Sweet bleedin' hell, luv, this was a smashing idea.
Jeaniene FrostMots clés bones
I might be the only chick in the group, but that didn't make me the damsel in distress.
Jeaniene FrostMots clés bones
Bones are patient. Bones never tire nor do they run away. When you come upon a man who has been dead many years, his bones will still be lying there, in place, content, patiently waiting, but his flesh will have gotten up and left him. Water is like flesh. Water will not stand still. It is always off to somewhere else; restless, talkative, and curious. Even water in a covered jar will disappear in time. Flesh is water. Stones are like bones. Satisfied. Patient. Dependable. Tell me, then, Alobar, in order to achieve immortality, should you emulate water or stone? Should you trust your flesh or your bones?
Tom RobbinsMots clés life death immortality permanence bones stones transitory
The last thing that you need to fret about is my feeling emasculated, Kitten; but talk is cheap, so I'll be sure to show you later." ~Bones
Jeaniene FrostMots clés bones jeaniene-frost one-grave-at-a-time
She was every inch the skeletal goddess that had been promised by the bones of her feet.
Jefferson SmithMots clés humor beauty humour fantasy feet dieting young-adult bones body-image promises portents skeletons skinniness
Your mum pounced on her and started sucking away. Would’ve been arousing if not for all the screaming.”
“Ian,” Bones drew out warningly.
He grinned. “You’re right. I was aroused anyway.
Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33)
Tim WillocksMots clés questions god journey madness apple smile horror colors prayer wind depression starlight eyes tree autumn bones angel mirror clock blossom sacraments asymmetry atlantic blind-man left-eye living-things nineteen-years-old power-of-sight
I heard the car door shut and then Fabian's voice. "You won't believe what I found around the edge of your property," the ghost announced. "A cave with prehistoric painting inside it!" I rolled my eyes. That was the best tactic Fabian could come up with? This was a vampire he was trying to stall, not a paleontologist.
Jeaniene FrostMots clés funny bones stalling fabian
The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.
Mots clés grief bones trauma andrea-gibson the-madness-vase
We are preaching hope, standing on the bones of the past.
John RucyahanaMots clés faith hope forgiveness genocide bones rwanda
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