The maxillary muscles run from the sagittal crest at the top of the skull to an insertion on the mandible, I thought, dimly recalling the description from Grey’s Anatomy.
The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy
The gate was shut, and he didn’t bother fumbling for the latch but seized it with both hands and vaulted over, feeling an absurd rush of fierce pleasure in the feat.
The dog would run a few steps toward the house, circle once or twice as though unable to decide what to do next, then run back into the wood, turn, and run again toward the house, all the while whinin...
Tell him I hate him to his guts and the marrow of his bones!
Superstition and sensation are always so much more appealing than truth and rationality. The
Sorry, lass, he said, with a half-smile. I’m a marrit man. He made to pass by, and she made a small incoherent sound, putting out a hand to stop him, but not quite daring to touch his sleeve. He stopp...
Quite without warning, I began to cry. No sobbing, no throat-gripping spasms. Water simply welled in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks, slow as cold honey. A quiet acknowledgment of despair as things...
Perhaps it was only that the sense of reaching out to something larger than yourself gives you some feeling that there is something larger - and there really has to be, because plainly you aren't suff...
Owls are keepers of the dead, but not just the dead. They’re messengers between worlds.
Open your eyes and tell me yourself, Sassenash, said a deep urgent voice somewhere close.
Only you, he said, so softly I could barely hear him. To worship ye with my body, give ye all the service of my hands. To give ye my name, and all my heart and soul with it. Only you. Because ye will...
Once you've chosen a man, don't try to change him', I wrote with more confidence. 'It can't be done. More important-don't let him try to change you.
Often people who are very ill, but are near their birthday, seem to wait until it’s passed before dying. I
Never, he said, more softly. For you are mine. My wife, my heart, my soul.
My marriage to Jamie had been for me like the turning of a great key, each small turn setting in the intricate fall of tumblers within me. Bree had been able to turn that key as well, edging closer to...
My Son-in-law astutely observes that a Man’s sense of Morality tends to decrease as his Power increases,
Mmphm,
Jamie was real, alright, more real than anything had ever been to me, even Frank and my life in 1945. Jamie, tender lover and perfidious blackguard.
I’d lived long enough to realize that fear wasn’t usually fatal—at least not by itself.