Eyes So Low Famous Quotes & Sayings
83 Eyes So Low Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
I meant to resist your charms; I really did.I wasn't going to do this."— Nora Roberts
Alan took her wrist, guiding her hand over so that he could press a kiss to the palm. "Make love with me?"
"No." Shelby's gaze traveled from his mouth to his eyes. "Be in love with you."
She felt his fingers tighten on her wrist, then loosen slowly as his eyes stayed dark and fixed on hers. Beneath her, she felt the change in his heartbeart. "And are you?"
"Yes." The word, hardly audible, thundered in his head.
Alan brought her to him, cradling her head against his chest, feeling her low slow expulsion of air as his arm came around her. He hadn't expected her to give him so much so soon. "When?"
"When?" Shelby repeated, enjoying the solid feel of his chest under her cheek. "Sometime between when we first stepped out on the Write's terrace and when I opened a basket of strawberries."
"It took you that long? All I had to do was look at you.
Policemen and security guards wear hats with a peak that comes down low over their eyes. Apparently this is for psychological reasons. Eyebrows are very expressive and you appear a lot more authoritative if you keep them covered up. The advantage of this is that it makes a lot harder for cops to see anything more than six foot off the ground. Which is why painting rooftops and bridges is so easy.— Banksy
The man who now confronted Gashford, was a squat, thickset personage, with a low, retreating forehead, a coarse shock head of hair, and eyes so small and near together, that his broken nose alone seemed to prevent their meeting and fusing into one of the usual size.— Charles Dickens
He dropped his voice, so low that Tessa wasn't sure if what he said next was real or part of the dream darkness rising to claim her, though she— Cassandra Clare
fought against it.
"I've never minded it," he went on. "Being lost, that is. I had always thought one could not be truly lost if one knew one's own heart. But I fear I may
be lost without knowing yours." He closed his eyes as if he were bone-weary, and she saw how thin his eyelids were, like parchment paper, and
how tired he looked. "Wo ai ni, Tessa," he whispered. "Wo bu xiang shi qu ni."
She knew, without knowing how she knew, what the words meant.
I love you.
And I don't want to lose you.
I know I'm the one who put limits on this ... this thing," she said, and bit her lower lip, suddenly nervous. "But I'm pretty sure we're not quite done with each other."— Jill Shalvis
He looked at her for what felt like a long time. "You want another night."
Still unable to take her eyes off his mouth, she didn't muzzle herself. "I want as long as it takes."
He cupped her jaw, lifting her head up so that she was looking into his eyes again. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"What makes you think I can't keep it?"
"Because you seem to like things one night at a time," he said in that low, sexy voice. "But no way is one more night going to be enough.
I've never been so tied to a place, to a person. Until you. But," she said when his eyes began to shutter, "it's the way I want it. I want to be tied to you."— Jill Shalvis
He studied her for a long moment and then his lips curved.
"You're picturing it, aren't you," she said drily. "Me tied."
"To my bed," he said on a low laugh. "Yeah, a little bit. But mostly I'm liking knowing that you're tied to my heart.
What are you looking at, Matthias?" The low thrum of her voice vibrated straight through him.— Leigh Bardugo
He kept his eyes on the ceiling, whispering softly. "Nothing."
"Matthias, are you praying?"
"Possibly."
"For restraint?" she said sweetly.
"You really are a witch."
"I'm not proper, Matthias."
"I am aware of this." Miserably, keenly, hungrily aware.
"And I'm sorry to inform you, but you're not proper either."
His gaze dropped to her now. "I - "
"How many rules have you broken since you met me? How many laws? They won't be the last. Nothing about us will ever be proper," she said. She tilted her face up to his. So close now it was as if they were already touching. "Not the way we met. Not the life we lead. And not the way we kiss.
Loving You— Lang Leav
I saw him the other day. His arms around another girl, his eyes when met with mine - were low in their recognition.
I wonder if he remembers what I once told him.
I will love you forever.
He had smiled at me sadly before giving his reply.
But I am so afraid you may one day stop.
Now all these years later, I am the one who is afraid. Because I love him, I still do. I haven't stopped, I don't think I can. I don't think I ever will.
Rebecca uttered a low dry laugh, not facetiously, but more like a stitch coming apart at the seam. A wound opened. Her eyes were opening to a world she had denied for so long. She looked up at Frank and knew, just like in the books, hatred, real hatred is a Gollum that hides under the mountain of our hearts. It buries itself deep underground where no light can touch. And it waits. Rebecca thought of Tolkien and Bilbo and Frodo and that old grey wizard, she thought that maybe they were right. Perhaps "there are older and fouler things in the deep places of the world - in the deep places of our hearts." And as she sat on the floor with Tom Johnson's Glock aimed at her husband's head, Rebecca looked into the space where his eyes should have been. She looked at what was now only darkness and felt something on the other side, something not her husband, looking back.— Thomas S. Flowers
I figured we could just be friends, you know?" His voice was low and throaty as he added, "No harm in that, right?" He shook his head as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes before running them up through his hair. His eyes flew open, but they were bleary and unfocused. "But every time I talk to you, I like you more and more, and every time I see you ... . it's so fucking hard, Leah.— Priscilla Glenn
But when Bethany came into class, her dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her graceful neck, he may have stopped breathing again. A thousand charming words strung together in his head in a nanosecond, but he averted his eyes to his empty notebook. Notes? Who really took notes in class? Dawson wanted to see if she would talk to him first. God, he was like a teenage girl. He was so screwed.— Jennifer L. Armentrout
Was it possible that he she'd entered his dream now?— Tessa Dare
If so, she couldn't help but wonder what they were doing in there.
His fingers flexed, squeezing her backside backside "Clio," he groaned.
Something good it would seem.
With a low moan, he snaked his arm around her waist, and a small contraction of his muscles drew her close. "Clio."
"Yes, Rafe?"
Green eyes snapped open. "Clio?"
In a heartbeat, he was on the far side of the bed
as close as he could get to the edge of the mattress without falling off.
Xander wears a lazy smile - looks bored. As if he sensed me watching, his gaze cuts to me, the smile vanishing from his face. His dark eyes seize hold of me.— Sophie Jordan
"Turn around."
My pulse jackknifes against my throat at the deep voice. I look back at Will.
His lips barely moved as he speaks. "Trust me. You don't want to be one of the girls Xander notices. It never goes well for them."
"I've hardly spoken to him. I don't think he - "
"I noticed you."
A dark thrill races through me. I wipe damp palms on my jeans.
He laughs then. Low and soft. An unhappy sound. "So, yeah. He noticed you." His lips twist. "Sorry about that.
As the thing came closer, what was left of Nick's body became revealed and I could see how the dead boy's eyes had bled from the trauma inflicted upon him; they dripped with steady succession onto the floor between his splayed legs. He looked like a rejected marionette tossed haphazardly in the corner by a frustrated puppeteer, his head drooping so low that his chin rested against his chest. His motionless arms lay at his sides, both of them squeezed into tight fists, as if he'd died futilely trying to defend himself.— J. Tonzelli
We cannot know his legendary head— Rainer Maria Rilke
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,
gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:
would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
Suddenly, Lisa pulled her face out of the water and her legs started flailing, the long flippers on her feet dropping so low their movement raised sand from the ocean floor. Hank lifted his head to check on her.— Elle Rush
"What's wrong?"
"Holy crap," she sputtered. She stared at him with wide blue eyes. "I think I found Nemo!
Maybe he sees it on my face, that fraction of a second when— Lauren Oliver
I let my guard down, because in that moment his expression softens and his eyes
go bright as flame and even though I barely see him move, suddenly he has
closed the space between us and he's wrapping his warm hands over my
shoulders - fingers so warm and strong I almost cry out - and saying, "Lena. I
like you, okay? That's it. That's all. I like you." His voice is so low and hypnotic
it reminds me of a song. I think of predators dropping silently from trees: I think
of enormous cats with glowing amber eyes, just like his.
He got up and walked out to the road. The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then the distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable shifting out there in the dark. The earth itself contracting with the cold. It did not come again. What time of year? What age the child? He walked out into the road and stood. The silence. The salitter drying from the earth. The mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to the waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small pen knife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt.— Cormac McCarthy
Any of us, except in our dreams, truly expect to be reunited with our hearts' deepest loves, even when they leave us only for minutes, and on the most mundane of errands? No, not at all. Each time they go from our sight we in our secret hearts count them as dead. Having been given so much, we reason, how could we expect not to be brought as low as Lucifer for the staggering presumption of our love? So Eddie didn't expect her to answer until she did - from another world, and through a single thickness of wood. "Eddie? Sugar, is it you?" Eddie's head, which had seemed perfectly normal only seconds before, was suddenly too heavy to hold up. He leaned it against the door. His eyes were similarly too heavy to hold open and so he closed them. The weight must have— Stephen King
It doesn't eat meat." I said. "It's a herbivore. It's like a big cow."— Patrick Rothfuss
Denna looked at me and started to laugh. Not hysterical laughter, but the helpless laughter of someone who's just heard something so funny they can't help but bubble over with it. She put her hands over her mouth and shook with it, the only sound was a low huffing that escaped through her fingers.
There was another flash of blue fire from below. Denna froze midlaugh, then took her hands away from her mouth. She looked at me, her eyes wide, and spoke softly with a slight quaver in her voice, "Mooooo.
Galen stowed the goblets behind a curtain and walked up to twitch the hem of Rose's shawl. She gasped and looked around.— Jessica Day George
"Hello," Galen said in a low voice. "Would you like to dance?"
"So you're Pansy's good spirit?"
"I am."
"Your voice sounds familiar." Her eyes sparkled. "Could you pretend to snore, so that I could make sure?
Time for a new tactic. "Kieran, you may be paranoid, selfish, and pretty much heartless, but I didn't think you were a coward." I steeled myself to face his rage.— Sharon Hinck
Instead, his shoulders moved, and he coughed. The cough changed into a low chuckle. Finally, he was laughing so hard that he had to wipe his eyes.
I gave him my fiercest frown.
He looked over and started laughing again.
"That was-" he coughed and shook his head. "That was a good try. Really. You're learning. The glare needs a little work, though.
The Greenland fjords are peculiar for the spells of completely quiet weather, when there is not enough wind to blow out a match and the water is like a sheet of glass. The kayak hunter must sit in his boat without stirring a finger so as not to scare the shy seals away. Actually, he can only move his eyes, as even the slightest move otherwise might mean game lost. The sun, low in the sky, sends a glare into his eyes, and the landscape around moves into the realm of the unreal. The reflex from the mirror-like water hypnotizes him, he seems to be unable to move, and all of a sudden it is as if he were floating in a bottomless void, sinking, sinking, and sinking.... Horror-stricken, he tries to stir, to cry out, but he cannot, he is completely paralyzed, he just falls and falls.— Peter Freuchen
I had no money, no food, no prospects, no contacts. Eating was my first priority, and for that, one usually needs money, and so lo and behold I had a goal in sight. I collected cans and bottles, scrounged parking lots and sidewalks, my head held low and eyes intent on the ground instead of where I was going. Vending machines and pay phones sometimes gave up their treasures in the form of change people had forgotten to collect. They're not what I'd call jackpots, but finding a dollar here and a dollar there is a lot when you have nothing.— R. Canepa
Part of me believes there is little hope for those like him, who have become as base as the men they associate with. But there's another part of me that will search this land high and low once we are settled in our second homeland and bring them back to us, where they belong."— Melina Marchetta
He felt her stare but did not turn and look. Did not want those eyes reaching into him.
"So you are destined to spend the rest of your life scouring this land? Who are you, to deserve such a curse?" she asked.
One who has an evil lurking inside of me, he wanted to say. An evil that Seranonna of the Forest Dwellers recognized that day in the forest as he played alongside Isaboe.
Her blood will be shed for you to be king.
I am not in the habit of explaining myself. I have made a concession to you in doing so. Choose now how you will proceed."— Christine Feehan
I refuse your claim on me, she answered in the only way he allowed her to communicate. I will take my refusal to our people and plead with them for the mercy you evidently don't have in you. I will not be tied to you!
He bent over her, a dark, imposing figure exuding power. His silver eyes glittered at her. "Hear me, Savannah. If you believe nothing else about me, believe this. You belong to me, with me. No one will ever attempt to take you from me and live.No one." His voice was low,beautiful,and all the more deadly for it.
Her violet gaze was held captive by his pale one.She believed him. And not even her father,the Prince of their people, had a chance of destroying him.
Now see here, Guy," said the voice, "you're not dealing with any dumb two-bit trigger pumping morons with low hair-lines, little piggy eyes and no conversation, we're a couple of intelligent caring guys that you'd probably quite like if you met us socially! I don't go around gratuitously shooting people and then bragging about it afterward in seedy space-rangers bars, like some cops I could mention! I go around shooting people gratuitously and then I agonize about it afterward for hours to my girlfriend!"— Douglas Adams
"And I write novels!" chimed in the other cop. "Though I haven't had any of them published yet, so I better warn you, I'm in a meeeean mood!
She wasn't made to be alone."— Susan Ee
"I guess none of us are."
Our eyes meet and an electric tingle runs through me.
"She missed you," I say in a whisper.
"Did she?" His voice is a soft caress. His gaze into my eyes is so intense that I swear he sees straight into my soul.
"Yes." Warmth flushes my cheeks. I ... "She thought about you all the time."
The candlelight flickers a soft glow along his jawline, along his lips. "I hated losing her." His voice is a low growl. "I hadn't realized just how attached I'd gotten." He reaches and moves a strand of wet hair out of my face. "How dangerously addictive she could be.
Let me inform you of something," he says in a low voice. "The moment my lips touch yours, it will be your first kiss. Because if you've never felt anything when someone's kissed you, then no one's ever really kissed you. Not the way I plan on kissing you."— Colleen Hoover
He drops his hands and keeps his eyes locked on mine while he backs up to the stove.
He turns around to tend to the pasta like he didn't just ruin me for any other guy for the rest of my life.
I can't feel my legs, so I do the only thing I can. I slide down the refrigerator until my butt meets the floor and I inhale.
Debbie Downer was one of the few sketches where I broke, and I remember watching Heratio Sanz laugh so hard that tears squirted out of his eyes. I still believe that sketch may be a cure for low-level depression if watched regularly.— Amy Poehler
How Low am I, thou painted Maypole? Speak:— William Shakespeare
How Low am I? I am not yet so Low
But that my Nails can reach unto thine Eyes
He's that senior offensive lineman I told you about who's coming off the injured reserve list. Anyway, Coach is concerned that he won't be ready to play at full--"— Barbie Bohrman
Mimi drops her head on the bar and starts to snore out loud. Very loud. So loud that a couple of patrons stop and stare at us.
"Mimi," I say in a low voice, "what the hell?"
She pops her head back up and rubs her eyes as if she just woke up from a catnap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Katy. I was just so bored I fell right to sleep while you were talking about sports. Again. For like the millionth time.
No, no, let us think with consideration, and consider with acknowledging, and acknowledge with admiration, and admire with love, and love with joy in the midst of all woes ; let us in such sort think, I say, that our poor eyes were so enriched as to behold, and our low hearts so exalted as to love, a maid who is such, that as the greatest thing the world can show is her beauty, so the least thing that may be praised in her is her beauty.— Philip Sidney
Confronting a stadium audience, you can't see the whites of their eyes. It's just an amorphous mass of noise and, of course, you can't see the alleged billions watching at home either, so the degree to which you are intimidated is quite low.— Rowan Atkinson
A jaw like a mastiff's, a frame like a giant's, eyes like two daggers, a smile like a tiger's snarl,"Bernard murmured.— Georgette Heyer
"Aye, he is all that!!" Master Herbert said."A murrain be on him! And when I came to him,what did I do? I did bow in all politeness, yet stiffly withal to show him I'd not brook his surliness."
"I did hear ye did bow so low that your head came below your knees,"Bernard said.
His hands lay flat on either side of him, his arms at his sides. He seemed barely to be breathing; she wasn't sure she was breathing herself. She slid her own hand across the bedsheet, just far enough that their fingers touched-so lightly that she would have probably hardly been aware of it had she been touching anyone but Jace; as it was, the nerve endings in her fingertips pricked softly, as if she were holding them over a low flame. She felt him tense beside her and then relax. He had shut his eyes, and his lashes cast fine shadows against the curve of his cheekbones. His mouth curled into a smile as if he sensed her watching him, and she wondered how he would look in the morning, with his hair messed and sleep circles under his eyes. Despite everything, the thought gave her a jolt of happiness.— Cassandra Clare
She laced her fingers through his. "Good night," she whispered. With their hands clasped like children in a fairy tale, she fell asleep beside him in the dark.
The long lids of her eyes closed halfway, like a basking cat's, but the smile remained on that wide, soft mouth - those lips that hurt, then healed. The light glowed in her skin, bronzed the tiny brown mole beneath her right ear. He could have watched her forever, but the match was burning low. Just before the flame touched his fingers, she leaned forward and blew it out. And in the smoke-wisped dark, whispered in his ear, "The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. So there.— Diana Gabaldon
You have exciting eyes,Becca. Too dark to read, which cloaks you in mystery. Pink would offset that, don't you think?"— Johanna Lindsey
How was she supposed to think a'tall?! Her pulse was racing out of control. She could even feel him pushing himself against her hips!
"If we really were alone right now, I think I'd have to lift your skirt."
Whispered in his low,masculine voice near her ear, the outrageous remark made her draw in her breath so sharply she almost choked. It completely saved her and brought her to her sense.He'd stepped back as she coughed. She swung around, glaring at him, and was met with a cheeky grin.
"Will you throw yarn at me if I kiss you again?" he asked with a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
You haven't seen my resume," Gary objected. "I'm not looking to charity."— Christine Feehan
The silver eyes glinted, a brief, hard humor. "I had your formula inside my body, Gary. That was all the proof of your genius I needed. The society had access to that blood for some time before you did, but none of them were able to come up with anything that worked on us."
"Great,I get that dubious pleasure. Someday you're going to introduce me to one of your friends and you can say, 'By the way,this is the one who invented the poision that is killing our people.'"
Gregori did laugh then,a low, husky sound so pure, it was beautiful to hear. It brought a lightness into gary's heart, dispelling the gloom that had been gathering. "I never thought of that. We might get a few interesting reactions."
Gary found himself grinning sheepishly. "Yeah,like a lynching party with me as the guest of honor.
When Jed comes in and gives you that look where his forehead wrinkles up and his chin drops so low that his baggy eyes can't even look you square in your eyes, well, I guess you realize that it must be your turn to get out into the winter snow and round up the midgets.— Jarod Kintz
convocation. 'Impossibility is an inherent part of nature, an ancient beast. It instils fear in your heart. Yet, you have to accept it, embrace it. It'll be a terrible experience, mind you. But you need to bear it and then forget it. Just put a number on that piece of memory and lock it in a closet inside your mind. What's that number, you might ask. Well, it's the probability. Of you succeeding, against all odds. And it will be low, very low. That's why you need to hide it from your eyes. Just remember that your probability of succeeding is never zero. Once you have done that, use every quantum of energy available in your body to achieve what people so fondly call as the impossible. You can do it. I know that. And the day you do, you'll realize that the number didn't matter at all.— Uday Satpathy
~Posters with torn edges hanging from rotten walls~— Dave Matthes
The doctor told me something once
she said
STOP DRINKING
I slapped her across the face with this
NO
I walked right out of that office
went right down to the hole
I told the bartender
WHISKEY, MOTHERFUCKER
he poured and he poured
and I slapped my money down on that bar
the man I had been driving around with
he just sort of sat there next to this hooker
she probably had something rotten
way down there between her legs
her eyes told of no soul
I emptied the bottle down my throat
and ordered some chips
the bartender told me
THEY'RE STALE
and I give him a
I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE,
GIVE ME SOMETHIN'
He slid me a ham sandwich dripping with cheap low-fat mayo and said
ENJOY
I went back to my room
and talked all night
so much conversation
it turned the toilet bowl pale
The mere thought of the Chosen female made him close his eyes and falter his feet on the stairs.— J.R. Ward
But then he threw off the sting. 'Cuz it was either that or go into a black-hole tailspin. The good news? He'd spent a lot of time over the last nine months trying to pull his mind, his emotions, his soul off the topic of Selena.
So he was used to this kind of power lifting.
Unfortunately, she remained a constant preoccupation, as if he had a low-level fever that dogged him no matter how much he slept and attempted to eat right.
And on some nights, it was a lot more than preoccupation - which was why he'd had to leave the Brotherhood mansion at times and crash back at his condo at the Commodore.
After all, bonded males could be dangerous, and the fact that he wasn't with her - and shouldn't be - meant absolutely nothing to that side of him. Especially when she was feeding fighters who could not, for whatever reason, take their mates' veins.
It was straight-up crazy.
Someone should sing, Silver thinks, and then someone does-a low, somewhat hoarse man's voice singing "Amazing Grace" quietly but with great sincerity. Ruben's eyes grow wide, and almost in the same instant that it occurs to Silver that "Amazing Grace" is not sung at Jewish funerals, he recognizes the singing voice as his own.— Jonathan Tropper
But Mrs. Zeiring is looking at him, not with anger or surprise, but a strange half-smile, and he decides that the only thing worse than spontaneously breaking into a Christian hymn at a Jewish funeral while dressed for a wedding would be to not finish it. So he does ...
Madam, if some doddering ancient viewed you this moment, 'twould surely send his heart into its final palpitations." The corners of her mouth lifted in a soft smile. "You tease, Stuart. I am just a simple maid." A low chuckle came from the leather helm. "Aye, so simple that when that darling, pampered child, Claudia, first sets eyes on you, she will be seized with such an apoplectic shade of jealousy that all the froggies in the marsh will groan in envy."— Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
-Lord Saxton & Erienne
The envious must climb with their eyes sewn shut so they cannot covet; the prideful must carry huge stones on their backs to bend them low in a humble manner; the gluttonous must climb without food or water, thereby suffering excruciating hunger; and the lustful must ascend through hot flames to purge themselves of passion's heat.— Dan Brown
The small Chinese man sank onto the plush leather sofa. He sank so low on the large brown sofa, it looked like it would swallow him whole. He sat, clutching his briefcase close to his chest, his alert eyes scanning the spacious room. Opposite him, across a glass table sat a large African Minister in a freshly pressed Italian suit.— Marko Phiri
He walked over to Jacque, whose head was bowed and turned so that her neck was bared. It was like she knew instinctively to submit so as to not provoke the dominant wolf and hopefully she would subdue him in her surrender. Fane's wolf must have been the one in control of the wheel because he leaned down over Jacque and growled low. He placed his face against her neck, breathing deep, and his voice was guttural when he spoke. "Mine."— Quinn Loftis
Jacque turned her head slightly and did what no other would ever be able to do when this Alpha was at this point, she looked him in the eyes. "Yes, I am yours." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Fane pulled his power in and all of a sudden it was like a weight had been lifted and they could breathe again.
Loftis, Quinn (2011-11-18). Blood Rites: Book 2 Grey Wolves Series (The Grey Wolves Series) (p. 95). Kindle Edition.
I don't want to...be like this," I whispered as I looked away, and once I said it, I didn't even want to take the words back. A weird sensation hit me, almost like...like relief. That didn't make sense. Or did it? "I don't like who I am."— Jennifer L. Armentrout
My gaze returned to his, and the concern was still there, filling his hazel eyes and thinning out his mouth. Tears crawled up the back of my throat. Humiliating actually, to admit something so intimate like that, but now I wasn't the only one who knew this about myself. It wasn't my secret.
"It's okay. You're not going to feel that way forever." Rider smoothed his thumb along my jaw. I closed my eyes, wanting to believe him. Needing to. He kept his voice low as he spoke. "Nothing lasts forever, Mouse.
Math is like water. It has a lot of difficult theories, of course, but its basic logic is very simple. Just as water flows from high to low over the shortest possible distance, figures can only flow in one direction. You just have to keep your eye on them for the route to reveal itself. That's all it takes. You don't have to do a thing. Just concentrate your attention and keep your eyes open, and the figures make everything clear to you. In this whole, wide world, the only thing that treats me so kindly is math.— Haruki Murakami
You're so bloody cute, he whispered, his voice all low and yummy.— Wendy Higgins
Blood whooshed through my body. A Kai buzz. Oh, he was totally using the bedroom eyes ... all heavy lidded and seductive. I don't even think he was trying. I suddenly felt shy. Even from the other side of the country, this boy was dangerous.
Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast— John Milton
Is open? or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass? and not praise
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain
Of death denounced, whatever thing death be,
Deterred not from achieving what might lead
To happier life, knowledge of good and evil;
Of good, how just? of evil, if what is evil
Be real, why not known, since easier shunned?
God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just;
Not just, not God: not feared then, nor obeyed:
Your fear itself of death removes the fear.
Why then was this forbid? Why, but to awe;
Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant,
His worshippers? He knows that in the day
Ye eat thereof, your eyes, that seem so clear,
Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then
Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as gods,
Knowing both good and evil, as they know.
In the period before the arrival of Mrs. Thatcher, politics had been in such low esteem. Everything was so hedged, so mealy-mouthed. Then along came this woman who seemed to have no manners at all and said exactly what she thought. Everyone's eyes were popping and their jaws were dropping, and I really enjoyed that.— Tom Stoppard
You smell so good." His eyes were closed, and his voice was a low, rummy drawl. "Like clover."— Tessa Dare
She swallowed. "I don't even know what clover smells like."
"Then you need a good roll in it.
I turn my back and look out to sea, the sun so low and molten that my eyes fill with tears, and yet I can feel it: a cooler wind is coming in, the edge of evening approaching. Dusk is gathering along the coast, in the coves and quaysides and marinas, where in an hour or so the long strings of coloured bulbs will twinkle and sway; and then it will pass over us-like a visitation: a plague or a blessing....— Harriet Lane
It seems only fair," Matthew continued. "A bit of karma, if you will." He twirled the stake again. "Shall we see how long you scream?"— Alyxandra Harvey
"Are you ever going to shut up?" I snapped, fear and irritation filling me in equal measures. "This isn't your monologue, Hamlet. It's the battle scene, in case you've forgotten."
His eyes narrowed so fast they nearly sparked. They were the color of honey on fire. One of the others growled like an animal, low in his throat. It made all the hairs on my arms stand straight up.
I was going to die for making fun of Shakespeare.
My English Lit professor would be so proud.
Didn't need to see your aura." He tapped my forehead. "You get a cute little frown there when— Richelle Mead
you've got something bothering you."
"Not everything about me is cute."
"That's true. Some things are cute. The rest are sexy." His voice was low as he leaned toward
me. "So amazingly, agonizingly sexy that it's a wonder I can get anything done when all I ever think
about is the taste of your lips and the touch of your fingertips on my skin and the way your legs feel
when I - "
"Adrian," I interrupted.
His eyes smoldered. "Yes?"
"Shut up.
Few are the foreheads which like Shakespeare's or Melancthon's rise so high, and descend so low, that the eyes themselves seem clear, eternal, tideless mountain lakes; and all above them in the forehead's wrinkles, you seem to track the antlered thoughts descending there to drink, as the Highland hunters track the snow prints of the deer.— Herman Melville
You know, don't you?" The unfamiliar voice startled him for a second, but Dan just figured that the guy hadn't been talking to him. Still, when he sneaked a look, he could see some stranger was staring directly into Dan's sunglassed eyes. Little guy, Dan thought, but then again, everyone looked little to Dan. Not short. Just small. Small hands, thin arms, almost frail. The guy who was staring at him now stuck out here because it was so clear he didn't belong. There was nothing football about him. Too little. Too nerdy. Big baseball cap pulled down too low. And that soft, friendly smile. "You— Harlan Coben
You were dancing with Yuki and I looked at you. And you turned away and held her closer. Why did you do that? If you didn't want to hurt me, then why?"— Aprilynne Pike
He looked away, as though he'd been slapped, but he didn't look guilty. He looked pained. "I closed my eyes," he said, his voice so low and strangled she could hardly hear him.
"What?" she asked, not understanding.
"Tamani held up a hand and Laurel realized he hadn't finished-he was having trouble speaking at all. "I closed my eyes," he repeated after a few shallow breaths, "and imagined she was you."He looked at her, his face open, his eyes honest, his voice a song of anguish.
Our group pressed west on what was left of Highway 93, toward the pass leading to Las Vegas. Sand covered the road in loose drifts so deep the horses' hooves sank into them. The metal highway signs were bent low by the strong wind, and above us, billboards that once screamed ads for the casinos were now stripped of their promises of penny slots and large jackpots. The raw boards underneath were exposed, like showgirls without their makeup. Some signs had been blown over completely and lay half-buried under mounds of sand, like sleeping animals.— Kirby Howell
Cars dotted the highway, their paint scoured off and dead tumbleweeds caught underneath them. Their windows were fogged with death, and despite my effort not to look, my eyes were drawn to the blurred images of the still forms inside. I tried to concentrate on the dark road ahead of us instead.
Irene sighed and rolled her eyes. "Just give her the flowers so we can be gone." She glanced at Van. "I grow tired of the company."— Shelly Laurenston
Paul walked away and Van leaned against the wall, staring down Irene's cleavage. "You know, Irene," he said low, so only she could hear, "when you're mean to me like that ... "
"Yes?"
"It makes me so horny.
I have a dream.— Tara Sivec
And in this dream I'm under the covers in bed, just a few scant inches away from Carter's body. I stare at his prone form lying next to me, the greenish-blue glow from the alarm clock on the bedside table providing just enough illumination for me to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The sheet is draped low over his hips as he sleeps peacefully with one arm flung over his eyes and the other resting on his taut, naked stomach. I slide my body ever so slowly across the bed, careful not to disturb him, until I'm so close I can feel the heat from his skin warming me from head to toe. I pull my arms out from under the sheet and my hands reach out towards him. I connect with his smooth, muscular chest, slide my fingers up his body, and ... choke the ever living shit out of him.
Burnett let out a low growl and motioned for the agent to leave. Then he glanced back at Miranda. "How were you able to pull this off?"— C.C. Hunter
Miranda shrugged. "I don't know." The girl's green eyes grew a sheen of tears. "They were going to hurt Della and Kylie. I panicked and just did it."
Della found her chest filling up with warmth. Kylie reached over and held Miranda's hand.
"And you did a great job," Kylie said. "I'm so proud of you."
"Me, too," Della added.
"Group hug," Miranda said, holding out her arms.
"No damn hugs!" Burnett snapped. "You can undo it, right?" he asked.
"I'm pretty sure I can."
"Oh, hell!" He raked a hand over his face. "Try to do it. Try really hard. I don't think our jail is set up to house kangaroos.
Carefully she took hold of the chain dangling from it, the jade pendant he had given her so long ago. The inscription on the back still gleamed as if new:— Cassandra Clare
When two people are at one in their most inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze.
"You remember, that you left it with me?" she said. "I've never taken it off."
He closed his eyes. His lashes lay against his cheeks, long and fine. "All these years," he said, and his voice was a low whisper, and it was not the voice of the boy he had been once, but it was still a voice she loved. "All these years, you wore it? I never knew.
The description of Huck's father grabbed my full attention, and I glanced up at the book in my teacher's hand as if to double check. My eyes bulged reflexively. Huck's father was an abusive drunk just like mine. The boy was hopeful that a corpse found near the river was actually his dad, but it turned out not to be. It was spooky how high my hopes rose for the boy, and then sank so utterly low when the body was discovered to be a female in disguise. I should've mourned for the woman, but it was the boy I felt bad for.— Richelle E. Goodrich
Christ is to the souls of men what the sun is to the world. He is the center and source of all spiritual light, warmth, life, health, growth, beauty, and fertility. Like the sun, He shines for the common benefit of all mankind— J.C. Ryle
for high and for low, for rich and for poor, for Jew and for Greek. Like the sun, He is free to all. All may look at Him, and drink health out of His light. If millions of mankind were mad enough to dwell in caves underground, or to bandage their eyes, their darkness would be their own fault, and not the fault of the sun. So, likewise, if millions of men and women love spiritual "darkness rather than light," the blame must be laid on their blind hearts, and not on Christ. "Their foolish hearts are darkened." (John 3:19; Romans 1:21.) But whether men will see or not, Christ is the true sun, and the light of the world. There is no light for sinners except in the Lord Jesus.
As the sun shines low and red across the water, I wade into the ocean. The water is still high and brown and murky with the memory of the storm, so if there's something below it, I won't know it. But that's part of this, the not knowing. The surrender to the possibilities beneath the surface. It wasn't the ocean that killed my father, in the end. The water is so cold that my feet go numb almost at once. I stretch my arms out to either side of me and close my eyes. I listen to the sound of water hitting water. The raucous cries of the terns and the guillemots in the rocks of the shore, the piercing, hoarse questions of the gulls above me. I smell seaweed and fish and the dusky scent of the nesting birds onshore. Salt coats my lips, crusts my eyelashes. I feel the cold press against my body. The sand shifts and sucks out from under my feet in the tide. I'm perfectly still. The sun is red behind my eyelids. The ocean will not shift me and the cold will not take me.— Maggie Stiefvater
She was, as always at evening parties, wearing a dress such as was then fashionable, cut very low at front and back. Her bust, which had always seemed like marble to Pierre, was so close to him that his shortsighted eyes could not but perceive the living charm of her neck and shoulders, so near to his lips that he need only have bent his head a little to have touched them. He was conscious of the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the creaking of her corset as she moved. He did not see her marble beauty forming a complete whole with her dress, but all the charm of her body only covered by her garments. And having once seen this he could not help being aware of it, just as we cannot renew an illusion we have once seen through.— Leo Tolstoy
His eyes widended again, then flicked to something behind me. He shook his head, looked back at me. His voice low, intimate, insistent. "Come back from this, Merit. You don't want to fight me."— Chloe Neill
"I do," I heard, in a voice that was barely mine. "Find steel," she advised him.
We advised him.
He stood there a long moment, silently, still, before nodding. Someone offered him a blade, a katana that glinted in the light. He took it, mirrored my stance - katana in both hands, body bladed.
"If the only way you'll come back from this is to be bloodied by it, then so be it."
He lunged.
I love you."— Cassie Mae
"Why?" I ask, eyes drifting closed already.
"Because I can't picture a life without you," he whispers so low I barely catch it. "I don't want to."
I smile as much as I can with how sleepy I am. He didn't even rehearse that one.
His lips graze my forehead. "Why do you love me?"
"Because you say things like that."
"Wow. My answer was so much better than yours.
...just as Elsa opens Audi's door to jump out, he (Dad) turns to her hesitantly and says in a low voice:— Fredrik Backman
"...but there are moments when I sincerely hope that not ALL your best traits come from Granny and Mum, Elsa."
And then Elsa squeezes her eyes together tightly and puts her forehead against his shoulder and her fingers into her jacket pocket and spins the lid of the red felt-tip pen that he gave her when she was small, so she could add her own punctuation marks, and which is still the best present he's ever given her. Or anyone.
"You gave me your words," she whispers.
Dad nods, looks me dead in the eyes; slowly and regretfully, he banishes all the smiling and joking from his face, and for once he's just my dad, watching his son who has fallen so low.— Ned Vizzini
Logan's donating a sculpture to the town. He didn't want to make a big deal about it--wanted it on the down low, so they're doing a small unveiling."— L.A. Fiore
"Down low, Gwen?"
"I know, aren't I cool?"
We all turn back to the scene across the street. I ask, "What do you think it is?"
"I hope it's a self-portrait, a nude one." Josh sighs.
Gwen and I eye him, but he has the faraway dreamy look about him. Clearly he's envisioning Logan naked. I lean over and whisper, "Whatever you're thinking, it's better."
His eyes narrow at me. "You are a hateful woman.
You don't fool me, he says in a low voice.— Moira Young
Is that right?
Yea, he says. I see it in yer eyes. All you care about's yer precious brother.
That aint true, I says.
If it'd been Emmi they took, he says, Emmi an not Lugh ... would you of gone after her?
I take in a breath to say of course I would but the look on his face stops me. there ain't no point in lyin when he already knows the truth.
He leaves go of me an steps back.
I thought so, he says. Yer sister'll be safer with me than she could ever be with you. You jest ride along on yer high horse an leave her to me.
He blows out a breath, takes a step toward me. The hallway is so narrow that I'm pinned between the wall and his body, heat rolling off him in waves. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "I feel things." His green eyes burn. It's the most emotion I've seen from him so far, and I have trouble taking a full breath, my lungs compressed with tension. "That's the whole point, Ivy. I want you to feel them, too.— Amy Engel
Why am I so drawn to you?" He muttered, almost to himself. "Why is it so hard to let go? I thought ... at first ... it was Ariella, that you remind me of so much. But it's not." Though he didn't smile, his eyes lightened a shade. "You're far more stubborn than she ever was."— Julie Kagawa
I sniffed. "That's like the pot calling the kettle black," I whispered, and a faint, tiny grin finally crossed his face, before his expression clouded and he lowered his head, touching his forehead to mine. "What do you want of me, Meghan?" he asked, a low thread of anguish flickering below the surface.
Tears blurred my vision, all the fear and heartache of the past few days rising to the surface. "Just you," I whispered. "I just want you."
-Ash and Meghan
A demon seduced an angel in the middle of the night— M.J. Abraham
and they gave the stars a glimpse.
There was nothing casual about it,
it was tender skin and battle scars
breathless passion under storm clouds
a rapid river stream mirroring the moon light.
Until one day, he left her with nothing,
just a bruised heart and carved memories
iridescent wings chipped on the edges
heat under her skin, like an ember burning low.
I asked her, "What do you do after a love like that?"
She laughed.
And madness danced behind her eyes.
But she flew so high the world was jealous.
I don't want to say this," he says, "but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?"— Veronica Roth
His straight eyebrows are drawn low over his eyes. My stomach writhes, partly because I know he makes a good point but I don't want to admit it, and partly because I want something I don't know how to express; I want to press against the space between us until it disappears.
I nod.
"But please, when you see an opportunity ... " He presses his hand to my cheek, cold and strong, and tilts my head up so I have to look at him. His eyes glint. They look almost predatory. "Ruin them.
His voice dropped to a low murmur, and he leaned down so that he was almost whispering in her ear. "You see, there's this woman."— Courtney Milan
She wasn't going to look at him. She wasn't.
"Normally, one might say that there was a beautiful woman - but I don't think she qualifies as a classical beauty. Still, I find that when she's around, I'd rather look at her than anyone else."
He set two fingers against her cheek, and Minnie sucked in a breath. She was not going to look at him. He'd see the longing in her eyes, and then ...
"There's something about her that draws my eye. Something that defies words. Maybe it's her hair, but I tried to tell her that, and she told me I was being ridiculous. I suppose I was. Maybe it's her lips. Maybe it's her eyes, although she so rarely looks at me.
Which brings us to a little book that may provide a clue to the cure. My wife got it as a gift from a friend. It is titled Porn for Women. It's a picture book of hunks, photographed in all their chiseled, muscle-bound, testosterone-marinated, PG-rated glory. Lots of naked chests and low-cut jeans, complete with tousled hair and beckoning eyes. And they are ALL doing housework. There's a picture of a well-cut Adonis, and he's loading the washing machine. The caption reads: "As soon as I finish the laundry, I'll do the grocery shopping. And I'll take the kids with me so you can relax." There's another hunk, the cover guy, vacuuming the floor. A particularly athletic-looking man peers up from the sports section and declares, "Ooh, look, the NFL playoffs are today. I bet we'll have no trouble parking at the crafts fair". Porn for Women. Available at a marriage near you.— Anonymous
There, on a low bed, the sheet flung back, dressed in a pair of pink one-piece zippyjamas, lay Lenina, fast asleep and so beautiful in the midst of her curls, so touchingly childish with her pink toes and her grave sleeping face, so trustful in the helplessness of her limp hands and melted limbs, that the tears came to his eyes.— Aldous Huxley
The sister played so beautifully. Her face was tilted to one side and she followed the notes with soulful and probing eyes. Gregor advanced a little, keeping his eyes low so that they might possibly meet hers. Was he a beast if music could move him so?— Franz Kafka
