Softness Quotes (page 2)
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He was tender with her. He wiped her eyelids with his handkerchief, not noticing how soiled it was. It was stained with ink, crumpled, stuck together. Her lids were large and tender and the handkerchief was stiff, not nearly soft enough. He moistened a corner in his mouth. He was painfully aware of the private softness of her skin, of how the eyes trembled beneath their coverings. He dried the tears with an affection, a particularity, that had never been exercised before. It was a...
Peter Carey
Instead of answering, Will took a step toward her, and all at once, everything happened too quickly to even make sense of it. One second he was standing three feet away from her, and in the next he had a hand on her hip and was pulling her close. Leaning in, he kissed her. His lips were soft soft, and he was suprisingly gentle. Maybe it was simply that he'd caught her by surprise, but even so, she found herself kissing him back. The kiss didn't last long, and it wasn't the kind of...
Nicholas Sparks
Everyone I have lost in the closing of a doorthe click of the lockis not forgotten, theydo not die but remainwithin the soft edgesof the earth, the ashof house fires and cancerin sin and forgivenesshuddled under old blanketsdreaming their way intomy hands, my heartclosing tight like fists.- "Indian Boy Love Song #1
Sherman Alexie
Your favorite colour . . . it's green?"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."Orange?" He seems unconvinced."Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always...
Suzanne Collins
At last- I had already given up hope- he broke throught the magic wall; at last helped me; at last he said a few words. Those were the only words I heard him speak today. 'You are tiring yourself Joseph,' he said softly, his voice full of that touching friendlness and solicitude you know so well. That was all. 'You are tiring yourself Joseph.
Herman Hesse
And quite right too. Thinking back, actually, 'self-infatuation' strikes me as a rather ill-chosen word. It isn't so much that I like or love myself. Rather, I'm sentimental about myself. (I say, is this normal for someone my age?) What do I think of Charles Highway? I think: 'Charles Highway? Oh, I like him. Yes, I've got a soft spot for old Charles. He's all right is Charlie. Chuck's ... okay.
Martin Amis
By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away. After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar...
James Agee
He was near tears, 'Who do I blame?' he kept asking me. 'There is no God. I can only blame myself.'"
The Reb's face tightened, as if in pain.
"That," he said, softly, "is a terrible self-indictment."
Worse than an unanswered prayer?
"Oh yes. It is far more comforting to think God listened and said no, than to think that nobody's out there.
Mitch Albom