Bones Quotes - Page 29

• Light like thin grey soup seeped through the windows. The door opened and Mrs. Dark came in, followed by her sister, who had no head, only the white bone of her spine protruding from her raggedly severed neck.

  Cassandra Clare

  Dark, Light, Doors

  Cassandra Clare (2011). “Clockwork Prince”, p.112, Simon and Schuster

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• Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement.

  George Eliot

  Heart, Sadness, Ties

  George Eliot (1859). “Adam Bede”, p.34, London

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• I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that new born river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.

  Andrea Gibson

  Running, Mistake, Ocean

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• The whisper of the blood and the pleading of the bone marrow.

  Knut Hamsun

  Blood, Pleading, Marrow

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• sticks and stones can only break bones; but words can shatter the soul

  Adam Savage

  Soul, Stones, Sticks

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• And then they would watch her closely as the dark, coagulated masses took form before her eyes, became flesh and bone, became gradually human. For all their show of reluctance, she had a sense that they enjoyed introducing her to these horrors, as seducers took pleasure in the corruption of innocence.

  Philip Sington

  Eye, Dark, Watches

  Philip Sington (2011). “The Einstein Girl”, p.7, Random House

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• How could you be nervous about asking me to marry you, Bones? I'd die for you. Why wouldn't I want to live for you as well?

  Jeaniene Frost

  Asking, Want, Nervous

  Jeaniene Frost (2009). “At Grave's End: A Night Huntress Novel”, p.28, Harper Collins

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• The colors of living things begin to fade with the last breath, and the soft, springy skin and supple muscle rot within weeks. But the bones sometimes remain, faithful echoes of the shape, to bear some last faint witness to the glory of what was.

  Diana Gabaldon

  Echoes, Color, Faithful

  Diana Gabaldon (2015). “The Outlander Series 8-Book Bundle: Outlander, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager, Drums of Autumn, The Fiery Cross, A Breath of Snow and Ashes, An Echo in the Bone, Written in My Own Heart's Blood”, p.277, Dell

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• Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will always hurt me. Bones mend and become actually stronger in the very place they were broken and where they have knitted up; mental wounds can grind and ooze for decades and be re-opened by the quietest whisper.

  Stephen Fry

  Hurt, Broken, Stronger

  Stephen Fry (2011). “Moab Is My Washpot”, p.101, Soho Press

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• Chained inside the carriage is a sinful woman. When we set the carriage afire, her flesh will be roasted, her bones will be charred: she will die an agonizing death. Never again will you have such a perfect model for the screen. Do not fail to watch as her snow-white flesh erupts in flames. See and remember her long black hair dancing in a whirl of sparks!

  Ryūnosuke Akutagawa

  Hair, Flames, White

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• Colin thought about the dork mantra: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. What a dirty lie.

  John Green

  Hurt, Lying, Dirty

  John Green (2013). “The John Green Collection”, p.249, Penguin

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• We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.

  Lauren DeStefano

  Daughter, Children, Would Be

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• I like it that they [disciples] feed me and pay for my clothes and protect me. And in return I will do for them what I can, but no more than that. Just as I cannot breathe the breath of another or help the heart of someone else to beat or their bones not to weaken or their flesh not to shrivel, I cannot say more than I can say. And I know how deeply this disturbs them, and it would make me smile, this earnest need for foolish anecdote or sharp simple patterns in the story of what happened to us all, except that I have forgotten how to smile.

  Colm Toibin

  Heart, Simple, Clothes

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• Galen cupped her cheek with his uninjured hand, his thumb caressing the rise of satin-covered bone. She trembled, but didn’t pull away.

  Gena Showalter

  Hands, Thumbs, Satin

  Gena Showalter (2016). “The Darkest Seduction”, p.323, HQN Books

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• I get that we can't be together. And it's not like I'm so weak-willed that the simple act of saying hello to me will cause me to jump your bones in the hall.

  Amanda Hocking

  Simple, Together, Saying Hello

  Amanda Hocking (2012). “Torn”, p.127, Pan Macmillan

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• Why let your fury lay deep inside you, sullenly boiling your blood into silent steam and griding your bones to dust? I it not better to thrust it out with great velocity from every pore, with your every action? Let your actions speak your legend. The physical is the manifestation of the spirit. Let your spirit be teeming with fury. Let your strength be unusual and controlled. The average is the borderline that keeps mere men in their place. Those who step over the line are heroes by the very act. Go.

  Henry Rollins

  Hero, Men, Dust

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• I don't want you skinny, Bride. I like you as you are." His breath tickled her neck as he spoke and sent heat all over her. "My people have a saying. Meat is for the man, the bone is for the dog." "Yeah, but you're both." "And when given a choice between ribs and steak, I go for top choice every time.

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Dog, I Like You, Men

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• To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones.

  Terry Tempest Williams

  Writing, Ego, Curiosity

  Terry Tempest Williams (2012). “When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice”, p.42, Macmillan

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• I can think of no honorable answer. Why must some of us deliberate between brands of toothpaste, while others deliberate between damp dirt and bone dust to quiet the fire of an empty stomach lining? There is nothing about the United States I can really explain to this child of another world.

  Barbara Kingsolver

  Children, Thinking, Dust

  Barbara Kingsolver (2008). “The Poisonwood Bible”, p.367, Faber & Faber

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• Wolf," said Ran, enunciating it very carefully. "What an unusual name. Did your parents give it to you?" "Does it matter?" said Wolf, tossing away his bone. "I'm only making conversation." "I'd prefer silence," Wolf said, a growl in his tone.

  Marissa Meyer

  Names, Giving, Silence

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• Sanguine chuckled. "I like you, boy. You got optimism in these bones. I like you so much that I ain't gonna tell you what I did to poor old Jethro, the first Jethro, may he rest in peace, may they someday find his head.

  Derek Landy

  Rest In Peace, I Like You, Boys

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• Bone by bone, hair by hair, Wild Woman comes back. Through night dreams, through events half understood and half remembered.

  Clarissa Pinkola Estes

  Dream, Night, Hair

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• Tess, Tess, Tessa. Was there ever a more beautiful sound than your name? To speak it aloud makes my heart ring like a bell. Strange to imagine that, isn’t it—a heart ringing? But when you touch me, that is what it is like, as if my heart is ringing in my chest and the sound shivers down my veins and splinters my bones with joy.

  Cassandra Clare

  Beautiful, Heart, Names

  Cassandra Clare (2014). “Clockwork Princess”, p.523, Simon and Schuster

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• Then I went to the morgue and saw that those bones weren't yours, heard your voice again in my head" -his eyes closed- "and once more, nothing else mattered.

  Jeaniene Frost

  Eye, Voice, Saws

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• You looked at me, your eyes huge. You we're like a dog then, waiting for me to throw you a bone . . . waiting for something I could never give you.

  Lucy Christopher

  Dog, Eye, Giving

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