Leapt Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
her-heart-leapt-out-to-him-before-she-could-stop-it-rainbow-rowell
with-that-i-took-deep-breath-leapt-spreading-my-arms-pretending-i-could-fly-chelsie-shakespeare
my-mother-groaned-my-father-wept-into-dangerous-world-i-leapt-william-blake
you-cant-be-afraid-you-have-to-be-open-i-feel-like-ive-always-been-leaper-ive-always-leapt-into-things-without-thinking
america-may-be-unique-in-being-country-which-has-leapt-from-barbarism-to-decadence-without-touching-civilization-john-ohara
in-real-life-coincidences-happen-all-time-in-novels-they-are-leapt-upon-with-fury-harlan-coben
the-seasons-change-their-manners-as-yearhad-found-some-months-asleep-leapt-them-over-william-shakespeare
i-leapt-eagerly-into-books-the-characters-lives-were-much-more-interesting-than-lonely-heartbeat-my-own-ruta-sepetys
medicinal-discovery-it-moves-in-mighty-leaps-it-leapt-straight-past-common-cold-and-gave-it-us-for-keeps-pam-ayres
she-had-understood-before-she-had-ever-dreamed-city-such-as-this-where-every-texture-every-color-leapt-out-at-you-where-every-fragrance-was-drug-air-itself-was-something-alive-br
hadrian-leapt-to-his-feet-royce-was-already-up-dont-bother-esrahaddon-told-them-shes-dead-theres-nothing-you-can-do-the-monster-cannot-be-harmed-by-your-weapons-it-the-two-were-o
my-mother-groand-my-father-wept-into-the-dangerous-world-i-leapt-helpless-naked-piping-load-like-a-friend-hid-in-a-cloud
i-heard-neigh-oh-such-brisk-melodious-neigh-it-was-my-heart-leapt-with-sound-nathaniel-hawthorne
id-say-its-one-greatest-plays-ever-written-certainly-ever-written-in-english-ive-always-loved-it-leapt-at-opportunity-to-direct-it-with-this-company-scott-sharplin
suddenly-voice-called-from-darkness-taylor-leapt-like-salmon-then-became-rooted-to-spot-like-tin-salmon-mark-jackman
though-i-soon-became-typecast-in-hollywood-as-gangster-hoodlum-i-was-originally-dancer-irish-hoofer-trained-in-vaudeville-tap-dance-i-always-leapt-james-cagney
you-were-hidden-behind-walls-ice-no-man-had-passed-them-i-broke-them-down-love-leapt-to-love-you-lie-here-my-beautiful-love-in-arms-its-lover-james-m-barrie
the-cloudy-vase-past-time-i-threw-flowers-out-washed-out-cloudy-vase-how-easily-old-clearness-leapt-like-practiced-tiger-back-inside-it-jane-hirshfield
when-business-man-rebukes-idealism-his-officeboy-it-is-commonly-in-some-such-speech-as-this-ah-yes-when-one-is-young-one-has-these-ideals-in-abstract-these-castles-in-air-but-in-
the-elsinores-bow-tilted-skyward-while-her-stern-fell-into-foaming-valley-not-man-had-gained-his-feet-bridge-men-swept-back-toward-me-fetched-up-against-mizzenshrouds-and-then-th
Among the people to whom he belonged, nothing was written or talked about at that time except the Serbian war. Everything that the idle crowd usually does to kill time, it now did for the benefit of the Slavs: balls, concerts, dinners, speeches, ladies' dresses, beer, restaurants-all bore witness to our sympathy with the Slavs. With much that was spoken and written on the subject Konyshev did not agree in detail. He saw that the Slav question had become one of those fashionable diversions which, ever succeeding one another, serve to occupy Society; he saw that too many people took up the question from interested motives. He admitted that the papers published much that was unnecessary and exaggerated with the sole aim of drawing attention to themselves, each outcrying the other. He saw that amid this general elation in Society those who were unsuccessful or discontented leapt to the front and shouted louder than anyone else: Commanders-in-Chief without armies, Ministers without portfolios, journalists without papers, and party leaders without followers. He saw that there was much that was frivolous and ridiculous; but he also saw and admitted the unquestionable and ever-growing enthusiasm which was uniting all classes of society, and with which one could not help sympathizing. The massacre of our coreligionists and brother Slavs evoked sympathy for the sufferers and indignation against their oppressors. And the heroism of the Serbs and Montenegrins, fighting for a great cause, aroused in the whole nation a desire to help their brothers not only with words but by deeds. Also there was an accompanying fact that pleased Koznyshev. It was the manifestation of public opinion. The nation had definitely expressed its wishes. As Koznyshev put it, ' the soul of the nation had become articulate.' The more he went into this question, the clearer it seemed to him that it was a matter which would attain enormous proportions and become epoch-making.

Leo Tolstoy
among-people-to-whom-he-belonged-nothing-was-written-talked-about-at-that-time-except-serbian-war-everything-that-idle-crowd-usually-does-to-kill-time-it-now-did-for-benefit-slav
During this hour in the waking streets I felt at ease, at peace; my body, which I despised, operated like a machine. I was spaced out, the catchphrase my friends at school used to describe their first experiments with marijuana and booze. This buzzword perfectly described a picture in my mind of me, Alice, hovering just below the ceiling like a balloon and looking down at my own small bed where a big man lay heavily on a little girl I couldn't quite see or recognize. It wasn't me. I was spaced out on the ceiling. I had that same spacey feeling when I cooked for my father, which I still did, though less often. I made omelettes, of course. I cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl, and as I reached for the butter dish, I always had an odd sensation in my hands and arms. My fingers prickled; it didn't feel like me but someone else cutting off a great chunk of greasy butter and putting it into the pan. I'd add a large amount of salt - I knew what it did to your blood pressure, and I mumbled curses as I whisked the brew. When I poured the slop into the hot butter and shuffled the frying pan over the burner, it didn't look like my hand holding the frying-pan handle and I am sure it was someone else's eyes that watched the eggs bubble and brown. As I dropped two slices of wholemeal bread in the toaster, I would observe myself as if from across the room and, with tingling hands gripping the spatula, folded the omelette so it looked like an apple envelope. My alien hands would flip the omelette on to a plate and I'd spread the remainder of the butter on the toast when the two slices of bread leapt from the toaster. 'Delicious, ' he'd say, commenting on the food before even trying it.

Alice Jamieson
during-this-hour-in-waking-streets-i-felt-at-ease-at-peace-my-body-which-i-despised-operated-like-machine-i-was-spaced-out-catchphrase-my-friends-at-school-used-to-describe-their
Despite the chaos that was tearing her head apart, Tevi understood what scene Yenneg was attempting to play out, with herself as a conscripted actor. She needed to force out an explanation or denial, but no words could get past her lips. Jemeryl's presence was paralysing her, an effect far more irresistible than anything Yenneg had achieved. Tevi watched Jemeryl take another few steps forwards and then crouch down so that their eyes were no more than a foot apart. Tevi thought she would die from the shock. Yet somehow, she forced her mouth to shape the words, "Wine. Love potion." Her voice was not loud enough even to count as a whisper. Certainly nobody else in the room would have heard, yet Tevi could not control her breathing to manage anything else. At first Jemeryl showed no sign of comprehension, but then suddenly, the bewilderment on her face transformed into fury. She leapt up, her arms moving in a blurred aggressive swirl. The gesture ended with an action like hurling a ball. Blue fire erupted from Jemeryl's hands and shot towards Yenneg. The other sorcerer had obviously recognised the gesture and made an effort to protect himself. A shimmering shield sprung up before Yenneg, but it was not strong enough, and the shockwave knocked him off his feet. His shoulders slammed into the wall behind him and he crumpled to the floor. Jemeryl had been telling the truth when she claimed to vastly excel the acolytes in magical ability, not that Tevi had ever entertained doubts. Jemeryl's hands moved again, and this time Yenneg was sprawled on the floor and in no state to mount a defence. A second bolt of blue fire burst in his direction. Lightning in the form of a whip snapped across the room, intercepting Jemeryl's attack before it struck. The diverted fireball hit the wall of the summerhouse two feet from Yenneg's head and smashed through it, as if it were a stone going through wet paper.

Jane Fletcher
despite-chaos-that-was-tearing-her-head-apart-tevi-understood-what-scene-yenneg-was-attempting-to-play-out-with-herself-as-conscripted-actor-she-needed-to-force-out-explanation-d
I am a Roman, ' he said to the king; 'my name is Gaius Mucius. I came here to kill you - my enemy. I have as much courage to die as to kill. It is our Roman way to do and to suffer bravely. Nor am I alone in my resolve against your life; behind me is a long line of men eager for the same honor. Brace yourself, if you will, for the struggle - a struggle for your life from hour to hour, with an armed enemy always at your door. That is the war we declare against you: you need fear no action in the battlefield, army against army; it will be fought against you alone, by one of us at a time.' Porsena in rage and alarm ordered the prisoner to be burnt alive unless he at once divulged the plot thus obscurely hinted at, whereupon Mucius, crying: 'See how cheap men hold their bodies when they care only for honor!' thrust his right hand into the fire which had been kindled for a sacrifice, and let it burn there as if he were unconscious of the pain. Porsena was so astonished by the young man's almost superhuman endurance that he leapt to his feet and ordered his guards to drag him from the altar. 'Go free, ' he said; 'you have dared to be a worse enemy to yourself than to me. I should bless your courage, if it lay with my country to dispose of it. But, as that cannot be, I, as an honorable enemy, grant you pardon, life, and liberty.' 'Since you respect courage, ' Mucius replied, as if he were thanking him for his generosity, 'I will tell you in gratitude what you could not force from me by threats. There are three hundred of us in Rome, all young like myself, and all of noble blood, who have sworn an attempt upon your life in this fashion. It was I who drew the first lot; the rest will follow, each in his turn and time, until fortune favor us and we have got you.' The release of Mucius (who was afterwards known as Scaevola, or the Left-Handed Man, from the loss of his right hand) was quickly followed by the arrival in Rome of envoys from Porsena. The first attempt upon his life, foiled only by a lucky mistake, and the prospect of having to face the same thing again from every one of the remaining conspirators, had so shaken the king that he was coming forward with proposals for peace.

Titus Livy
i-am-roman-he-said-to-king-my-name-is-gaius-mucius-i-came-here-to-kill-you-my-enemy-i-have-as-much-courage-to-die-as-to-kill-it-is-our-roman-way-to-do-to-suffer-bravely-nor-am-i-
As soon as we arrived home, I told Bliss I was going to take a shower. Sundays were a two-show day, so I certainly needed it. I let her go in first to brush her teeth. I waited for the water to turn on, then leapt into action. I found Hamlet's feathered cat toy (the only reason she would ever willingly get close to Bliss), and hid it underneath the bed. Then I went to the closet and found the suit coat pocket where I'd hidden the ring. I popped open the box to look at it one more time. It wasn't much. I was only an actor, after all. But Bliss wasn't one to wear much jewelry any way. It was simple and sparkling, and I hoped she would love it as much as I loved her. A popping sensation filled my gut like those silly candy rocks that Bliss loved. What if I was pushing her too fast? No. No, I'd thought this out. It was the best way. I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and slid the ring box toward the back. The water in the bathroom shut off, and I went back to the closet, shucking my shirt. I tossed it in the hamper at the same time Bliss walked in the room. She came up behind me and placed a hand on my bare back. She pressed a small kiss on my shoulder and asked, 'Get Hamlet for me before you shower?' I smiled, and nodded. Bliss was so determined to make Hamlet like her that she played with the cat for at least half an hour before bed every night. Hamlet would stick around for as long as Bliss waved that feathered toy in the air, but the minute Bliss tried to touch her, she was gone. I found Hamlet in the kitchen, hiding underneath the kitchen table. I reached a hand down, and she butted her head against my fingers, purring. I picked her up at the same time that Bliss asked, 'Babe, have you seen the cat toy?' I walked into the room, and deposited Hamlet on the bed. She hunkered down and eyed Bliss with distrust. 'Where did you see it last?' I asked her. 'I thought I'd left it on the dresser, but I can't find it. ' I petted Hamlet once to keep her calm, then placed a quick kiss on Bliss's cheek. 'I don't know, honey. Are you sure you didn't leave it somewhere else?' She sighed, and started looking in other spots around the room. I turned and hid my smile as I left. I nipped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I waited a few seconds, went back in the hallway.

Cora Carmack
as-soon-as-we-arrived-home-i-told-bliss-i-was-going-to-take-shower-sundays-were-twoshow-day-i-certainly-needed-it-i-let-her-go-in-first-to-brush-her-teeth-i-waited-for-water-to-t
Your Eve was wise, John. She knew that Paradise would make her mad, if she were to live forever with Adam and know no other thing but strawberries and tigers and rivers of milk. She knew they would tire of these things, and each other. They would grow to hate every fruit, every stone, every creature they touched. Yet where could they go to find any new thing? It takes strength to live in Paradise and not collapse under the weight of it. It is every day a trial. And so Eve gave her lover the gift of time, time to the timeless, so that they could grasp at happiness... And this is what Queen Abir gave to us, her apple in the garden, her wisdom-without which we might all have leapt into the Rimal in a century. The rite bears her name still. For she knew the alchemy of demarcation far better than any clock, and decreed that every third century husbands and wives should separate, customs should shift and parchmenters become architects, architects farmers of geese and monkeys, Kings should become fishermen, and fishermen become players of scenes. Mothers and fathers should leave their children and go forth to get other sons and daughters, or to get none if that was their wish. On the roads of Pentexore folk might meet who were once famous lovers, or a mother and child of uncommon devotion-and they would laugh, and remember, but call each other by new names, and begin again as friends, or sisters, or lovers, or enemies. And some time hence all things would be tossed up into the air once more and land in some other pattern. If not for this, how fastened, how frozen we would be, bound to one self, forever a mother, forever a child. We anticipate this refurbishing of the world like children at a holiday. We never know what we will be, who we will love in our new, brave life, how deeply we will wish and yearn and hope for who knows what impossible thing! Well, we anticipate it. There is fear too, and grief. There is shaking, and a worry deep in the bone. Only the Oinokha remains herself for all time-that is her sacrifice for us. There is sadness in all this, of course-and poets with long elegant noses have sung ballads full of tears that break at one blow the hearts of a flock of passing crows! But even the most ardent lover or doting father has only two hundred years to wait until he may try again at the wheel of the world, and perhaps the wheel will return his wife or his son to him. Perhaps not. Wheels, and worlds, are cruel. Time to the timeless, apples to those who live without hunger. There is nothing so sweet and so bitter, nothing so fine and so sharp.

Catherynne M. Valente
your-eve-was-wise-john-she-knew-that-paradise-would-make-her-mad-if-she-were-to-live-forever-with-adam-know-no-other-thing-but-strawberries-tigers-rivers-milk-she-knew-they-would
Little Red-Cap At childhood's end, the houses petered out into playing fields, the factory, allotments kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men, the silent railway line, the hermit's caravan, till you came at last to the edge of the woods. It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf. He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw, red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears he had! What big eyes he had! What teeth! In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me, sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink, my first. You might ask why. Here's why. Poetry. The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods, away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake, my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes but got there, wolf's lair, better beware. Lesson one that night, breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem. I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf? Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws and went in search of a living bird - white dove - which flew, straight, from my hands to his hope mouth. One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said, licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books. Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head, warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood. But then I was young - and it took ten years in the woods to tell that a mushroom stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out, season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe to a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmon to see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolf as he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw the glistening, virgin white of my grandmother's bones. I filled his old belly with stones. I stitched him up. Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all alone.

Carol Ann Duffy
little-redcap-at-childhoods-end-houses-petered-out-into-playing-fields-factory-allotments-kept-like-mistresses-by-kneeling-married-men-silent-railway-line-hermits-caravan-till-yo
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