Political discourse has been reduced to "Where's the beef?" "Read my lips," and "Make my day. " Where are the assassins when we really need them?
Nobody can have your psychedelic experience for you; you just have to screw your courage up and raise the cup to your lips or smoke the pipe or whatever it is and face what's in there.
When he kissed me, his lips soft and careful, it was all the thrill of our first kiss and all the practiced familiarity of the accumulated memory of all our kisses.
This day's nothingness as if from spite became a flame and scorched the lips of children and poets.
He dipped her low and kissed her fiercely, as if he were angry, and each time his lips left hers, even just for half a second, the most parching thirst ran through her, making her cry out.
Too many Christians live their Christian lives inside their heads; it never gets out through hands and feet and lips.
O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look; O let me for one moment touch her wrist; Let me one moment to her breathing list; And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again, and would go to his grave without them.
He let Shane drop back down in his chair, and walked out, back stiff. Furious. Shane sat with his hands clutching at the armrests. He exchanged a stunned look with Eve, and they both stood up at once. "No," Shane said. "I did it. Let me fix it. " He went off after Michael. Eve chewed her lip and said, "Well, we're either going to see half the house destroyed, or their bromance is going to go all the way.
Victory comes late-- And is held low to freezing lips-- Too rapt with frost To take it
In my life I doubt if I will ever forget the sensation of your lips against mine
When soul rises Into lips You feel the kiss You have wanted
Those lips had curved into a knowing half smile that did funny things to her insides. And like a match tossed to gasoline, her body sparked alive and flames licked every inch of her.
O naked flower of my lips, you lie! I await a thing unknown or perhaps, unaware of the mystery and your cries you give, O lips, the supreme tortured moans of a childhood groping among its reveries to sort out finally its cold precious stones.
The only writer who gives me unfeigned pleasure is P. G. Wodehouse. And even him I find a bit heavy. He takes a lot out of me. Scratching my hair, with soft whistles, with lips aquiver, I frown over Sunset at Blandings.
It's good to have a prayer on your lips wherever you go.
And for tired eyes every light is too bright, and for tired lips every breath too heavy, and for tired ears every word too much.
one pale woman all alone, The daylight kissing her wan hair, Loitered beneath the gas lamps' flare, With lips of flame and heart of stone.
I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is. . . new.