#eat

Their lives had another forty seconds to run. ↗

— Stephen King

#life #death

Each coil has the earthquake which created it, as every death has the life that gave birth to it. ↗

— Sorin Cerin

#life #wisdom #death

As yet we know nothing of what goes to create or evoke the active spark of life. ↗

— Bram Stoker

#death

I believe in a benevolent God not because He created the Grand Canyon or Michelangelo, but because He gave us snacks. ↗

— Paul Rudnick

#grand-canyon #michelangelo #snacks #death

...the wounds of the past and the scars of the present don't disfigure me in your eyes - because you know the price I pay for loving you ... ↗

— John Geddes

#eyes #past #present #price-of-love #scars

There's green eyes in my eyes And a lover on my mind And I sing from the piano Tear my yellow dress and Cry and cry and cry Over the love of you ↗

— Florence Welch

#over-the-love #the-great-gatsby #love

The crimson satin lining gleamed in the firelight, and so, too, did his eyes. When he looked up at her, there was a mist to them once again. “Little magpie,” he whispered as he looked at the black onyx ring. “You gave up everything for this, didn’t you?” She nodded. “That is how much I trust you. Everything I had hidden away in that biscuit jar went to this. All my worldly goods are in that ring, Jude.” “Then I will take it and hold it close, and never give you cause for regret.” He put the ring on his index finger, and Isabella grinned. How perfect it looked—how utterly sensual. She wanted that ringed hand on her body, comforting her. Loving her. ↗

— Charlotte Featherstone

#isabella #jude #seduction-and-scandal #love

We are all proprietary toward cities we love. 'Ah, you should have seen her when I loved her!' we say, reciting glories since faded or defiled, trusting her to no one else; that others should know and love her in her present fallen state (for she must fall without our vigilant love) is a species of betrayal. ↗

— Barbara Grizzuti Harrison

#civilization #great-cities #love

(...) or there will be a reckoning! ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#tiffany-aching #men

Some had hurled spears first. Those spears thumped into our shields, making them unwieldy, but it hardly mattered. The leading Danes tripped on the hidden timbers and the men behind pushed the falling men forward. I kicked one in the face, feeling my iron-reinforced boot crush bone. Danes were sprawling at our feet while others tried to get past their fallen comrades to reach our line, and we were killing. Two men succeeded in reaching us, despite the smoking barricade, and one of those two feel to Wasp-Sting coming up from beneath his shield-rim. He had been swinging an ax that the man behind me caught on his shield and the Dane was still holding the war ax's shaft as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I twisted the blade, ripping it upward, and as Cerdic, beside me, chopped his own ax down. The man with the crushed face was holding my ankle and I stabbed at him as the blood spray from Cerdic's ax blinded me. The whimpering man at my feet tried to crawl away, but Finan stabbed his sword into his thigh, then stabbed again. A Dane had hooked up his ax over the top rim of my shield and hauled it down to expose my body to a spear-thrust, but the ax rolled off the circular shield and the spear was deflected upward and I slammed Wasp-Sting forward again, felt her bite, twisted her, and Finan was keening his mad Irish song as he added his own blade to the slaughter. “Keep the shields touching!” I shouted at my men. ↗

— Bernard Cornwell

#death