Brief as the lightning in the collied night; That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth, And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!" The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion.
Evil doesn't die. It never dies. It just takes on a new face, a new name. Just because we've been touched by it once, it doesn't mean we're immune to ever being hurt again. Lightning can strike twice.
It is time to float on the waters of the night. Time to wrap my arms around this book and press it to my chest, life preserver in a sea of unremarkable men and women, anonymous faces on the street, a hundred thousand unalphabetized things, a million ...
A flash of harmless lightning, A mist of rainbow dyes. The burnished sunbeams brightening From flower to flower he flies; While wakes the nodding blossom But just too late to see What lip hath touched her bosom And drained her rosary.
Suddenly finding it hard to breathe. It wasn’t because his grip was too tight, mind you. It was just the sudden proximity. And he smelled so good, the scent of fresh coffee and rain clinging to his skin as he leaned in.
Nice slippers,” Davin grinned. They were green and furry. “Thanks.” I shrugged and looked him over, half expecting to see a new injury. “So what’s up?” He had one hand behind his back.
They say that lightning never strikes in the same place twice, but the same is not true for courage. As it turns out, when courage strikes, it almost always begets more courage.
After your visits, I twisted my blinds shut every night. I locked out the stars and I never saw lightning again. Each night, I simply turned out the lights and went to bed.
As much as I cared about him, I wasn’t a slave to fate. I could choose to ignore my feelings, strong as they were. It would be painful, but no more so than letting myself pine for my friend.
When the moment shifts, and you realize you don't actually want to be alone, that underneath the bravado is an ache that won’t quite fade away, you’re not only aware of how lonely you are, but how much you've been lying to yourself.
It was nice. Even in high school, I’d mostly had makeshift friends forged by the shared status of outcast. It was rare for me to discuss things so easily to someone outside of my family, but somehow Jill got me.
I bundled in my own blanket and reflected on the strange and somewhat unexpected friendship that was slowly developing between Davin and myself. It was clear to me that he needed a friend, but for reasons unknown to me, thought that it was better for...
So Lightning says to Mud, “What would happen if I struck your blood?” And Mud says, “Brother, It would hurt, And make me the mother Of every living thing. But, Fire Boy, you ain’t lifting my grass skirt Until you burn me a ring.
The creative process is not like a situation where you get struck by a single lightning bolt. You have ongoing discoveries, and there's ongoing creative revelations. Yes, it's really helpful to be marching toward a specific destination, but, along th...
Some calamities - the 1929 stock market crash, Pearl Harbor, 9/11 - have come like summer lightning, as bolts from the blue. The looming crisis of America's Ponzi entitlement structure is different. Driven by the demographics of an aging population, ...
Doing a play, you have a little bit more time, obviously. You rehearse for a month before you get up in front of people. It's a totally different energy. With film, TV, you want to try to capture lightning-in-a-bottle moments. I don't try to rehearse...
Johnny: Hey, come on, Barb. Church was this morning. [pause as lightning is seen] Johnny: I mean, prayin's for church. Barbara: I haven't seen you in church lately. Johnny: Well, there's not much sense in my going to church.
I don't know how it happened. Through the din of the crowd, I heard this tiny scream. As small and distant as it was, it was like thunder in my head.' He looked up at me. Some of the blood had drained from his face making the dark circles under his e...
My head seems to be rumbling. Then I realize it’s the sky. It’s thunder. Suddenly, warm raindrops fall on us, spraying us until we’re completely wet. Raffe ignores it and continues to kiss me. We hold each other, pressing tighter and harder tog...
It would seem that, through touch, through kissing, we might have gouged a worm-size channel through which crucial information could pass, sublingual messages, the kind of pre-verbal intimacy that should flow with thunderous force between the bodies ...
Adam stared down at me, his expression thunderous. “It was you. I know it was you.” My head was rocking side to side before I could stop it. “No.” I wrenched my hand free of his. “You’re wrong.” “I’m not!” Anger blazed hot behind ...
