Less really is more. It's a tendency of beginning writers to want to prove what they're talking about by going too far with description. I think you've got to keep it short, crisp and clean. ↗
I wasn't even sure I'd be able to walk. I couldn't even go outside. Maybe I was just burnt crisp from the gruelling schedule I had been keeping for years. ↗
It's a beautiful thing, diving into the cool crisp water and then just sort of being able to pull your body through the water and the water opening up for you. ↗
I kept asking myself if I felt different, if I was different. The answer was always yes. I was no longer nothing…
How odd, I thought; it had taken my mother’s death, Father Quinel’s murder, and the desire of others to kill me to claim a life of my own. ↗
Whatever has gone on in the outer world has passed me by. But I think if anyone said to me, 'if you go on like this life will pass you by,' I would reply, 'thank God for that, I nearly got mixed up in the beastly thing. ↗
Close your eyes and turn your face into the wind.
Feel it sweep along your skin in an invisible ocean of exultation.
Suddenly, you know you are alive. ↗
I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers and greens in every lush shade imaginable offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow. ↗
I was probably the best that ever walked this earth. And I could take a punch. I could deliver a punch. I didn't have the hardest punch in the world but my punches were sharp and they were crisp. And if you took too many of them, you would be knocked out. ↗