“The breath coming out the nostrils was so faint it stirred only the farthest fringes of life, a small leaf, a black feather, a single fibre of hair.” (Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, page 13)
“All that meets me, all that floods over me are but feelings – greed of life, love of home, yearning for the blood, intoxication of deliverance.” (Erich Maria Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front, page 294)
"It's only now that I realize how I've been holding my breath, hoping for a chance, waiting for a miracle." (Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, page 234)
"Ingres, Cezanne, Picasso paint the world as geometry. Van Gogh, Renoir, Kandinsky, Chagall paint the world as a flower." (My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok; Chapter 9, p. 225)
They plodded along slowly, dumbly, leaning forward against the heat, unthinking, all blood and bone, simple grunts, soldiering with their legs, toiling up the hills and down into the paddies and across the rivers and up again and down, just humping, one step and then the next and then another, but no volition, no will, because it was automatic, it was anatomy, and the war was entirely a matter of posture and carriage, the hump was everything, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire and intellect and conscience and hope and human sensibility.
"She is a tall, languid young lady with a pallid, oval face and beautiful pale-blue-gray eyes; her hands are extraordinary--long-fingered, flexible, nervously elegant."
"But then, in the earliest hours of that morning in November, a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises-on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles."
"I looked down at Sorab. One corner of his mouth had curled up just so. A smile. Lopsided. Harldy there. But there." (Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, page 370)
I could feel my sudden aloneness in my gut, like a punch, i sat back in my chair, dropping my hands from the keyboard, now aware of how empty the room, the house, the neighborhood, the world, was all around me. It was like being on the other side of a frame and seeing the camera pull back, showing me growing smaller, smaller, smaller still until i was just a speck, a spot, a gone.
When Hlavin Kitheri heard that small, high, pure voice, his heart's very rhythm paused, made motionless by beauty. (Mary Doria Russell's Children of God, page 227)
14 comments:
“The breath coming out the nostrils was so faint it stirred only the farthest fringes of life, a small leaf, a black feather, a single fibre of hair.” (Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, page 13)
“All that meets me, all that floods over me are but feelings – greed of life, love of home, yearning for the blood, intoxication of deliverance.” (Erich Maria Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front, page 294)
I stepped into a deserted corridor clogged with too many smells. Carnations, old people, rubbing alcohol, bathroom deodorizer, red Jell-O.(Page 45)
The Secret Life Of Bees By: Sue Mond Kidd
"It's only now that I realize how I've been holding my breath, hoping for a chance, waiting for a miracle." (Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, page 234)
"Ingres, Cezanne, Picasso paint the world as geometry. Van Gogh, Renoir, Kandinsky, Chagall paint the world as a flower."
(My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok; Chapter 9, p. 225)
"He was under every tree, behind every stump, in every bush, at every window on the plantation." (Page 75)
Fredrick Douglas - Narrative of the life of Fredrik Douglas
They plodded along slowly, dumbly, leaning forward against the heat, unthinking, all blood and bone, simple grunts, soldiering with their legs, toiling up the hills and down into the paddies and across the rivers and up again and down, just humping, one step and then the next and then another, but no volition, no will, because it was automatic, it was anatomy, and the war was entirely a matter of posture and carriage, the hump was everything, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire and intellect and conscience and hope and human sensibility.
The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien, page 15
"She is a tall, languid young lady with a pallid, oval face and beautiful pale-blue-gray eyes; her hands are extraordinary--long-fingered, flexible, nervously elegant."
(In Cold Blood, page 69)
"But then, in the earliest hours of that morning in November, a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises-on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles."
(In Cold Blood, page 5)
"Other fish that I could not identify were yellow, brown, silver, blue, red, pink, green, white, in all kinds of combinations..."(Page 176)
Yann Martel: Life of Pi
"I looked down at Sorab. One corner of his mouth had curled up just so. A smile. Lopsided. Harldy there. But there." (Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner, page 370)
Stupid, no? Childish. Naive. Simple. Callow. Or just fundamentally dumb.
Ishmael - Daniel Quinn (4)
I could feel my sudden aloneness in my gut, like a punch, i sat back in my chair, dropping my hands from the keyboard, now aware of how empty the room, the house, the neighborhood, the world, was all around me. It was like being on the other side of a frame and seeing the camera pull back, showing me growing smaller, smaller, smaller still until i was just a speck, a spot, a gone.
Sarah Dessen- the Truth About Forever
pg.58
When Hlavin Kitheri heard that small, high, pure voice, his heart's very rhythm paused, made motionless by beauty. (Mary Doria Russell's Children of God, page 227)
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