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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #descriptive
...because of the foulness of her mother's emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning... ↗
#descriptive-prose #dystopia #from-review #paranormal-romance #post-apocalyptic
We all look back at some time or other and wonder why we didn't listen to our instincts. Why did we hestiate? Why did we lose our dreams? ↗
#greek-island #heart-warming #humerous #travel #true-adventure
The lobby of the Nelson Hotel always smells of the river -- it's in the pores of the place -- but this evening the smell is heavier than usual. It's a smell that makes us think of bad ideas, blown investments, forged checks, deteriorating health, stolen office supplies, unpaid alimony, empty promises, skin tumors, lost ambition, abandoned sample cases filled with cheap novelties, dead hope, dead skin, and fallen arches. This is the kind of place you don't come to unless you've been here before and all your other options are pretty much foreclosed. It's a place where men who left their families two decades before now lie on narrow beds with pee-stained mattresses, coughing and smoking cigarettes. ↗
This womens skin is shimmering and pale, her long black hair is tied with dozens of silver ribbons that fall over her shoulders. Her gown is white, covered in what to Bailey looks like looping black embroidery, but as he walks closer he sees that the black marks are actually words written across the fabric. When he is near enough to read parts of the gown, he realizes that they are love letters, inscribed in handwritten text. Words of desire and longing wrapping around her waist, flowing down the train of her gown as it spills over the platform. The statue herself is still, but her hand is held out and only then does Bailey notice the young woman with a red scarf standing in front of her, offering the love letter-clad statue a sungle crimson rose. The movement is so subtle that it is almost undetectable, but slowly, very, very slowly, the statue reaches to accept the rose. Her fingers open, and the young woman with the rose waits patiently as the statue gradually closes her hand around the stem, releasing it only when it is secure. ....The statue is lifting the rose, gradually, to her face. Her eye lids slowly close. ↗
With a deep breath, I decided I was not going to let any of this irritate me. I was here for one whole month, and I was going to enjoy every moment. I proper my arm in the open window, inhaled the warm, salty air, and took in the early evening scenery. Off to the right stretched the blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The miles of sparkling clarity reminded me of the waters of Bermuda. My family had gone there two years ago for summer vacation. Gwenny and I had swum and snorkelled until our skin turned wrinkly. On the horizon I caught sight of a fishing boat with lines and nets thrown out. A moped passed us, beeping its tiny horn. I wondered how fast we were going. Cade glanced over and gave a slight nod to the older man as he went zipping past. We continued along the coastal highway with the ocean to my right and overgrown brush to the left. We passed a small village of stone cottages nearly hidden by the overgrown greenery, and I inched forward in my seat to catch a better glimpse. Eventually, the van reached the other side of the island and pulled off the highway onto a gravel road. We drove under the beautiful archway of bright red flowers growing on thick green vines that I had seen on the Pepper House's website. We circled around a stone fountain with four carved goats spouting water from their mouths. Cade stopped the van in front of a Mediterranean-style whitewashed stone house covered in more beautiful red flowers. He turned the key and silence filled the cab. "Here we are," he said, flinging open his door and getting out of the van. I sat for a moment and smiled. Here I am. ↗
The moon hung heavy over the lake like an overripe orange, trickling its golden stream of light across inky depths. ↗
He dropped the phone back onto its cradle, began to turn around and felt a sudden ice-cold furrow open up in his side. Strength drained from his legs, and a moment later he sank to his knees. There was warmth now that ran over the initial and persistent cold. Mohammed was confused, and barely noticed the briefcase being removed from his grip. He heard the click of a cell phone opening, and a soft beeping as a number was dialed. 'The package is in my possession,' a female voice said, and the phone clicked shut. ↗
Somewhere deep inside, his humanity had been shaken by something so unnatural, so foreign in its essence, his very being withdrew from it... ↗
Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end. ↗
