I have a dress-up chest at home. I love to create this fantasy kind of thing.
A metaphorical weight lifted from his allegorical chest and Artemis Fowl felt himself again.
I took his hand, and suddely he yanked me―too roughly―right off the bed so that I thudded against his chest. "Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug that about to broke my ribs. "Can't―breathe!" I gasped.
I looked in the mirror at my pigeon chest, I had to put my clothes on cause it made me depressed.
If you want to hit a man in the chest, aim for his groin.
Your chest is different to your head.
They don't pay you a million dollars for two-hand chest passes.
He felt her heart beating against his chest. The moment began to transmute, and he wondered if there was something he should do. He wondered if he should kiss her. He wondered if he wanted to kiss her, and he realized that he truly didn't know.
But tonight, the lion of contentment has placed a warm heavy paw on my chest.
The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest down through my body out along my arms and legs to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me the kisses have the opposite effect of making my need greater.
There is a thing, like a bird, weak and fluttering within my chest, i cradle it and care for it as anyone should an injured thing, yet, i silently pray for it's death.
So many times I've encountered people who are just kind of like, 'Yeah, Nigeria,' and, you know, thump their chest and seem very sure of, like, being Nigerian. And I'm just kind of, like, I wish I could be that sure.
I just elbowed the pretty blonde he'd been speaking to aside and slapped my panties on his chest. "As soon as I saw you", I purred, "I knew I wouldn't be needing these"!
I am quite a physical chap - I think that's why my waist and physique are pretty much the same as when I was a kid, although my chest is a lot bigger.
I've been getting plenty off my chest. Sometimes I get too much off my chest and I regret it.
Death straps me to the hospital bed, claws its way onto my chest and sits there. I didn't know it would hurt this much. I didn't know that everything good that's ever happened in my life would be emptied out by it.
I looked him in the eye. “I will always love you. ” Then I plunged the stake into his chest.
Here's an example of how it wastes some time. To be judged on or to be talked about on appearance—say chest size—it makes me wear layers, it makes me have to waste time figuring out what am I going to wear so that nobody will look in an area that I don't need them to look at.
Harry found the [tea]. . . seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest.
How to run an ultramarathon ? Puff out your chest, put one foot in front of the other, and don't stop till you cross the finish line.