It is well for us that, amidst all the variableness of life, there is One whom change cannot affect; One whose heart can never alter, and on whose brow mutability can make no furrows.
His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.
Everything okay?" Cam asked, placing his hand on my lower back. Concern pinched his brows. "Yes." I dropped my cell back into my bag. Everything was okay. Maybe not perfect, but life wasn't meant to be perfect. It was messy and sometimes it was a disaster, but there was beauty in the messiness and there could be peace in the disaster.
I'm so glad you're back. We need you here. I mean...Burnett's okay, but...he's not you." Holiday arched a brow. "I hear he wasn't even himself for a while there." Miranda frowned. "He told you about the whole kangaroo thing, didn't he." "Yeah," Holiday said, and her brows tightened. "And I must say, I'm very disappointed with you, Miranda" she reached out and gripped Miranda's hand. "The next time you turn him into anything, do it when I'm here to enjoy it." -Taken at Dusk
A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest lifted the hair at Harry's brow. He knew that they would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision. "You'll stay with me?" "Until the very end," said James.
Da, hes waiting for me to tell the two of you our news first, then he'll join me." He cocked a dark brow at her. "And why would he not come to your mother and me first and ask permission to handfast with you, as is the honorable thing to do?" She cocked her own brow, mirroring his expression perfectly. "Because he's not stupid. Anyone with any sense would be scared of you two. But even scared to death, he wanted to come with me. I wouldn't let him. I knew I needed to talk to you alone first.
"You're full of contradictions, Ms. Wallace." I looked up at him and arched a brow. "I'm a girl. That's part of the job description, Mr. Maxfield."
If it's a low-brow bawdy comedy, it's got to stand the chance of succeeding as such. If it's an intellectual piece, a drama, and so forth. And of course, once you've determined the level of the piece, do it the best you know how. And then don't make concessions. To audiences, or to pursestrings, or whatever.
Then Aragorn stooped and looked in her face, and it was indeed white as a lily, cold as frost, and hard as graven stone. But he bent and kissed her on the brow, and called her softly, saying: 'Éowyn Éomund's daughter, awake! For your enemy has passed away!' - Aragorn & Éowyn
It's like this when you fall hard for a musician. It's a crush with religious overtones. You listen to the songs and you memorize the words and the notes and this is a form of prayer. You attend the shows and this is the liturgy. You're interested in relics -- guitar picks, set lists, the sweaty napkin applied to His brow. You set up shrines in your room. It's not just about the music. It's about who you are when you listen to the music and who you wish to be and the way a particular song can bridge that gap, can make you feel the abrupt thrill of absolute faith.
Cam was already on his feet, waiting for me. I arched my brow at him. "Following me?" "Like a true serial killer," he replied.
Sometimes... sometimes keeping alive is too tiring," she whispered, wringing her hands. Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his lips against her brow. "Don't ever say that. Ever.
I need dating advice. Fast.” Ash arched a single brow at that. “I’m useless. I’ve never been on one.” The three human men turned to gape at him. “What?” Ash asked them defensively. Nick started laughing. “Oh man, this is priceless. Don’t tell me the great Acheron is a virgin?” Ash gave him a droll look. “Yeah, Nick. I’m lily-white.
Vanity, right?" Nash reappeared in the living room with an open bag of potato chips. "I nominate my venerable brother. He likes to play hero, and one look at him should establish the vanity angle." "Nash!" I really shouldn't have been surprised by the dig. But I was. "What?" He raised one brow at me in challenge. "It's okay to call me jealous, but not to call him vain?" "Awareness of one's obvious advantages doesn't imply vanity," Tod insisted calmly. Nash turned on him. "Does it imply narcissism?" Tod huffed. "This coming from the guy who owns more hair products than his girlfriend.
There is nothing wrong with God's plan that man should earn his bread by the sweat of his brow.
You know you're smarter than all of them, right?" Hale said flatly. "In fact, if you wanted to PROVE it..." He glanced at the blackjack tables. Simon shook his head. "I don't count cards, Hale." "Don't?" Hale smiled. "Or won't? You know, technically, it's not illegal." "But it's frowned upon." Sweat beaded at Simon's brow. He sounded like someone had just suggested he swim after eating... run with scissors... "It is SERIOUSLY frowned upon.
Was it me you were discussing?” he countered with lifted brows. “I couldn’t tell from the description you were giving. Since when am I kind, considerate, refined, and amiable?” “You’re angry,” Victoria concluded on a sigh. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest and his arms tightened, drawing her close to his leann, muscular body. “I’m not angry,” he said in a husky, gentle voice. “I’m embarrassed
Promise to give me a kiss on my brow when I am dead.--I shall feel it.
This girl has the spark of life. This is my primary filter for new friends (girl- and otherwise) and the highest compliment I can pay. I've tried many times to figure out exactly what ignites it -- what cocktail of characteristics come together in the cold, dark cosmos to form a star. I know it's mostly in the face -- not just the eyes, but the brow, the cheeks, the mouth, and the micromuscles that connect them all. Kat's micromuscles are very attractive.
He raised his brows. "You're drunk." "Am not!" He gave me a bland look. "A drunk's famous last words before they fall flat on their face.
Rocket," I said, straightening in the chair. "Donovan was just helping me with my contacts." Donovan raised his brows humorously. Rocket furrowed his. "Did you swallow them?
Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms so tightly that he would never come to harm.
Are you sure?" A brow arched up. "Because I'm here at your service and taking your jeans off is something I feel I'd be exceptionally wonderful at.
E'en Beauty mourns in her decaying bower, That Time upon her angel brow should set His crooked autograph, and mar the jet Of glossy locks. Lo! how her chaplet green, The hoar frost and the canker worm destroy. Decay's dull film obscures those matchless eyes.
He looked glad to be on his way and made a beeline for the exit. Just as he was out the door, however, he stuck his head back in. “I don’t mind foreigners. God save the queen!” he squeaked, and ran. Bones arched a brow. I sighed. “Didn’t hear that part? Never mind. Don’t ask.
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