#prose

Cliches and adjectives permeated my prose. ↗

— Dick Schaap

#cliches #permeated #prose

The human brain can soften as a result of incessant listening to music with an intent to commit prose. ↗

— Donal Henahan

#commit #human #human brain #incessant #intent

If the onset of wrinkles in middle age were referred to as laughter lines, then to look at him, Scott thought, Twinkle's life must have been hilarious. He had sharp eyes that often seemed to visually contradict the lack of intelligence that could be derived from listening to him talk. There might not be a lot to respect in Twinkle, but Scott liked him. He just didn't want to end up like him. ↗

— R.D. Ronald

#empathetic #age

The snow was too light to stay, the ground too warm to keep it. And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden moment of dawn, the turning of the page between night and day. ↗

— Shannon Hale

#prose #snow #beauty

I gripped against her like she was metal and I was all full of lightning, charged up and jagged and of that moment alone. ↗

— Chris Howard

#prose #rootless #beauty

And I howled at that swarm and the crops and the sky, and the stars should have quit because there weren't no reason to be shining. ↗

— Chris Howard

#prose #beauty

The moon hung heavy over the lake like an overripe orange, trickling its golden stream of light across inky depths. ↗

— Julie Lessman

#descriptive-prose #beauty

[T]welve year old Libby O'Shea coasted on a homemade swing, toes touching a blinding-blue heaven dolloped with clouds. ↗

— Julie Lessman

#descriptive-prose #beauty

There are very few friends that will lie down with you on empty streets in the middle of the night, without a word. No questions, no asking why, just quietly lay there with you, observing the stars, until you're ready to get back up on your feet again and walk the last bit home, softly holding your hand as a quiet way of saying “I'm here”. It was a beautiful night. ↗

— Charlotte Eriksson

#empty-streets #free #friendship #love #night

Colors shone with exceptional clarity in the rain. The ground was a deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, the people wrapped in yellow looking like special spirits that were allowed to wander over the earth on rainy mornings only. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#clarity #colours #prose #rain #spirit