#cold

He stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he despised a woman. ↗

— Gaston Leroux

#despise #hate #love #love

I have a message for your daughter,” said Cale. “I am bound to her with cables that not even God can break. One day, if there is a soft breeze on her cheek, it may be my breath; one night, if the cool wind plays with her hair, it may be my shadow passing by.” And with this terrible threat he faced forward and the procession started once more. In less than a minute they were gone. In her shady room Arbell Swan-Neck stood white and cold as alabaster. ↗

— Paul Hoffman

#arbell #bound #break #breath #breeze

You might be a big fish in a little pond, Doesn't mean you've won 'Coz along may come a bigger one. ↗

— Coldplay

#inspirational #life #life-and-living #life-lesson #death

My last meal on Earth, I would love it to be a bowl of blueberries with cold cream. ↗

— Rene Redzepi

#cold #cream #earth #i #last

A thin grey fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England. ↗

— Rudyard Kipling

#cold #england #fog #seasons #summer

When he returned, Edith was in bed with the covers pulled to her chin, her face turned upward, her eyes closed, a thin frown creasing her forehead. Silently, as if she were asleep, Stoner undressed and got into bed beside her. For several moments he lay with his desire, which had become an impersonal thing, belonging to himself alone. He spoke to Edith, as if to find a haven for what he felt; she did not answer. He punt his hand upon her and felt beneath the thin cloth of her nightgown the flesh he had longed for. He moved his hand upon her; she did not stir; her frown deepened. Again he spoke, saying her name to silence; then he moved his hand upon her, gentle in his clumsiness. When he touched the softness of her thighs she turned her head sharply away and lifted her arm to cover her eyes. She made no sound. ↗

— John Williams

#love #sex #love

She was cold by nature, self-love predominating over passion; rather than being virtuous, she preferred to have her pleasures all to herself. ↗

— Émile Zola

#passionless #pleasure #love

For her, sex was nothing more than an itch. And this phsychological and physiological neutrality of hers at once relieved her of so many human emotions and sentiments and desires. Sexual neutrality was the essence of coldness in an individual. It was a great and wonderful thing to be born with. ↗

— Ian Fleming

#desire #emotion #neutrality #sentiment #sex

I don't know is she loves me anymore, or if she hates me, or if she just don't care one way or the other, she ain't showing a thing to me since. Sooth, friendly, nothing. It's all I deserve after what I did to her. ↗

— Lisa Reardon

#hurt #love #love

As a teenager in Brooklyn Quentin had often imagined himself engaged in martial heroics, but after this he knew, as a cold immutable fact, that he would do anything necessary, sacrificing whatever or whomever he had to, to avoid risking exposure to physical violence. Shame never came into it. He embraced his new identity as a coward. He would run in the other direction. He would lie down and cry and put his arms over his head or play dead. It didn't matter what he had to do, he would do it and be glad. ↗

— Lev Grossman

#cowardice #fear #martial-heroics #physical-violence #playing-dead