But standing in that hallway, it was all coming back to me. Memories were waiting at the edges of things, beckoning to me.
There was something about the music on that tape. It felt different. Like, it set her lungs and her stomach on edge. There was something exciting about it, and something nervous. It made Eleanor feel like everything, like the world, wasn't what she'd thought it was. And that was a good thing. That was the greatest thing.
It's easy to smile just to make other people feel better. But when a person fakes happy, it has edges. Regular people may not see, but the people who count, they can see the edges and the lines where your smile ends and the real you, the sadness (me) or the anger (Grandma) begins.
It always struck Fire, the physical affection between these siblings, who as often as not were at each other's throats over one thing or another. She liked the way the four of them shifted and changed shape, bumping and clanging against one another, sharpening each other's edges and then smoothing them down again, and somehow always finding the way to fit together.
Maybe what frightens us about the edge isn't our fear of morality, but the thoughts it leads us to have.
She is a loner, too bright for the slutty girls and too savage for the bright girls, haunting the edges and corners of the school like a sullen disillusioned ghost
I want your hands on my head.” I nod and edge back to make room for him. “Does it calm your racing thoughts?” He shakes his head, then takes my hand and spreads it open over his wide chest, his voice textured as he traps my gaze with his. “It calms me here.
You’ve read the books?” “I’ve seen the movies.” Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.” “I’m not really a book person.” “That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me
There is no place so awake and alive as the edge of becoming. But more than that, birthing the kind of woman who can authentically say, 'My soul is my own,' and then embody it in her life, her spirituality, and her community is worth the risk and hardship.
You don’t sound very patriotic,” observed Tessa. “Weren’t you just reminiscing about the mountains?” “Patriotic?” Will looked smug. “I’ll tell you what’s patriotic,” he said. “In honor of my birthplace, I’ve the dragon of Wales tattooed on my—” “You’re in a charming temper, aren’t you, William?” interrupted Jem, though there was no edge to his voice.
You flirt with everything." She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. "You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.
Yeah, my bad," Leo muttered. "I should've crashed on one of the other islands. Oh, wait-there aren't any!" She [Calypso] snarled and kept walking along the edge of the water.
Our story is over, yes, but our journey isn't, because we'll always live on the edge until the day we die.
And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.
Marriage was a form of insanity; love hovering permanently on the edge of aggravation.
We can't really tell how crooked our thinking is until we line it up with the straight edge of Scripture.
A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy ax without an edge -- fitter to bruise than polish.
If I am content to heal a hurt slightly, saying "Peace, peace," where is no peace; if I forget the poignant word "Let love be without dissimulation" and blunt the edge of truth, speaking not right things but smooth things, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
For stories teach us, that liberty sought out of season, in a corrupt and degenerate age, brought Rome itself to a farther slavery: for liberty hath a sharp and double edge, fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men; to bad and dissolute, it becomes a mischief unwieldy in their own hands: neither is it completely given, but by them who have the happy skill to know what is grievance and unjust to a people, and how to remove it wisely; what good laws are wanting, and how to frame them substantially, that good men may enjoy the freedom which they merit, and the bad the curb which they need.
We have embraced the 21st century by entering such cutting-edge industries as brick, carpet, insulation and paint. Try to control your excitement.
Honest hope has an edge. It's messy. It requires that we let go of all pat answers, all preconceived formulas, all confidence that our sailing will be smooth. It's not a resting point. Honest hope is movement.
I maintained my edge by always being a student; you will always have something new to learn.
Life is worth Living Through every grain of it, From the foundations To the last edge Of the cornerstone, death.
Life as we call it, is nothing but the edge of the boundless ocean of existence when it comes upon soundings.
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