Lily knew then that Sheen was right. She would have a horse one day, but not for a long time. When she did, she would have control over what she could and could not have, although maybe she could right now, to an extent. She might not be able to have a horse, but she could choose to have Sheen as a friend, if he was willing to be her friend.
He guided her hands lower, over her own soft belly, her hips, the tops of her thighs. The oils they spread there left a sheen upon her flesh. A sheen that glistened as firelight and shadows caroused about the space. His grasped her wrists and he urged her hands to her back once again. 'Clasp them, ' he said and she did.
I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould. I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was. I have seen an old face much lined with nothing, and a smooth face in which all things were graven. I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.
I had been very impressed with the voiceover of 'Apocalypse Now,' with Martin Sheen's voice. That was a great voiceover; it really internalized the Martin Sheen character, who was essentially fairly low key and didn't say a lot during the whole movie. But he thought a lot, so I always thought that was really great.
The way it works in commercials is they come to you with the script and then you do the visual, you do the storyboards, and you give your vision of it, but it's very much their baby. You just kind of put your polish and sheen on it, and you're interpretation of it, but it's very much the agency's idea.
Paul W. S. Anderson
I'm from East Sheen, I went to public school where I learned Latin at the age of nine, and certain expectations were made of me to go to St Paul's, Oxbridge maybe, and all that kind of thing. And I failed systematically to meet the mark - who I am and what I should have been are two very different things.
I learned that the majority of the time, simplicity is the best way to go about things as you peel away the layers... that's when you start finding the gold... I can't say that was from my own acting. That was from observing actors like John Spencer and Martin Sheen... I had a chance just to observe.
America pays its bills. It always has. It always will. The fact that Washington is now debating whether to honor its debts and obligations, then, should come as a surprise. But playing political football with a necessary vote to raise the nation's debt ceiling has become as predictable as a Twitter rant from Charlie Sheen.
He found that he had this sudden desperate longing for the fuming, smoky streets of Ankh-Morpork, which was always at its best in the spring, when the gummy sheen on the turbid waters of the Ankh River had a special iridescence and the eaves were full of birdsong, or at least birds coughing rhythmically
The right type of [leader] is democratic. He must not consider himself a superior sort of personage. He must actually feel democratic; it is not enough that he try to pose as democratic-he must be democratic, otherwise the veneer, the sheen, would wear off, for you can't fool a body of intelligent American workingmen for very long. He must ring true.
T. Coleman du Pont
Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi looks in the mirror and sees a playboy of the old school. And men such as Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Charlie Sheen no doubt look at Berlusconi and think, 'Role model!' Women, of course, know otherwise. They see him as an aging, pathetic buffoon.
I honestly do not know if civil disobedience has any effect on the government. I can promise you it has a great effect on the person who chooses to do it. Martin Sheen The burning of rebellious thoughts in the little breast, of internal hatred and opposition, could not long go on without slight whiffs of external smoke, such as mark the course of subterranean fire.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Another of them died last night. His body was in the bazaar this morning. It lay, with a collecting bowl at its feet, on the charpoy that is reserved for those who die without money or family to bury them. He looked desiccated and his skin had the sheen and color of the dates we eat to break our fast. There are new bodies on that charpoy every week.
Marriage can be made to work if both the partners can see beyond themselves and understand the limitations, needs and abilities of the other person and are willing to embrace the positive and negative aspects of each other in their understanding. But it never happens that way. We expect others to understand and comply with us while we fail to do the same. Thus marriage loses all it's sheen by the time the couple reaches middle age.
With women, my wiring shorts out. My senses respond to the physical and the chemical, the scent and sheen of her. Evil could not possibly reside in the form of this angel. Or could it? Sure, I'm politically incorrect. I admit it; I confess; guilty as charged. I am, Your Honor, the lowest of the species, still wet from the swamp, webbed feet fossilized in the mud. I am a Man!
With the royal family, you don't want to see them as people because it takes the sheen off. They're distant; you can idealize them. But there's room to have compassion for people and see them as human beings. Just because they're royalty, it doesn't mean they don't love or feel loss or feel pain.
Water matted his black hair into spikes and peppered his skin with a fresh sheen. If I shut my eyes I could still see the one who bound me, his smile bright as the white sun as he emerged from our latest dip in the sea. I fought the sudden urge to bury my face in his chest and run my fingers through that hair.
She had left her legs bare, and if he wasn't mistaken, they had a slight sheen. He realized she'd caught him staring when she cleared her throat. 'Are your legs... sparkly?' he managed to ask, feeling the need to explain since he'd been caught leering. 'My body lotion has a little bit of glitter in it, ' she said with a trace of diffidence. She seemed apologetic. For what, he had no idea.
They were standing in a very large room. The floorboards stretched in a pale expanse at their feet. There was so much dust on the floor that it had a pearly sheen. "Even you could not nap on this floor," Kami told Angela. "I don't know, a dust mattress might be very comfortable," said Angela. "Also possibly orthopedic.
Sarah Rees Brennan
Beautiful and rich is an old friendship, Grateful to the touch as ancient ivory, Smooth as aged wine, or sheen of tapestry Where light has lingered, intimate and long. Full of tears and warm is an old friendship That asks no longer deeds of gallantry, Or any deed at all- save that the friend shall be Alive and breathing somewhere, like a song.
It is hard to think of conversion as a blinding light on the road to Damascus, or as a highly spiritual or intellectual process, when the light comes from a flickering television; the voice of the deity is Bishop Sheen and you have drilled your father on his catechism answers...I was troubled at a young age by the idea that pouring water over someone's head could change both his relationship to God...
It is so easy to waste our lives: our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the pale new growth on an evergreen, the sheen of the limestone on Fifth Avenue, the colour of our kids' eyes, the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of live. Unless you know there is a clock ticking.
I told him your loins were clearly burning, and he should man up and make a move." "You did not!" "I did. And if he doesn't, then I suggest you jump his bones."... I finally register what he's wearing. It's a handsome skinny black suit with a shiny sheen. The pants are too short - on purpose, of course - exposing his usual pointy shoes and a pair of blue socks that match my dress exactly. And I totally want to jump him.
Detective, any warm-blooded male with a pulse would have his hand on your glorious ass. May I?" "Knock yourself out." His fingertips sketched over that tight sheen of Lycra before cupping a taut globe for a squeeze. "What kind of workout do you do to get that kind of muscle tone?" She put her face up close to his. "I beat the shit outta guys who grab my ass.
I've done two motorcycle pictures: I did 'Beyond The Law,' and I did one produced by Tarantino called 'Hell Ride,' with Dennis Hopper and David Carradine and Vinnie Jones. And I just think 'Hell Ride' was a lot more of what a biker movie should be. But the good part of 'Beyond The Law' was that I had a good time with Charlie Sheen.
The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all.
George R.R. Martin
Time seemed to drag with dreamlike slowness, like a knife through cold honey, and the room took on a surreal golden sheen as if I was looking through that same jar of honey. Maybe at that moment, the sun shone just right though the grimy windows, but the woman, the shelves, the jars, everything in the room appeared in tones of gold and sepia, except for the painting behind the counter. From behind the shopkeeper's head, a fluorescent Mary and Jesus glared at me, their cartoon-like faces reproaching me for being there.
The sky aft was dark as pitch, but the moon still shone brightly ahead of us and lit up the blackness. Beneath its sheen a huge white-topped breaker, twenty feet high or more, was rushing on to us. It was on the break-the moon shone on its crest and tipped its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by the awful squall behind it.
H. Rider Haggard
And so we polish our own lives, creating landscapes and canyons and peaks with the very silt we try to avoid, the dirt we disavow or hide or deny. It is the dirt of our lives""the depressions, the losses, the inequities, the failing grades in trigonometry, the e-mails sent in fear or hate or haste, the ways in which we encounter people different from us""that shape us, polish us to a heady sheen, make us in fact more beautiful, more elemental, more artful and lasting.
Terry Tempest Williams
The first pair Opal and Amber are, Agate sings in B flat, the wolf avatar, A duet-solutio! - with Aquamarine. Mighty Emerald next, with the lovely Citrine. Number Eight is digestio, her stand is Jade fine. E major's the key of the Black Tourmaline, Sapphire sings in F major, and bright is her sheen. Then almost at once comes Diamond alone, Whose sign of the lion as Leo is known. Projectio! Time flows on, both present and past. Ruby red is the first and is also the last.
No, time has silverted the dark sheen of her hair, and thickened her body, and lined the corners of her eyes and her lips. He saw in them the hints of the smile he loved, and knew, to be fair, that time had been no kinder to him. Or perhaps, it had been just as kind; for she did not look the part of a young girl, and she was not: she was stronger, wiser, and more just than the fear of youth allowed; she gave him the shelter that he needed, on the rare occasions that that need drove him. She trusted him, always; she looked up to him, still; he strove, in every way, to continue to live up to her expectation. She was the one person in his life he did not wish to disappoint.
Michelle Sagara West
My very core clenches and spasms, my hips with a mind of their own, lurch. It is as if I no longer have control of any part of my body. 'Ugh, ' I continue to groan in relief. And then, slowly, the rush is over and I am able to part my eyelids again. David is still looking at my face, a light sheen of sweat on his brow indicates that his task was not without effort. Finding his gaze too forthright in the current circumstances, my eyes move to the arm that still dwells beneath my skirts and the hand that clings viciously to his sleeve. My hand.
One last mystery: on one of the little ponds, this morning, I saw wind riffling the first of the waterlily leaves. They haven't all emerged yet, but new circles tattoo the water, here and there, a coppery red. When the wind lifted their edges, each would reveal a little shadowy spot, a dot of black which seemed to flash on the water, and so across the whole surface of the pond there was what could only be described as the inverse of sparkling; a scintillant blackness. Shining blackly, black but rippling, lyrical: the sheen and radiance of death-in-life. Is that my work, to point to the world and say, See how darkly it sparkles?
I exercise regularly. I eat moderate amounts of healthy food. I make sure to get plenty of rest. I see my doctor once a year and my dentist twice a year. I floss every night. I've had chest x""rays, cardio stress tests, EKGs and colonoscopies. I see a psychologist and have a variety of hobbies to reduce stress. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. I don't have crazy, reckless sex with strangers. If Charlie Sheen outlives me, I'm gonna be really pissed.
Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring ,Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.
Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring , Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.
Sionnach smiled in the way of the falsely modest and added, "Forgive me for not standing, but I can't find the energy just yet." the answering heat flare was enough to raise the temperature in the cave, enough to explain the fine sheen of sweat on Sionnach's body. It wasn't comfortable, but it was useful at hiding the truth. He waited as Keenan's gaze took in the candles, the glasses beside the bed, and the fact that Sionnach was seemingly naked. There were moments in every faery's life that were too perfect to have been planned, and Sionnach was having just such a moment as he reclined in Rika's bed grinning while the faery who had caused such upheaval in Rika's life-and in their desert-very obviously misinterpreted the clues.
I think that the most beautiful of people are like exquisite serpents- glorious sheen, glorious patterns and elaborate grace- but you do wrong to cast envy upon them, lest you want to also taste of the venom they carry in their mouthes! Beauty is so often born from adversity of circumstance, like the lotus born of the mud, reaching up through the water and into the light! I often wake up from dreams of being underwater, I suppose I am a lotus flower that has made her way! But you do wrong to envy the lotus blossom, for you know not of her journey! Not all of us are serpents and lotus flowers, not all of us are beautiful like that; too many people just sit there, ignorantly casting envy on what they do not even comprehend!
C. JoyBell C.
They were different colors: the right one blue, the left green. And her face in the light of the candle on the table startled me at first, just as it had in the icy night air. After seeing it on the street, I was afraid I had only imagined it: a still, luminous face with a silvery sheen. Finely hewn, with a long, straight nose and a wide mouth, it was nearly identical to another face, which I had photographed years before. Not on a person, bu on the fragment of a frieze I found in some ruins near Verona, The frieze, which depicted a band of musicians, had once been shadowed beneath a cornice high on the temple of Mercury, god of magic. Belonging to one of the musicians, it was a riveting face - like a puzzle that could not be solved - which I had never found, or expected to find, on a living woman.
Jill's face was hard when PE ended, and I had the feeling she was trying not to cry. I tried talking to her in the locker room, but she simply shook her head and headed off for the showers. I was about to go there myself when I heard a shriek. Those of us who were still by the lockers raced to the shower room to see what was happening. Laurel jerked the curtain back from her stall and came running out, oblivious to the fact that she was naked. I gaped. Her skin was covered in a fine sheen of ice. Water droplets from the shower had frozen solid on her skin and in her hair, though in the steamy heat of the rest of the room, they were already starting to melt. I glanced over to the shower itself and noticed that the water coming out of the faucet was also frozen solid.
She went to the window. A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight, and white smoke rose from chimneys in the valley below the resort town. The window opened to a rush of sharp early November air that would have the town in a flurry of activity, anticipating the tourists the colder weather always brought to the high mountains of North Carolina. She stuck her head out and took a deep breath. If she could eat the cold air, she would. She thought cold snaps were like cookies, like gingersnaps. In her mind they were made with white chocolate chunks and had a cool, brittle vanilla frosting. They melted like snow in her mouth, turning creamy and warm.
Sarah Addison Allen
Black vomit came gushing out Samantha's mouth, adding to the puddle already on the floor. Samantha was covered in a sheen of sweat, crouched on all fours on the wooden hallway floor, like an animal. Her thick yellow fingernails made deep scratches in the wood as her body convulsed with each new expulsion of the black vomit. Her hair was long and thick and full; thicker and fuller than he had ever seen it. It reminded him of a lion's mane. Her skin was a sickly pale grey with disturbing red boils the size of grapefruit and weeping puss-filled black blotches where others had burst. Spider webs of blue veins were visible under the skin all over her body.
Joseph M. Chiron
HOLD UP, MONEY TALK SO YOU KNOW WHAT? AIN'T NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT, YE AIN'T GOT ENOUGH CUZ ROCK STAR DRUGS BREAK A BITCH HEART, NO LOVE EMMA WATTS, CHARLIE SHEEN, FUCKIN WITH NO SCRUB NIGGAS WANT CONNECTS, GOT NO PLUGS NIGGA SAY THEY HIGH, GOT NO BUZZ POPSICLE NIGGAS WANNA TALK SHIT THEN SAY YOU FROZE UP YOUNG NIGGAS WANNA POP PILLS, JUST PO UP WENT ON A BANG, WENT ON A BANG BITCHES CAME FOR ME AND MY NIGGA EASY THREW THAT BITCH OUT, GOT THAT HOE ONE WAY SAID SHE TRYNA STAY, TOLD THAT BITCH NO WAY THAT'S A PREME NIGGA, B RIPPER, GRIM REAPER I DON'T GET MAD BITCH, I JUST GET EVEN T-RAW MAGICIAN, I DON'T GOTTA TRICK OR TREAT IT THAT FERRARI CALIFORNIA MAKE A BITCH A BELIEVE
Sitting down on the stairs, Cheyenne watched Behr through the slats in the railing. She liked what she saw. Covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, muscles swollen from what was clearly a grueling workout, Behr's toned physique was a serious distraction from her worries, making her content to just sit and watch. Each thump of his fist into the bag resonated in her bones. Each kick of his leg thundered in her ears. Every move seemed to be in time with the harsh sounds of the music pumping through the room, until he was a frenzy of movement. It was frighteningly beautiful. Standing, Cheyenne called out to him. 'Behr? Are you hungry?' She was feeling a little peckish herself, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Between a combination of brutal punches, knee jabs and the music, Behr didn't hear a word she said. So she decided to go to him. Winding her way through equipment and stepping over the discarded sweaty T-shirt, Cheyenne approached him. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, she tapped him on the shoulder during a brief pause. Big mistake. Huge.
100 THOUSAND FOR MY CAR KEYS, MILLION DOLLAR HOUSE KEYS SHE ONLY WANNA TALK TO ME CAUSE HER BOYFRIEND NOT ME I'M SMOKING ON BROCCOLI CAUSE IT'S HEALTHY FOR ME PLUS I'M GETTING ALOT OF MONEY, I AIN'T NEVER HUNGRY GUNS MASK BLACK OPPS SCREAM, A NIGGA TRY TO ROB ME IF A NIGGA TRY TO ROB, HE GONNA BE SALTY GUNS SPRAYING LIKE OIL SHEEN HOLLOWS GET A NIGGA OFF ME MAKE ME FEEL LIKE PAC ME ALL EYES ON ME HO'S MOUTH DROP WHEN I RIDE PASS CAUSE MY TRUCK COST A LAM SEE THIS ICE ON MY WRIST AND NEVER WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OFF LIKE DAMN BALLIN' SO DAMN SO HARD I TRIED TO SLAM DUNK AND I BROKE THE RIM COUGHIN' SO DAMN HARD PUT 3 GRAMS IN A BLUNT THEN I BROKE IT DOWN MILLION DOLLAR HOUSE KEYS, GET THE FUCK OFF ME DAMN ALMIGHTY CAUSE I KNOW YOU FEEL SALTY NOW I ONLY SPEAK GWOPANESE, PLAY THAT BITCH LIKE THE LOTTERY YOU COULD ACT LIKE YOU AIN'T SALTY, THAT SHIT DON'T BOTHER ME
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
George Gordon Lord Byron
Lorelei It is no night to drown in: A full moon, river lapsing Black beneath bland mirror-sheen, The blue water-mists dropping Scrim after scrim like fishnets Though fishermen are sleeping, The massive castle turrets Doubling themselves in a glass All stillness. Yet these shapes float Up toward me, troubling the face Of quiet. From the nadir They rise, their limbs ponderous With richness, hair heavier Than sculptured marble. They sing Of a world more full and clear Than can be. Sisters, your song Bears a burden too weighty For the whorled ear's listening Here, in a well-steered country, Under a balanced ruler. Deranging by harmony Beyond the mundane order, Your voices lay siege. You lodge On the pitched reefs of nightmare, Promising sure harborage; By day, descant from borders Of hebetude, from the ledge Also of high windows. Worse Even than your maddening Song, your silence. At the source Of your ice-hearted calling- Drunkenness of the great depths. O river, I see drifting Deep in your flux of silver Those great goddesses of peace. Stone, stone, ferry me down there.
He told me that from now on, everything I did and everything he did was of the utmost importance: any word spoken, the slightest gesture, would take on a meaning, and everything that happened between us would change us continually. 'For that reason, 'he said, 'I wish I were able to suspend time at this moment and keep things exactly at this point, because I feel this instant is a true beginning. We have a definite but unknown quantity of experience at our disposal. As soon as the hourglass is turned, the sand will begin to run out and once it starts, it cannot stop until it's all gone. That's why I wish I could hold it back at the start. We should make a minimum of gestures, pronounce a minimum of words, even see each other as seldom as possible, if that would prolong things. We don't know how much of everything we have ahead of us so we have to take the greatest precautions not to destroy the beauty of what we have. Everything exists in limited quantity-especially happiness. If a love is to come into being, it is all written down somewhere, and also its duration and content. If you could arrive at the complete intensity the first day, it would be ended the first day. And so if it's something you want so much that you'd like to have it prolonged in time, you must be extremely careful not to make the slightest excessive demand that might prevent it from developing to the greatest extent over the longest period... If the wings of the butterfly are to keep their sheen, you mustn't touch them. We mustn't abuse something which is to bring light into both our lives. Everything else in my life only weighs me down and shuts out the light. This thing wih you seems like a window that is opening up. I want it to remain open...