I knitted a sweater to look like a swimming bird, and pretty soon the whole world looked like it tasted like duck soup. My love is coffee-shaped and without chug.
Her breathing hitched and his all but seized in his lungs for the want of her, the taste of her, the feel of her under his hands. His lips whispered against the curve of hers, where her cheek ended and her very sexy mouth began.
How the soldiers had lain, slain and forgotten, no marker for their demise, no songs to their name, not even mourners who knew them. That is the end of battle, and once a man has tasted it, how hesitant he is to lift another spoonful to his lips.
My toothpaste tastes like baloney, so I brush my teeth with wheat bread. Guess what flavor my love is, and what kind of mechanical apparatus I use to make it.
Housewife: a position requiring great ambition to fill. Must have the determination to scrub mold, the good taste to distribute a checking account, and the good will to repeat this at a maid service or department store after her husband starts coming...
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember the taste of her and the feel of her and the smell of her. She was quite lovely. She was altogether ravishing. She would set any man's blood on fire. He shouldn't have kissed her.
What's it like feeling the smooth heat of that arm, tracing the supernatural muscles bunched in his arms and chest, teasing anyone with a pulse and hormones to lick their way down the divots and planes of that skin, to unbutton the leather shielding ...
To Alef, the letter that begins the alphabets of both Arabic and Hebrew- two Semitic languages, sisters for centuries. May we find the language that takes us to the only home there is - one another's hearts. ... Alef knows That a thread Of a story St...
From the front Rdar announces, "Don't you go talking bad about GoFast bars. Do you want me to stop this car?" "Whenever I eat a GoFast bar," Ben says, "I'm always like, 'So this is what blood tastes like to mosquitoes.
I planted a kamikaze kiss on Jamie’s cheek. “FUCK,” he shouted, wiping it off. “What if you killed me!” He threw a Skittle at my face. It hit my forehead. “Ow!” “Taste the rainbow bitch.
Maybe I should be still; accept my fate. But I have tasted freedom, known love – I have had choice and learnt what it is to have a human heart, not just a compliant one.
Iced tea! Nothing is half so refreshing as a glass of black tea piled high with ice! More than a quencher of thirst, it is a tamer of tempers, a lifter of lethargy, and a brightener of smiles. It is a taste of Winter’s chill, magically trapped in m...
In the Tunnel of Desire, past the Tube of Destiny, lies the Turtle of Doubt. We all have to face that turtle, but only the confident ones ever find out that doubt tastes like chicken.
He invaded my consciousness in the same way the ocean washes up on the beach, with sweeping tides of longing and regret, and with such power and raw force, I often woke with the taste of salt from my tears clinging to my skin." Joanna about Ben
They would think she was savoring the taste (blueberries, cinnamon, cream-excellent), but she was actually savoring the whole morning, trying to catch it, pin it down, keep it safe before all those precious moments became yet another memory.
In our minds we can proceed without hesitation to the place we might never go in our own lives. There is an opportunity to taste the forbidden and savor its sweet delights. It is only within our imaginations that we can enter into these situations wi...
After eating the world's bread, we wake each morning to remember: We are still hungry. Seek a better loaf. Eat, and never die. Taste, savor, and be filled forever.
Personally, I like to imagine the Godhead dancing it a rhythm of its own, something even grander than a waltz, touching, tasting, smelling, seeing, and hearing, creating wonder after wonder, and when it's finished, looking upon the handiwork and sayi...
...the more a human creature has tasted of bitter things the more it hungers after the sweet things of life. And we, wrapped round in rags of our virtues, and regarding others through the mist of our self-sufficiency, and persuaded of our universal i...
Maybe being oneself is an acquired taste. For a writer it's a big deal to bow--or kneel or get knocked down--to the fact that you are going to write your own books and not somebody else's. Not even those books of the somebody else you thought it was ...
Naismith: The Gate was found inside a spaceship buried at the foot of Mount Snowden. It was moved to an institute known as Torchwood. But when Torchwood fell.... Let's just say I acquired it. The Master: I like you. Naismith: Thank you. The Master: Y...
