When i believe in everything, I could not see the actors semicircled around a studio microphone flipping the pages of scripts in unison. I only heard the voices, resonant, electric, adult, accusing each other of murder.
It is supposed that power corrupts,' the caterpillar said in a voice as untroubled as time itself. "yet the powerful are often corrupt before they are powerful. In fact, I find that they too often become powerful by being corrupt. Whether real or per...
She bit her lower lip hard and blinked her eyes. There was such wistfulness and longing in his voice. Oh, she was going to give him back his eyes, or the next best thing, if it took her the rest of her life to do it.
Go home now,” says I. “Keep away from the saloons. Save your money. You are going to need it.” “What are we going to need it for?” asks a voice from the crowd. “For guns and ammunition,” says I.
By the time she had interpreted Harry's dreams at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic toward her.
A pause followed my greeting. Then “We’re watching you ” whispered the voice on the other end. “Yeah? Did you see what I did with my keys? ” Silence. Then dial tone. These younger demons. So easily discouraged.
Um," Doc said in a mild voice, "medically speaking, I'm not sure that was the most helpful thing for his condition." "But I feel better," Jared answered, sullen. Doc smiled the tiniest smile. "Well, maybe a few more minutes of unconsciousness won't k...
But always there was the voice at the back of his head telling him that by joining the Rebellion he’d become less of a rebel than he’d ever been. Flying off to assault yet another impossibly well-defended Imperial stronghold. It was getting to be...
I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. (Psalms 116:1-2 NIV)
You have seven writers in your basement?” Donald nods, signing, “They like it here. There’s a poet, a couple of novelists, an opera librettist, an essay writer . . . . They don’t usually make much trouble.
I had a dream about you. You were the voice of Michael Phelps, and I was an Olympic swimming pool. You speak sexier when your words are wearing Speedos.
The most important thing I learned is that to be truly happy, you've got to pay attention to that stupid inner voice we all have. It knows what you need and will drive you shit crazy until you listen to it.
It always starts out that way," Kanin said, and his voice was distant, as if remembering. "Noble intentions, honor among new vampires. Vows to not harm humans, to take only what is needed, to not hunt them like sheep through the night.
You know what I regret the most?” Trinity says, her voice just above a whisper. I don’t answer. All I can think about is how crappy it is that my fourteen-year-old sister already has regrets.
I needed her to stop. Needed not to hear the pain in her voice--to see the way she was twisting the pocketbook strap. If she kept talking, she might break down and tell me everything.
Learn to say to the abuser in a firm voice, "Stop it." Do not explain yourself, your needs, or what you mean. Simply call a halt to the abuse, and let that be your final word.
Jack’s face was now buried in his hands, his elbows still on his knees, and he hunched as he fisted his hair. “Ezra?” Evidence of his anguish to come was unmistakable in the catch of his voice. Ezra’s was solid. “Yes?” “Don’t let me k...
You know," he said, his voice making me feel cold in spite of the heat, "this city can get ahold of you and pull you back no matter how hard you try to climb out. Like a grave.
And I watched the first man I ever kissed walk away from me forever. My heart full of nothing but regret, my brain full of nothing but reassurance that I was making the right choice, and my voice, completely void of any will to call him back.
Let's make this a slow ride, shall we?" The deep purr of her voice brought a sassy grin to his face. The long slant of his eyes grew languid. "You have the reins, cher. You can whip me with them if you like.
The nature of poems Is a matter of words and deeds An intimate encounter of voice In the ache of the heart In the labor of breathing A hesitant casting of eyes Away from the mundane to see That delicate and shiny thing In the oddly prosaic rock pile ...
