Scatters 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
god-scatters-beauty-as-he-scatters-flowers-oer-wide-earth-tells-us-all-are-ours-a-hundred-lights-in-every-temple-burn-and-at-each-shrine-i-bend-my-walter-savage-landor
he-who-is-not-with-me-is-against-me-he-who-does-not-gather-with-me-scatters-matthew-1230
he-who-is-not-with-me-is-against-me-he-who-does-not-gather-with-me-scatters-luke-1123
he-who-obtains-has-little-he-who-scatters-has-much-lao-tzu
he-scatters-enjoyment-who-can-enjoy-much-johann-kaspar-lavater
he-that-scatters-thorns-let-him-not-go-barefoot-benjamin-franklin
he-loads-clouds-with-moisture-he-scatters-his-lightning-through-them-job-3711
see-how-he-scatters-his-lightning-about-him-bathing-depths-sea-job-3630
he-spreads-snow-like-wool-scatters-frost-like-ashes-psalm-14716
the-objection-to-conforming-to-usages-that-have-become-dead-to-you-is-that-it-scatters-your-force-ralph-waldo-emerson
in-silence-we-find-wisdom-revelations-inspirations-and-understanding-a-noisy-environment-just-scatters-up-everything
rain-scatters-plum-petals-weeping-stains-earth-one-can-only-take-shelter-and-wait-for-clearing-mingdao-deng
life-is-like-fire-flames-which-passerby-forgets-ashes-which-wind-scatters-a-man-lived-amin-maalouf
no-one-can-step-twice-into-same-river-nor-touch-mortal-substance-twice-in-same-condition-by-speed-its-change-it-scatters-gathers-again-heraclitus
every-sentence-he-manages-to-utter-scatters-its-component-parts-like-pond-water-from-verb-chasing-its-own-tail-clive-james
beguiling-without-doubt-month-may-scatters-flowers-electrifying-attributes-demanding-longing-for-smell-love-kristian-goldmund-aumann
i-am-guided-by-same-intelligence-inspired-by-same-imagination-which-scatters-moon-beams-across-waves-holds-forces-nature-in-its-grasp-ernest-holmes
its-funny-i-worked-with-lot-directors-in-many-years-that-ive-been-doing-this-generally-when-you-hear-director-yelling-on-set-everybody-scatters-gregory-nicotero
a-horrid-alcoholic-explosion-scatters-all-my-good-intentions-like-bits-limbs-clothes-over-doorsteps-into-saloon-bars-tawdriest-pubs-dylan-thomas
the-mighty-mahmed-allahbreathing-lord-that-all-misbelieving-black-horde-of-fears-sorrows-that-infest-soul-scatters-before-him-with-his-whirlwind-sword-omar-khayyem
they-were-evidently-small-men-all-wind-quibbles-flinging-out-their-chuffy-grain-to-us-with-far-less-interest-than-farmwife-feels-as-she-scatters-d-h-lawrence
the-man-meditation-is-man-who-wastes-no-time-scatters-no-energy-misses-no-opportunity-annie-besant
what-chance-gathers-she-easily-scatters-a-great-person-attracts-great-people-knows-how-to-hold-them-together-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe
service-springs-out-love-it-scatters-love-in-profusion-sri-sathya-sai-baba
but-how-conceive-god-supremely-good-who-heaps-his-favours-on-sons-he-loves-yet-scatters-evil-with-as-large-hand-written-after-earthquake-in-lisbon-killed-over-15-000-people-volta
the-hired-hand-is-not-shepherd-who-owns-sheep-so-when-he-sees-wolf-coming-he-abandons-sheep-runs-away-then-wolf-attacks-flock-scatters-it-john-1012
the-jealous-sun-the-sunlight-whispers-in-my-ear-his-breath-warm-sultry-tease-i-shrink-duck-beneath-tree-my-eyes-squint-to-scan-horizon-for-glimpse-wind-but-there-are-no-ashen-rib
I want to move my hands, but they're fused to his rib cage. I feel his lung span, his heartbeat, his very life force wrapped in these flimsy bars of bone. So fragile yet so solid. Like a brick wall with wet mortar. A juxtaposition of hard and soft. He inhales again. 'Jayme, ' he says my name with a mix of sigh and inquiry. I open my eyes and peer into his flushed face. Roses have bloomed on his ruddy cheeks and he looks as though he's raced the wind. 'Mm?' I reply. My mind is full of babble, I'm so high. 'Jayme, ' he's insistent, almost pleading. 'What are you?' Instantaneous is the cold alarm that douses the flames still dancing in my heart. I feel the nervousness that whispers through me like a cool breeze in the leaves. 'What do you mean?' I ask, the disquiet wringing the strength from my voice. 'It doesn't hurt anymore, ' he explains, inhaling deeply. I feel the line of a frown between my brows. Gingerly, I lift the hem of his shirt. And as sure as I am that the world is round and that the sky is, indeed, blue the bruises and welts on his torso have faded to nothingness, the golden tan of his skin is sun-kissed perfection. Panic has me frozen as I stare. 'I don't understand, ' I whisper. He looks down at his exposed abdomen. 'I think you healed me.' He says it so simply, but my mind takes his words and scatters them like ashes. I feel like I'm waking from a coma and I have amnesia and everyone speaks Chinese. I can't speak. If I had the strength to, I wouldn't have the words. I feel the panic flood into me and fear spiked adrenaline courses through me, I shove him. Hard. Eyes wide with shock, he stumbles back a few steps. A few steps is all I need. Fight or flight instinct taking root, I fight to flee. The space between us gives me enough room to slide out from between him and the car. He shouts my name. It's too late. I'm running a fast as my lithe legs will carry me. My Converse pound the sidewalk and I hear the roar of his engine. It's still too late. I grew up here and I'm ten blocks from home. No newbie could track me in my own neighborhood. In my town. Not with my determination to put as much distance as I can between me and the boy who scares the shit out of me. Not when I've scared the shit out of myself. I run. I run and I don't stop.

A.D. Evans
i-want-to-move-my-hands-but-theyre-fused-to-his-rib-cage-i-feel-his-lung-span-his-heartbeat-his-life-force-wrapped-in-these-flimsy-bars-bone-so-fragile-yet-solid-like-brick-wall-
One night he sits up. In cots around him are a few dozen sick or wounded. A warm September wind pours across the countryside and sets the walls of the tent rippling. Werner's head swivels lightly on his neck. The wind is strong and gusting stronger, and the corners of the tent strain against their guy ropes, and where the flaps at the two ends come up, he can see trees buck and sway. Everything rustles. Werner zips his old notebook and the little house into his duffel and the man beside him murmurs questions to himself and the rest of the ruined company sleeps. Even Werner's thirst has faded. He feels only the raw, impassive surge of the moonlight as it strikes the tent above him and scatters. Out there, through the open flaps of the tent, clouds hurtle above treetops. Toward Germany, toward home. Silver and blue, blue and silver. Sheets of paper tumble down the rows of cots, and in Werner's chest comes a quickening. He sees Frau Elena kneel beside the coal stove and bank up the fire. Children in their beds. Baby Jutta sleeps in her cradle. His father lights a lamp, steps into an elevator, and disappears. The voice of Volkheimer: What you could be. Werner's body seems to have gone weightless under his blanket, and beyond the flapping tent doors, the trees dance and the clouds keep up their huge billowing march, and he swings first one leg and then the other off the edge of the bed. 'Ernst, ' says the man beside him. 'Ernst.' But there is no Ernst; the men in the cots do not reply; the American soldier at the door of the tent sleeps. Werner walks past him into the grass. The wind moves through his undershirt. He is a kite, a balloon. Once, he and Jutta built a little sailboat from scraps of wood and carried it to the river. Jutta painted the vessel in ecstatic purples and greens, and she set it on the water with great formality. But the boat sagged as soon as the current got hold of it. It floated downstream, out of reach, and the flat black water swallowed it. Jutta blinked at Werner with wet eyes, pulling at the battered loops of yarn in her sweater. 'It's all right, ' he told her. 'Things hardly ever work on the first try. We'll make another, a better one.' Did they? He hopes they did. He seems to remember a little boat-a more seaworthy one-gliding down a river. It sailed around a bend and left them behind. Didn't it? The moonlight shines and billows; the broken clouds scud above the trees. Leaves fly everywhere. But the moonlight stays unmoved by the wind, passing through clouds, through air, in what seems to Werner like impossibly slow, imperturbable rays. They hang across the buckling grass. Why doesn't the wind move the light? Across the field, an American watches a boy leave the sick tent and move against the background of the trees. He sits up. He raises his hand. 'Stop, ' he calls. 'Halt, ' he calls. But Werner has crossed the edge of the field, where he steps on a trigger land mine set there by his own army three months before, and disappears in a fountain of earth.

Anthony Doerr
one-night-he-sits-up-in-cots-around-him-are-few-dozen-sick-wounded-a-warm-september-wind-pours-across-countryside-sets-walls-tent-rippling-werners-head-swivels-lightly-on-his-nec
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