "But you can call me Peter." Suddenly there was quiet, as thirty little brains whirred. "Pita Bread!" proclaimed a ginger-haired boy from the back.
My advice to the reader approaching a poem is to make the mind still and blank. Let the poem speak. This charged quiet mimics the blank space ringing the printed poem, the nothing out of which something takes shape.
I gave three quiet cheers for Minnesota. In Seattle a dusty inch of anything white and chilly means the city lapses into full-on panic mode, as if each falling flake crashes to earth with its own individual baggie of used hypodermic needles. It’s r...
Though Trish and her bad boy types weren't exactly Kindra's style, she had to agree that Violet went for quiet and uninteresting. Sort of like mild salsa. Why even bother? You'd be better off just biting a tomato.
A blanket could be used to keep your body warm. After all, your body starts cooling off rapidly once you die. But don’t worry, I’ll bury you someplace quiet, someplace sacred, someplace so secret the cops will never think to look there.
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.
God requires solitude and quiet – this is part of the way He instructs us to pray to Him. We are obligated through our Love to worship Him as He sees fit. This is not the law. This is the language of Love: we love Him in the way He chooses for us t...
I only wanted absolute quiet to think out why I had developed a sad attitude toward sadness, a melancholy attitude toward melancholy and a tragic attitude toward tragedy — why I had become identified with the objects of my horror or compassion.
Silence can bring us into alignment with our thoughts and feelings and help us to hear the quiet spiritual voice of our intuition.
I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure, and it's very difficult to find anyone.' 'I should think so, in these parts. We're plain, quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things, they make you late for din...
When she quieted the jet engine buzz of worries assaulting her brain, when she stopped thinking altogether and just felt, she knew this was right. Feeling the silence of peace and conviction was so foreign to her she wasn't even sure what to do with ...
[Razo] knocked, peered inside, then jumped and shut the door, quiet as brushing two feathers together. He smiled at his own stealth, then swaggered right into a chair, banging it against the wall. . He cut short his swagger and began to move with exa...
A modern hospital is like Grand Central Station—all noise and hubbub, and is filled with smoking physicians, nurses, orderlies, patients and visitors. Soft drinks are sold on each floor and everybody guzzles these popular poisons. The stench of che...
Memory offers up its gifts only when jogged by something in the present. It isn't a storehouse of fixed images and words, but a dynamic associative network in the brain that is never quiet and is subject to revision each time we retrieve an old pictu...
His men had begun gathering the wounded or stunned into a small group some distance back up the slope. Here and there an animal or human stirred, but not many. There were few cries of pain or fear now. Mostly, it was eerily quiet. Even the insects ha...
Silence is downright noisy when you’re a loud thinker like I am. Alone and quiet, it’s like a networking event in my mind all the time.
I heard the silence pouring from them. The audience held themselves quiet, tense, and tight, as if the song had burned them worse than flame. Each person held their wounded selves closely, clutching their pain as if it were a precious thing.
There was our father, the heart we knew held all of us. Held us heavily and desperately, the doors of his heart opening and closing with the rapidity of stops on an instrument, the quiet felt closures, the ghostly fingering, practice and practice and...
I've felt sometimes like I'd be less trouble if I'd just sit back and be quiet. But dreams are too important. We can't just let our dreams dry up and die, because then our hearts would break.
In our land of opportunities and distractions, it's hard to devote our attention to the quiet pleasures of reading. It's as if we live our lives in a noisy restaurant and can't have the intimate conversation we most yearn for.
