When you were too young and naïve to see the risks, I incurred your wrath to protect you. Scream at me for it if you must. Thank me for it when you finally grow up.
But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.
That is the way we decided to talk, free and easy, two young men discussing a boxing match. That was the only way to talk. You couldn't let too much truth seep into your conversation, you couldn't admit with your mouth what your eyes had seen. If you opened the door even a centimeter, you would smell the rot outside and hear the screams. You did not open the door. You kept your mind on the tasks of the day, the hunt for food and water and something to burn, and you saved the rest for the end of the war.
[Prince Humperdinck] was seventy-five minutes away from his first female murder, and he wondered if he could get his fingers to her throat before even the start of a scream. He had been practicing on giant sausages all the afternoon and had the movements down pretty pat, but then, giant sausages weren’t necks and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t make them so.
Imagine a guy. He’s a little taller than you, with perfect skin, skin that just screams “touch me!” and dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he looks so sweet and he is sweet. And then have him blush a little.
Words are alive--when I've found a story that I love, I read it again and again, like playing a favorite song over and over. Reading isn't passive--I enter the story with the characters, breathe their air, feel their frustrations, scream at them to stop when they're about to do something stupid, cry with them, laugh with them. Reading for me, is spending time with a friend. A book is a friend. You can never have too many.
I push against the tree and run away, stumbling, the unreal night playing with me, gravity pulling from below, behind, above, making me fall. And I run through a world that is rotating, conscious of the earth's spin, of our planet twirling as it careens through nothingness, of the stars spiraling above, of the uncertainty of everything, even ground, even sky. Mumtaz never calls out, although a thousand and one voices scream in my mind, sing, whisper, taunt me with madness.
I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you'll never let go?
I can hear other things, too. Before you came around, I had no idea a man could make a girl scream like that. Reyes seems very talented.
There's an easy method for finding someone when you hear them scream. First get a clean sheet of paper and a sharp pencil. Then sketch out nine rows of fourteen squares each. Then throw the piece of paper away and find whoever is screaming so you can help them. It is no time to fiddle with paper.
I have spent 20 years writing these books. Had I wanted to say men are beasts and scream, that takes 30 seconds.
I'm man enough to know when to scream.
If I see another game that involves a kidnapped princess, queen, king or other royal family member, I'll scream. In the same vein, I think the karate genre has been done to death.
So you scream from behind your door, say what's mine is mine, and not yours I may have too much, but I'll take my chances Cause God's stopped keeping score And you cling to the things they sold you Didn't you cover your eyes when they told you that he can't come back Cause he has no children to come back for It so hard to learn, there's so much to hate Hanging on to hope when there is no hope to speak of And the wounded skies above say it's much too late So maybe we should all be praying for time
I don't think I have the stomach Veronica has. I think I have the determination and the stubbornness and a little bit of the go-get-em. But I think I'm about 20 percent more girl than Veronica is. There's a lot of Veronica that hits home with me, the sort of feisty area. But I think that I have a little bit more girl. I'd scream my head off if I saw a body in the freezer.
Hazel screamed at the top of her lungs, but it was a scream of delight. For the first time in her life-in her two lives-she felt absolutely unstoppable.
It's so ridiculous, I can barely stop. I can hardly breathe, you make me wanna scream. You're so fabulous, you're so good to me baby, baby.
I won and I get to scream and jump a little. But I got to go back to work tomorrow.
I never thought meeting you would be this boring. I thought we'd put our Italian emotion into gear and scream the place down. I never expected indifference.
And you should hear the music. Incredible, amazing music, like nothing you've ever heard, music that almost takes your head off, you know? That makes you want to scream and jump up and down and break stuff and cry.
The music department is going to do a musical next year," he tells me, rolling his eyes like I would. Justine is running toward me, and I can tell by the look on her face that she's found out about the musical, too. I sigh, shaking my head. "I have to give Justine a lesson in holding back," I tell him. "She's just way too enthusiastic". She grabs my arms in excitement. "We're doing Les Mis." I scream hysterically, clutching her as we jump up and down.
When I was at school I used to scream in trains, in those concertina things between the carriages. I used to try to be so good that sometimes I couldn't bear it any more.
When the time comes to leap in faith whether you have your eyes open or closed or scream all the way down or not makes no practical difference.
If there is one sound the follows the march of humanity, it is the scream.
Listen to the whispers or soon you will be listening to the screams.
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