In your hands I am no longer a pile of bones left behind to a world that moved on.
So I am not a broken heart. I am not the weight I lost or miles or ran and I am not the way I slept on my doorstep under the bare sky in smell of tears and whiskey because my apartment was empty and i...
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 t...
On the plains of hesitation bleach the bones of countless millions who, at the dawn of decision, sat down to wait, and waiting died
We want your skull! Make no bones about it!
Stephen King have a lot of books about the writing not only "The Writting: Memoir and Craft", but and "Nightmares and Dreamscapes", however "Misery", also and "Bag of Bones" and even and others. Which...
Take him away. Prepare a feast. Forget nothing. My crown: the golden cutlery. The poison bottles; and the fumes; the wreaths of ivy and the bloody joints; the chains; the bowl of nettles; the spices;...
See the world anew and write down the bones of it.
We almost made love with fire, fire in our eyes, fire in our souls, and even in our bones.
The evil that men do lives after them the good is oft interred with their bones.
I want a room decorated with bones! Dan said. Where'd they come from?Cemeteries, Amy said. Back in the 1700s, the cemeteries were getting overcrowded, so they decided to dig up tons of old bodies–all...