Skins Quotes - Page 3

• Haven's warm, clammy palms press hard against my cheeks as the tarnished edge of her silver skull ring leaves a smudge on my skin.

  Alyson Noel

  Skulls, Silver, Palms

  Alyson Noel (2013). “The Immortals Bundle 1-3: The Immortals: Evermore, The Immortals: Blue Moon and The Immortals: Shadowland”, p.8, Pan Macmillan

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• Folklore is the perfect second skin. From under its hide, we can see all the shimmering, shadowy uncertainties of the world.

  Jane Yolen

  Perfect, World, Folklore

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• I'm floating inside my skin. I could go on floating like this for days. Right now, the real world with its heartbreak and disappointments is just a pulse against the protective membrane we've drunk ourselves into. It's somewhere outside us, waiting." A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 141, by

  Libba Bray

  Disappointment, Real, Drunk

  Libba Bray (2015). “The Gemma Doyle Trilogy”, p.126, Delacorte Press

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• Grace. I held on to that name. If I kept that in my head, I would be OK. Grace. I was shaking, shaking; my skin peeling away. Grace. My bones squeezed, pinched, pressed against my muscles. Grace. Her eyes held me even after I stopped feeling her fingers gripping my arms. Sam," she said. "Don't go.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Eye, Names, Grace

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• Sometimes we just walk into something that is not for us at all. We pretend it is. We think we can shrug it off like a coat, but it's not a coat at all, it's more like another skin. [...] All I wanted was to make my life thrilling for a while: to take the oridinary objects of my days and make a different argument out of them, no obligations to my past.

  Colum McCann

  Past, Thinking, Different

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• And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders; I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur.

  Angela Carter

  Beautiful, Hair, Water

  Angela Carter (1997). “Burning your boats: the collected short stories”, Penguin Group USA

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• The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me. I felt dangerously exposed. More fiercely than I would have dreamed I was capable of, I wished for the green, protective forest of Forks . . . of home.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Home, White, Hot

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• There's more to someone being lovable than the way they look." "...he told me that the way you can tell if a bug or a snake is poisonous, like, is if it's got really lovely, bright markings. The more the beautiful its skin is, the more deadly it is." "All that pretty face and whatnot just hides how twisted up and rotten he is on the inside.

  Cassandra Clare

  Beautiful, Snakes, Lovely

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• This was what she needed… the quiet turning to the other in the middle of the night, the wordless meeting of lips, skin, breath. The trust, unfurling one pale petal at a time, that he would be there.

  Eileen Wilks

  Night, Would Be, Lips

  Eileen Wilks (2005). “Mortal Danger”, p.89, Penguin

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• Her father had taught her about hands. About a dog's paws. Whenever her father was alone with a dog in a house he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. This, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter, is the greatest smell in the world! A bouquet! Great rumours of travel! She would pretend disgust, but the dog's paw was a wonder: the smell of it never suggested dirt. It's a cathedral! her father had said, so-and-so's garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen--a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.

  Michael Ondaatje

  Dog, Father, Taken

  Michael Ondaatje (2011). “The English Patient”, p.8, Vintage

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• Knowledge can be like the skin on the surface of the water in a pond, or it can go all the way down to the mud. It can be the tiny tip of the iceberg or the whole hundred percent.

  Siobhan Dowd

  Water, Ponds, Tip Of The Iceberg

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• She was battered and beaten up, and not smiling this time. Liesel could see it on her face. Blood leaked from her nose and licked at her lips. Her eyes had blackened. Cuts had opened up and a series of wounds were rising to the surface of her skin. All from the words. From Liesel's words.

  Markus Zusak

  Eye, Cutting, Blood

  Markus Zusak (2013). “The Book Thief: Enhanced Movie Tie-in Edition”, p.263, RH Childrens Books

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• It's as if I've inherited a skin I cannot quite fit, and so I walk about constantly pulling and and tugging, pinning and pruning, trying desperately to fill it out, hoping that no one will look at me struggling and say, 'That one there- she's a fraud, Look how she doesn't fit at all.

  Libba Bray

  Struggle, Trying, Tugging

  Libba Bray (2010). “The Sweet Far Thing”, p.46, Simon and Schuster

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• Then she did see it there - just a face, peering through the curtains, hanging in midair like a mask. A head-scarf concealed the hair and the glassy eyes stared inhumanly, but it wasn’t a mask, it couldn’t be. The skin had been powdered dead-white and two hectic spots of rouge centered on the cheekbones. It wasn’t a mask. It was the face of a crazy old woman. Mary started to scream, and then the curtains parted further and a hand appeared, holding a butcher’s knife. It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream. And her head.

  Robert Bloch

  Crazy, Eye, Cutting

  Robert Bloch (2010). “Psycho: A Novel”, p.24, The Overlook Press

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• She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin; when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He's like a dragon, ancient and fearless.

  Alice Hoffman

  Air, Dragons, Blood

  Alice Hoffman (1999). “Here on Earth”, p.201, Penguin Group

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• You must learn to heed your senses. Humans use but a tiny percentage of theirs. They barely look, they rarely listen, they never smell, and they think that they can only experience feelings through their skin. But they talk, oh, do they talk.

  Michael Scott

  Philosophy, Thinking, Smell

  Michael Scott (2012). “The First Codex”, p.98, Delacorte Books for Young Readers

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• All night I streched my arms across him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone ''Please keep him safe. Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces.'' Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.

  Richard Siken

  Stars, Fall, Believe

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• Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands, these shins, these soapy flanks

  Richard Siken

  Hands, Clothes, Hours

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• A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Doors, Car, Yards

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• Under the ground seep the toxins of the population that lives above. If you have to, you will eat roots and earthworms. It is always night. Candles burn in lanterns made from tin cans. When it is nighttime up above, you can crawl out, but only for a little while. You feel ashamed of your matted hair, your torn clothes, the dirt on your face. Who would want to speak to you? They are all shiny and pretty. They have parents and house with gardens. What do you have? The earth. Whole handfuls of it. The lizard people with their slit eyes and scaly skin. Your loneliness. Your longing.

  Francesca Lia Block

  Loneliness, Eye, Night

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• What about your freedom?" he whispered in her ear over a minute later, bracing his hands palms down on the wall beside her head. He made no move to stop her as she stroked and petted every inch of that sinfully gorgeous chest, all hard muscle and gleaming skin overlaid with silky-rough strands of dark hair. "Idiot." She nipped his jaw with her teeth. "The only freedom I ever wanted was the right to love you.

  Nalini Singh

  Wall, Moving, Love You

  Nalini Singh, Maggie Shayne, Erin McCarthy, Jean Johnson, Lora Leigh (2010). “Paranormal Holiday Anthology Trio”, p.305, Penguin

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• I can’t see through clothes or anything. Just glamour skin. Except I can see through all of you, since your clothes aren’t real.” I stopped, horrified. “I mean, I don’t look—It’s hard to see you, and I like looking at your real face, but I don’t try to see anything, because—Oh gosh, this sounds terrible.” He had a funny look on his face, like he wasn’t sure what to think. “Huh. That’s never been an issue before. Maybe next time you could bring me some shorts.

  Kiersten White

  Real, Mean, Thinking

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• Technically, on the spectrum of very bad things, they did nothing truly wicked. But of course, that spectrum has no measure for the greatest of all carnal sins, the kind that occurs before skin touches skin, before wondering turns to yearning, yearning to having, having to holding for dear life, when two people cling to each other so desperately that even when they lie, inches apart, neither is fully satisfied until the light between them turns to darkness.

  Galt Niederhoffer

  Lying, Light, Two

  Galt Niederhoffer (2008). “The Romantics”, p.204, St. Martin's Press

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• In a subway car, my skin would typically fall in the middle of the color spectrum. On street corners, tourists would ask me for directions. I was, in four and a half years, never an American; I was immediately a New Yorker.

  Mohsin Hamid

  Fall, Color, Years

  Mohsin Hamid (2008). “The Reluctant Fundamentalist”, p.27, Penguin UK

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• He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm - like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Pain, Twilight, Eye

  Stephenie Meyer (2009). “Twilight: Twilight”, p.147, Hachette UK

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