In the haunted shade of the Ateneo, her hands wrote a curse on my skin that was to hound me for years.
He was in my nose, my mouth, on my skin, inside my cells, deep in the marrow of my bones. Just then, he was everything to me.
Creativity and ideas fired between every synapse underneath my skin and I felt radiant from the inside out.
I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.
He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked. The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin.
When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?
Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
I live there... Far above the song-filled clouds, where the dewdrops touch my skin so bare I live there.
To see a man slip on a banana skin is to see a rationally structured system suddenly translated into a whirling machine.
Beyond the mask she is witness to his glorious soul. Exposed to the elements, she warms her skin in his light and essence of being.
The city was dark except for the building lights that seemed to appear like sores - like bandaids had been ripped off to expose the city's skin.
The past was dwindling, like something shrinking to a speck in the rear-view mirror, and the future was shining through the windscreen, demanding her full attention.
God, she was beautiful. Hair a tangled mess, clothes torn, lips pale and swollen, skin streaked in dirt. And she was so damn beautiful and flawed and perfect.
Telling Sam and Daneca feels like peeling off my own skin to expose everything underneath. It hurts.
She couldn’t get any farther away inside from her skin. She couldn’t get away.
He was protecting me with just the tips of his fingers, like five miniature copies of his heart touching my skin.
Do you want me to open the window?’ ‘No … I still have your scent on my skin.’ ‘And I have your taste in my mouth.
Miss Masters was not content with threatening to hire away his staff, oh no. First, she had to perfume it.
My werewolf ... my second skin ... When the moon is on the rise, I go naked into night. I am never dressed to kill.
I've had ups and downs with my skin, but after some time, I've learned what works best and what products I need to stay away from.
If I had to model clothes in a time period other than the 21st century, I think I'd like to model way back when they just wore skin loincloths. That would be best suited for me - better than corsets. I'm quite claustrophobic.
