Quivered 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
the-world-wavered-quivered-threatened-to-burst-into-flames-virginia-woolf
dont-talk-to-my-sister-that-way-nico-said-his-voice-quivered-but-i-was-impressed-that-he-had-guts-to-say-anything-at-all-percy-rick-riordan
a-quiet-but-indomitable-voice-behind-me-said-i-believe-this-is-my-dance-it-was-him-i-could-feel-his-presence-the-warmth-him-seeped-into-my-back-i-quivered-all-over-like-spring-le
when-she-stopped-kissing-him-his-hand-went-to-her-waist-to-pull-her-back-sun-beat-down-on-us-the-day-quivered-the-sky-was-as-deep-as-ocean-we-breathed-underwater-karen-foxlee
i-heard-my-heart-pounded-my-lips-quivered-at-sound-decay-crept-into-my-bones-my-legs-trembled-yet-i-will-wait-patiently-for-day-calamity-to-come-habakkuk-316
the-past-he-thought-is-linked-with-present-by-unbroken-chain-events-flowing-one-out-another-and-it-seemed-to-him-that-he-had-just-seen-both-ends-that-chain-that-when-he-touched-o
It was while gliding through these latter waters that one serene and moonlight night, when all the waves rolled by like scrolls of silver; and, by their soft, suffusing seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude; on such a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the bow. Lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea. Fedallah first descried this jet. For of these moonlight nights, it was his wont to mount to the main-mast head, and stand a look-out there, with the same precision as if it had been day. And yet, though herds of whales were seen by night, not one whaleman in a hundred would venture a lowering for them. You may think with what emotions, then, the seamen beheld this old Oriental perched aloft at such unusual hours; his turban and the moon, companions in one sky. But when, after spending his uniform interval there for several successive nights without uttering a single sound; when, after all this silence, his unearthly voice was heard announcing that silvery, moon-lit jet, every reclining mariner started to his feet as if some winged spirit had lighted in the rigging, and hailed the mortal crew. 'There she blows!' Had the trump of judgment blown, they could not have quivered more; yet still they felt no terror; rather pleasure. For though it was a most unwonted hour, yet so impressive was the cry, and so deliriously exciting, that almost every soul on board instinctively desired a lowering.

Herman Melville
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A loud clang of what sounded like a tray hitting the marble kitchen floor made Bree jump and Gianni go wide eyed with apparent terror. He covered his ears and shook his head. 'Bang! Bang! Bang!' He fell over and covered his head. Bree rushed over to him as he began shrieking fearfully. 'Maaammaaaaaa!' 'Is okay, Gianni. Just a ting falled down, ' Will said patting Gianni's back but Bree noticed her little boy's hand was shaking. 'It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here. That's okay, ' she crouched down and gathered Gianni into her arms. 'Bang! Mama. It bang!' he wailed into her shoulder, trembling in her arms. 'It was just a loud noise. Cook just dropped something, probably a whole big plate of yucky beets. Isn't that funny?' she said, forcing a laugh. Jesus Christ, how much more violence would her children be forced to endure? Again, Bree felt selfish for bringing her innocent babies into the Dardano world. Gianni looked up at her, picking up on her tone he gave a small watery smile. 'Ucky ee 'Yucky yucky beets, ' Bree repeated bouncing him lightly as her heart returned to its normal rhythm in her chest. Gianni giggled and shuddered against her as the last remnants of his fear dissipated. Bree looked over at Will. 'You okay, sweetie?' Will blinked and looked over at her, wide eyed and his lower lip quivered, but he set his chin like she knew he'd watched Alessandro do and nodded. 'I bwave. I nod scared.' Bree smiled at him and kissed his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair. 'Wow. That is pretty brave. I know I was scared when I first heard the noise.' 'Really?' Will asked hesitantly. 'Definitely, ' Bree nodded. Gianni echoed the gesture. 'Well, dat's diffen. You's a girl.' 'Oh, is that so?' Bree asked setting Gianni on the blanket next to her. 'So you think 'cause mommy's a girl she's a fraidy cat. Huh? Huh?' she asked poking him. Will curled in on himself and giggled as he tried to avoid her fingers.

E. Jamie
a-loud-clang-what-sounded-like-tray-hitting-marble-kitchen-floor-made-bree-jump-gianni-go-wide-eyed-with-apparent-terror-he-covered-his-ears-shook-his-head-bang-bang-bang-he-fell
Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping." "Mr. Rochester, I must leave you." "For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair - which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face - which looks feverish?" "I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my whole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange scenes." "Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about parting from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the new existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married. You shall be Mrs. Rochester - both virtually and nominally. I shall keep only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to a place I have in the south of France: a whitewashed villa on the shores of the Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and most innocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure you into error - to make you my mistress. Why did you shake your head? Jane, you must be reasonable, or in truth I shall again become frantic." His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye blazed: still I dared to speak. "Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morning by yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then be your mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical - is false." "Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man - you forget that: I am not long-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to me and yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and - beware!" He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking his cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all hands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred, was cruel: to yield was out of the question. I did what human beings do instinctively when they are driven to utter extremity - looked for aid to one higher than man: the words "God help me!" burst involuntarily from my lips. "I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. "I keep telling her I am not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knows nothing of the character of that woman, or of the circumstances attending my infernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane will agree with me in opinion, when she knows all that I know! Just put your hand in mine, Janet - that I may have the evidence of touch as well as sight, to prove you are near me - and I will in a few words show you the real state of the case. Can you listen to me?" "Yes, sir; for hours if you will.

Charlotte Bronte«
oh-mention-it-if-i-storm-you-have-art-weeping-mr-rochester-i-must-leave-you-for-how-long-jane-for-few-minutes-while-you-smooth-your-hair-which-is-somewhat-dishevelled-bathe-your-
Almondine To her, the scent and the memory of him were one. Where it lay strongest, the distant past came to her as if that morning: Taking a dead sparrow from her jaws, before she knew to hide such things. Guiding her to the floor, bending her knee until the arthritis made it stick, his palm hotsided on her ribs to measure her breaths and know where the pain began. And to comfort her. That had been the week before he went away. He was gone, she knew this, but something of him clung to the baseboards. At times the floor quivered under his footstep. She stood then and nosed into the kitchen and the bathroom and the bedroom-especially the closet-her intention to press her ruff against his hand, run it along his thigh, feel the heat of his body through the fabric. Places, times, weather-all these drew him up inside her. Rain, especially, falling past the double doors of the kennel, where he'd waited through so many storms, each drop throwing a dozen replicas into the air as it struck the waterlogged earth. And where the rising and falling water met, something like an expectation formed, a place where he might appear and pass in long strides, silent and gestureless. For she was not without her own selfish desires: to hold things motionless, to measure herself against them and find herself present, to know that she was alive precisely because he needn't acknowledge her in casual passing; that utter constancy might prevail if she attended the world so carefully. And if not constancy, then only those changes she desired, not those that sapped her, undefined her. And so she searched. She'd watched his casket lowered into the ground, a box, man-made, no more like him than the trees that swayed under the winter wind. To assign him an identity outside the world was not in her thinking. The fence line where he walked and the bed where he slept-that was where he lived, and they remembered him. Yet he was gone. She knew it most keenly in the diminishment of her own self. In her life, she'd been nourished and sustained by certain things, him being one of them, Trudy another, and Edgar, the third and most important, but it was really the three of them together, intersecting in her, for each of them powered her heart a different way. Each of them bore different responsibilities to her and with her and required different things from her, and her day was the fulfillment of those responsibilities. She could not imagine that portion of her would never return. With her it was not hope, or wistful thoughts-it was her sense of being alive that thinned by the proportion of her spirit devoted to him. "ory of Edgar Sawtelle" As spring came on, his scent about the place began to fade. She stopped looking for him. Whole days she slept beside his chair, as the sunlight drifted from eastern-slant to western-slant, moving only to ease the weight of her bones against the floor. And Trudy and Edgar, encapsulated in mourning, somehow forgot to care for one another, let alone her. Or if they knew, their grief and heartache overwhelmed them. Anyway, there was so little they might have done, save to bring out a shirt of his to lie on, perhaps walk with her along the fence line, where fragments of time had snagged and hung. But if they noticed her grief, they hardly knew to do those things. And she without the language to ask.

David Wroblewski
almondine-to-her-scent-memory-him-were-one-where-it-lay-strongest-distant-past-came-to-her-as-if-that-morning-taking-dead-sparrow-from-her-jaws-before-she-knew-to-hide-such-thing
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