I'm guessing I'm your fake girlfriend? B. J. Asks, sighing. It's a miracle that he figured it out. He's not usually the best with things that aren't spelled out for him. Of course, sweetie, I say. I try not to think about the fact that I'm talking to B. J. Like we're in love. B. J. Is six-foot-four and 220 pounds. Not someone you want to think about being intimate with.
Since you've been gone, Piper, I've become as bad with the sighing as Mom. Sometimes it's the part of a sob that I jsut can't hold back. Sometimes the sigh's more like blowing out birthday candles to make a wish. And sometimes I do it hoping that it'll make you appear-even for just one instant-to laugh at me and tell me to stop.
Kate Karyus Quinn
But in the end one also has to understand that the needs that religion has satisfied and philosophy is now supposed to satisfy are not immutable; they can be weakened and exterminated. Consider, for example, that Christian distress of mind that comes from sighing over ones inner depravity and care for ones salvation - all concepts originating in nothing but errors of reason and deserving, not satisfaction, but obliteration.
The best advice I got from my aunt, the great singer Rosemary Clooney, and from my dad, who was a game show host and news anchor, was: don't wake up at seventy years old sighing over what you should have tried. Just do it, be willing to fail, and at least you gave it a shot. That's echoed for me all through the last few years.
Relax.' She soothed the rigid line of his jaw with her other hand. 'I wouldn't want you to ruin that beautiful smile by breaking some teeth.' 'Then let go of my dick.' Sighing with obvious disappointment, Rose did as he asked. 'Do you remember what you said to me the night you, you know, ' now was not the time to blush, 'went down on me?' 'Sweetheart, right now I'm having trouble remembering my name.
Mary J. Williams
When people call it that I always get pissed off because I always think depression sounds like you just get like really sad, you get quiet and melancholy and just like sit quietly by the window sighing or just lying around. A state of not caring about anything. A kind of blue kind of peaceful state.
David Foster Wallace
Yes, I have a driver's license." I leaned back against the wall, sighing. "Man, that must be so cool." "It ranks right up there with lockers. In fact, sometimes I put my license inside my locker, and it's so cool I worry that the whole thing might explode with the sheer coolness of it all.
I miss you Emma." I'm not sure, but it looks like her eyes tear up. "I was fine for months without you," she says, the words hushed and forlorn. "Why does it hurt now?" I'm sighing and shoving a hand through my hair, which I know from experience leaves strands of it stabbing out in numerous directions, defiant and crazy-looking. Maybe crazy is exactly how I feel. "Because now we have hope of something more.
Sighing, she gave a brief nod. "I was supposed to win. I was supposed to finish you off. They never counted on you winning. And then you didn't kill me. It was awful." "You're welcome," I said, feeling fresh anger ignite. "I'll try not to humiliate you by letting you live next time." (Max II to Max)
I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning...
Separated lovers cheat absence by a thousand fancies which have their own reality. They are prevented from seeing one another and they cannot write; nevertheless they find countless mysterious ways of corresponding, by sending each other the song of birds, the scent of flowers, the laughter of children, the light of the sun, the sighing of the wind, and the gleam of the stars -all the beauties of creation.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife, ' I said, sighing. 'Is it?' said Veronica, looking surprised. 'Universally acknowledged? Surely that presupposes life similar to human societies beyond this planet, and besides-' 'No, no, it's a quote from... Never mind, ' I said.
[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. 'Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we're out of purgatory for the weekend.' 'Maybe later, ' I murmur, still distracted by the day's previous events. 'So, let me show you how a conversation works. I say something, and then you say something back that actually relates to what I was talking about, as if you were even the least bit interested.' 'Huh?' I say.
Vineyards and shining harvests, pastures, arbors, And all this our very utmost toil Can hardly care for, we wear down our strength Whether in oxen or in men, we dull The edges of our ploughshares, and in return Our fields turn mean and stingy, underfed, And so today the farmer shakes his head, More and more often sighing that his work, The labour of his hands, has come to naught.
This is about Ku'Sox, isn't it," I said, more of a statement than a question. He made a sighing groan, and I knew it was. "Then you've met," he said, his thoughts clearly on the day-walking demon. "Funny, you don't look dead." His hand touched my chin, shifting it so he could see where I'd been pixed, the blisters itchy and red. "I'm surprised you survived the little designer dump. I nearly didn't.
[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. "Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we're out of purgatory for the weekend." "Maybe later," I murmur, still distracted by the day's previous events. "So, let me show you how a conversation works. I say something, and then you say something back that actually relates to what I was talking about, as if you were even the least bit interested." "Huh?" I say.
What are you up to?" "Oh, you know, mischief and mayhem," he replied. "That so reminds me of Harry Potter," Brit said, sighing. "I need a re-read." We all turned to her. Two bright spots appeared in her cheeks as she tossed her blonde hair back. "What? I'm not ashamed to admit that random things remind me of Harry Potter.
What are you up to?' 'Oh, you know, mischief and mayhem, ' he replied. 'That so reminds me of Harry Potter, ' Brit said, sighing. 'I need a re-read.' We all turned to her. Two bright spots appeared in her cheeks as she tossed her blonde hair back. 'What? I'm not ashamed to admit that random things remind me of Harry Potter.
It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of cities are deserted.
Alfred de Musset
We slept in the same bed. There was never a right time to say it. It was always unnecessary. The books in my father's shed were sighing. The sheets were rising and falling around me with Anna's breathing. I thought about waking her. but it was unnecessary. There would be other nights. And how can you say I love you to someone you love? I rolled onto my side and fell asleep next to her. Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you... It's always necessary. I love you,...
Jonathan Safran Foer
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. ... You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I don't know what I was expecting a vampire's room to look like. Maybe lots of black, a bunch of books by Camus... oh, and a sensitive portrait of the only human the vamp ever loved, who had no doubt died of something beautiful and tragic, thus dooming the vamp to an eternity of moping and sighing dramatically. What can I say? I read a lot of books.
My mother had comforted me with tales ever since I was small. Sometimes they helped me peel a problem like an onion, or gave me ideas about what to do; other times, they calmed me so much that I would fall into a soothing sleep. My father used to say that her tales were better than the best medicine. Sighing, I burrowed into my mother's body like a child, knowing that the sound of her voice would be a balm on my heart.
After us they'll fly in hot air balloons, coat styles will change, perhaps they'll discover a sixth sense and cultivate it, but life will remain the same, a hard life full of secrets, but happy. And a thousand years from now man will still be sighing, "Oh! Life is so hard!" and will still, like now, be afraid of death and not want to die.
Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that's why I did it....Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it is over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Sudden Light I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, - How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turn'd so, Some veil did fall, -I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more?
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
That was a perfectly reasonable explanation," she said grumpily. "Perhaps my advisers don't lie to me." "Isn't that what you'd want?" asked Giddon. "Well, yes, but it doesn't elucidate my puzzle!" "If I may say so, Lady Queen," said Giddon, "it's not always easy to follow your conversation." "Oh, Giddon," she said, sighing. "If it's any comfort, I don't follow it either.
You are well aware of your effect on women, and I'm sure it gratifies you no end to watch them sigh and salivate over your magnificent physique. I do not wish to spoil your fun, Dain, but I do ask you to consider my pride and refrain from embarrassing me in public." Women... sighing and salivating... over his magnificent physique. Maybe the brutal bedding had destroyed a part of her brain.
You are well aware of your effect on women, and I'm sure it gratifies you no end to watch them sigh and salivate over your magnificent physique. I do not wish to spoil your fun, Dain, but I do ask you to consider my pride and refrain from embarrassing me in public." Women...sighing and salivating...over his magnificent physique. Maybe the brutal bedding had destroyed a part of her brain.
Everybody prays whether [you think] of it as praying or not. The odd silence you fall into when something very beautiful is happening or something very good or very bad. The ah-h-h-h! that sometimes floats up out of you as out of a Fourth of July crowd when the sky-rocket bursts over the water. The stammer of pain at somebody else s pain. The stammer of joy at somebody else's joy. Whatever words or sounds you use for sighing with over your own life. These are all prayers in their way.
Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul; / Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures; / Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave? / Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in? / For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are poured out like the waters.
Can you hear me? Sighing. You were right. My requiem is well prepared. Still to be written is the poem that is never complete, an endless rubbing on the ink block, an endless dipping of the pen, an endless swoop over the white paper, the poem of my life. I will try to write it down. Soon, no, now, I will try. The first line. I called him Necktie. I will write: He taught me to see with eyes of feeling.
Milena Michiko FlaÅ¡ar
Ah, sinner, may the Lord quicken thee! But it is a work that makes the Saviour weep. I think when He comes to call some of you from your death in sin, He comes weeping and sighing for you. There is a stone that is to be rolled away--your bad and evil habits--and when that stone is taken away, a still small voice will not do for you; it must be the loud crashing voice, like the voice of the Lord which breaketh the cedars of Lebanon.
Hermes visited him in the Underworld a few days before the spring equinox festival, cajoling Hades to come to it. Hades wandered across the fields with him, Kerberos limping along at his side. 'No one wants the god of death at their fertility festival.' 'Sure they do. I've heard plenty of girls sighing over your tasty darkness.' 'Tasty darkness. Really.
-Paint- My girlfriend is so besotted that she can't take her eyes off me. After we've turned out the light she puts on her night-vision goggles, and watched me as I sleep. Quite often I am woken by her sighing and involuntary yelps of happiness. This has been going on for years, and is showing no sign of abating. Once I asked her to stop all this infra-red activity, but it didn't really work; I'd wake up to find her covering me in luminous paint, and softly whispering, 'Sometimes I wonder if you know how much I love you.
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year you shall not die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson