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Whispered Quotes (page 5)

I loved him even now, as he took a knife to my throat, as I drowned in blood, as I whispered "Cousin, you were wrong. We were born to live. Alice Hoffman
Mother Teresa quote: "If our bones were not sending whispers of doubt to our hearts,..."
If our bones were not sending whispers of doubt to our hearts, there would be no need for prayer at all. Mother Teresa
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips: maybe it was the voice of the rain crying, a cracked bell, or a torn heart. Something from far off: it seemed deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth, a shout muffled by huge autumns, by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves. Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left... Pablo Neruda
Do you really think you can read out my mind?" she asks me, face to face."I think so," I say, wishing to convince myself. "There has to be a way."It is like looking for lost drops of rain in a river."You're wrong. The mind is not like raindrops. It does not lose itself among other things. If you believe in me at all, than believe this: I promise you I will find it. Everything depends on this."I believe you," she whispers after a moment. "Please find my mind. Haruki Murakami
She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?” “Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood. George R. R. Martin
I grow old though pleased with my memories. The tasks I can no longer complete. Are balanced by the love of the tasks gone past. I offer no apology onlythis plea: When I am frayed and strained and drizzle at the end. Please someone cut a square and put me in a quilt. That I might keep some child warm. And some old person with no one else to talk to. Will hear my whispers. And cuddlenear Nikki Giovanni
Yesterday I went to the doctor, to see about these dizzy spells. He told me that I have developed what used to be called a heart, as if healthy people didn’t have one. It seems I will not after all keep on living forever, merely getting smaller and greyer and dustier, like Sibyl in her bottle. Having long ago whispered I want to die, I now realise that this wish will indeed be fulfilled, and sooner rather than later. No matter that I’ve changed my mind. Margaret Atwood
Stephen King quote: "Lover," she whispers, and closes her eyes. It falls upon her...."
Lover," she whispers, and closes her eyes. It falls upon her. Love is like dying. Stephen King
Dark clouds are smouldering into red While down the craters morning burns. The dying soldier shifts his head To watch the glory that returns: He lifts his fingers toward the skies Where holy brightness breaks in flame; Radiance reflected in his eyes, And on his lips a whispered name. Siegfried Sassoon
Actors! The mechanics of cheap melodrama! That isn't death! You scream and choke and sink to your knees but it doesn't bring death home to anyone- it doesn't catch them unawares and start the whisper in their skulls that says- 'One day you are going to die. Tom Stoppard
The Plot Against The Giant. First Girl. When this yokel comes maundering, Whetting his hacker, I shall run before him, Diffusing the civilest odors. Out of geraniums and unsmelled flowers. It will check him. Second Girl. I shall run before him, Arching cloths besprinkled with colors. As small as fish-eggs. The threads. Will abash him. Third Girl. Oh, la... le pauvre! I shall run before him, With a curious puffing. He will bend his ear then. I shall whisper. Heavenly labials in a world of... Wallace Stevens
Tick, tock,” whispers Wiress. I guide her in front of me and get her to lie down, stroking her arm to soothe her. She drifts off, stirring restlessly, occasionally sighing out her phrase. “Tick, tock.” “Tick, tock,” I agree softly. “It’s time for bed. Tick, tock. Go to sleep. Suzanne Collins
Murderess, murderess, he whispers to himself. It has an allure, a scent almost. Hothouse gardenias. Lurid, but also furtive. He imagines himself breathing it as he draws Grace towards him, pressing his mouth against her. Murderess. He applies it to her throat like a brand. Margaret Atwood
Richard," Kahlan said, "what about Siddin? Weselan and Savidlin will be worried sick over him." Her green eyes gazed deep into his. She leaned closer, and whispered, "And we have unfinished business in the spirit house. I believe there is still an apple there we have yet to finish." Her arm tightened around his waist, and a little twist of a smile came to her lips. The shape of the smile caught his breath in his throat. Terry Goodkind
Sardar Harbans Singh passed away peacefully in a wicker rocking-chair in a Srinigar garden of spring flowers and honeybees with his favourite tartan rug across his knees and his beloved son, Yuvraj the exporter of handicrafts, by his side, and when he stopped breathing the bees stopped buzzing and the air silenced its whispers and Yuvraj understood that the story of the world he had known all his life was coming to an end, and that what followed would follow as it had to, but it would... Salman Rushdie

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