Dry Throat Quotes & Sayings

How long can you keep me invisible?"
"As long as were in physical contact."
My throat felt dry. "Holding hands?" That's how we'd done it last time.
"Unless you had something else in mind? — Rachel Vincent

And in the absence of even a hint of an exchange, Joaquin spun around and lunged at Ross, grabbed him by the throat, and knocked him down. With dry, brittle leaves and debris suddenly thrust upward, the two were covered in a dark, hazy hell as they pursued a violent struggle for what seemed like an eternity. As he gained his footing, Ross shot back with a punch to Joaquin's head followed by several body punches. Joaquin stumbled backward and fell giving Ross those precious, few seconds required for escape. — K.N. Smith

Some experts say we are moving back to the pre-antibiotic era. No. This will be a post-antibiotic era. In terms of new replacement antibiotics, the pipeline is virtually dry. A post-antibiotic era means, in effect, an end to modern medicine as we know it. Things as common as strep throat or a child's scratched knee could once again kill. — Margaret Chan

Holy shit," Spencer said. She held her T-shirt up against her naked chest.
"What is it? Wren asked.
Spencer stepped back. Her throat was dry. "Oh," she croaked.
"Oh," Wren echoed.
Melissa stood outside the window, her hair messay and Medusa-like, her face absolutely expressionless. A cigarette shook in her tiny, usually steady fingers.
"I didn't know you smoked," Spencer finally said. — Sara Shepard

What is happening here?" Her voice is unsteady as she says a line that's not in the script.
"You tell me," I say, and I'm not even sure where my own voice is coming from.
Then she turns around, uncrosses her legs, and mirrors me, kneeling. "You wrote that scene for me, didn't you?"
I nod. My throat is dry. I can barely speak.
"That day you saw me with Shelby outside the theater, right?"
"Yes." I swallow. I'm an open book now.
"Did you write it because it makes the show better? Or did you write it for me? — Lauren Blakely

She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward first the scepter of my passion. — Vladimir Nabokov

In the end, I listen to my fear. It keeps me awake, resounding through the frantic beating in my breast. It is there in the dry terror in my throat, in the pricking of the rats' nervous feet in the darkness. Christian has not come home all the night long. I know, for I have lain in this darkness for hours now with my eyes stretched wide, yearning for my son's return. — Ned Hayes

I swallow, my throat painfully dry. If it were just me, I wonder how hard I'd fight, what extremes I'd go to to survive. But it isn't just me, and extremes don't even come close to what I'd do to protect the people I love. I — Amanda Bouchet

Jesus. How do you stop yourself?" Henry perched on the front of his seat and steepled his hands below his lips. "From grabbing your waist and flipping you around on that chair? From tossing your dress over your ass, clamping my hand atop yours against that high cherry back, and taking what's mine?" Her throat was dry. She'd need that drink now. "Uh-huh. — M.Q. Barber

Hear this now. Nothing, not even death, will keep me from loving you. Though this body may wither and become a dry shell, my spirit will pursue you until the end of time. We will never be apart." He covered her mouth with his and tasted her blood. Trailing tender kisses across her cheek and jawline, he nestled against her neck. "Eternally yours," he whispered. She clutched his head and offered her throat. "Together forever," she responded. Broderick hesitated, her erratic pulse beating against his tongue. "Give me peace," she whispered in a tortured breath. "Do this for me." "I will love you forever, Davina." His fangs pierced her cool skin and Broderick drank the life from his wife, granting her wish ... and tormenting his already damned soul. — Arial Burnz

The first cup caresses my dry lips and throat, The second shatters the walls of my loneliness, The third explores the dry rivulets of my soul Searching for legends of five thousand scrolls. With the fourth the pain of past injustice vanishes through my pores. The fifth purifies my flesh and bone. With the sixth I commune with the immortals. The seventh conveys such pleasure I am overcome. The fresh wind blows through my wings As I make my way to Penglai. — Lu Tong

Ending

I lied.
I wanted you from that moment.
I wanted you, wrapped in starlight and reflections,
To be tied up with strings.
And ropes.
And chains.
I wanted you hanging around my neck
Like a charm I could press to my heart and
Make three wishes on.

But I trapped the want
And the words inside my mouth.
I buried those secret things under my tongue,
Biting down until blood and bitterness
Filled my mouth
And poured down the back of my throat.

In the beginning, you said, there was only water.
But what about the end?

I closed my eyes and lay flat
With my back to the ocean
And my face to the sky.
I lifted my hands and caught ribbons of wind
Underneath my fingernails.
I rode the water for so long,
I forgot what my skin felt like when it was dry. — Autumn Doughton

He's wearing black jeans and an amazingly hot black biker jacket over a white T-shirt.His normally casual bedhead is not perfectly styled bedhead. He also has light blue skin, but his tattoo are understated, just dots in a straight line that go ear from ear, crossing the bridge of his nose. He props himself against the doorway, and my head goes blank.
"I like the viney things you have going on there."
I clear my throat because it has suddenly gone dry.
"Thanks. You look very ... " I trail off because i almost said elf-a-licious — Leah Rae Miller

You know that because you asked me out, you're the one who has to pick the place, right?"
Throat. Dry.
Dry throat.
All of the dryness in my throat.
"Whatever you suggest." He grins. "I'll say yes. You'll definitely get a yes. If that helps. — Stephanie Perkins

But you-aren't afraid of me?"
Elliot forced himself not to look away. "Oh I am. But for different reasons."
They stared at each other for a long, agonising moment . Elliot's throat went dry. — Astrid Amara

I felt my mouth go dry, my throat constrict. What possible interpretation could Peter place on those words, other than that they were about him? - that the entire song was about him? — Jennifer Paynter

Kage - the man I'd only hours ago claimed as my soulmate, the man I'd changed everything for, the man I felt like I would die without seeing for eleven days - was walking out of my life. And all I could do was lie there in my parents' backyard, with my pants around my knees and my heart in my throat, and cry myself dry. — Maris Black

Do people in the twenty-first century still dance?"
My heart beat thundered in my ears, far louder than the slow music. "Um," I said, barely able to swallow, my throat had gone so dry. "Sometimes."
"How about now?" he asked.
And then his strong arms were encircling my waist, his breath soft against my cheek as he gently whispered my name: "Susannah. Susannah ... — Meg Cabot

Jesus' throat hurt to speak. "I see you are disguising yourself in more humble appearance these days. Afraid of something?" "The jester from Galilee. I am impressed you can maintain your wits after so many days in my little home away from home." Belial spread his hands out, gesturing to the dry deadly expanse around them. "I will admit that the advance of civilization has made it somewhat disadvantageous for the Watchers to reveal our true nature or presence. Yes, we are working more behind the veil than we did in primeval days. On the other hand, the way things are going, I can foresee an age when humanity has turned religion into pretty fictions, and blinded themselves to our reality. Imagine the influence we will then have on ignorant fools who no longer believe in us. — Brian Godawa

Is this seat taken?"
The deep, gravelly voice jolted Noelle from her blood-thirsty thoughts. When she laid eyes on the man it belonged to her breath caught in her throat.
She blinked, wondering if maybe she'd dreamed him, but then he flashed her a captivating grin and she realized that he must be real - her mind wasn't capable of conjuring up a smile this heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
A pair of vivid blue eyes watched her expectantly as she searched for her voice.
"There are lots of other seats available," she finally replied, gesturing to the deserted tables all around them.
He shrugged. "I don't want to sit anywhere but here."
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Why?"
"Because none of those other seats are across from you," he said simply. — Elle Kennedy

....One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.

A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--

only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
They march on their soles up Main Street:
white stripes, moonstruck eyes' red fire
under the chalk-dry and spar spire
of the Trinitarian Church.

I stand on top
of our back steps and breathe the rich air--
a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail.
She jabs her wedge-head in a cup
of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,
and will not scare. — Robert Lowell

My speech impediment had been absent for some time now - four months and six days. I'd almost imagined myself cured. So when Mother swept into the room all of a sudden - me, in a paroxysm of adjustment to my surroundings, and Binah, tucking my possessions here and there - and asked if my new quarters were to my liking, I was stunned by my inability to answer her. The door slammed in my throat, and the silence hung there. Mother looked at me and sighed. When she left, I willed my eyes to remain dry and turned away from Binah. I couldn't bear to hear one more Poor Miss Sarah. — Sue Monk Kidd

Oh . . ." I nodded faintly, my throat suddenly dry. I attempted a smile. — Penny Reid

She heard music. Angels singing? she thought, dizzy. It seemed odd for angels to sing after table sex. She managed to swallow on a throat wildly dry. "Music," she murmured.
"My phone. In my pants. Don't care."
"Oh. Not angels."
"No. Def Leppard. — Nora Roberts

In the dark room she sits and in front of her is a plate and on the plate lies a black hunk of bread the size of a deck of cards. The bread has sawdust in it, and cardboard. She takes a knife and a fork, and cuts it slowly into four pieces. She eats one, chews it deliberately, pushes it with difficulty through her dry throat. eats another and another and finally the last one. She lingers especially on the last one. She knows after this piece is gone there will be no more food until tommorow morning. She wishes she could be strong enough to save half of the bread until dinner, but she isn't, she can't. When she looks up from her plate, her sister Dasha, is staring at her. Her plate is long empty.
" I wish Alexander was coming back" says Dasha. " He might have food for us"
I wish Alexander was coming back, thinks Tatiana. — Paullina Simons

He picked up a towel to dry his hair. "You coming to work out?"
"Yes."
"You want me to reset the machine?"
No, I want to ride you until you're begging me for mercy. Clearing her throat, she tried to shove that imagine out of her mind. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

His eyes darkened as they moved from her face, to her breasts, to the tingling spot between her legs.
She writhed beneath him, and he fell over her. "You want this?" he asked, his voice rumbling against the shell of her ear.
Her entire body throbbed. "Yes."
"You want my mouth on you?"
Heat flooded her, and her dry throat made it almost impossible to answer. "I do." Oh God, she did. She really did.
"Where?"
"Everywhere," she whispered. — Cathryn Fox

In other words, he looked like uniformed police hotness, and she wasn't entirely uninterested in being cuffed. Wait. That's a bad thought. I don't mean it. She took him in again, her throat suddenly dry. Well, she didn't exactly not mean it, but she knew better than to want it. — Cindi Madsen

Hey, who are you calling easy?" I say, clearing my throat. "I was just thinking how I haven't had sex in over a year. Is that the mark of a loose woman?"

He looks at me, eyes wide. "God, that is a long time."

"Yep, it is." I nod. "A personal record. Before that my longest dry spell was seven months. Definitely more tolerable, although I don't recommend it."

He whistles. "I'm at six now, and I may have watched all the porn on the entire Internet. My condolences to your vagina."

"My vagina thanks you."

Yeah, that's a thing to say. My vagina wishes she could thank him.

He smiles at me sweetly. "Did it like the wreath I sent? — Stacey Wallace Benefiel

There, it's the old ways and no mistake; there it's only a corpse gone purple at the bottom and two coins no one will ever take back and the bread soaked through with sweat and your sins gleaming in every maggot, and sand under my eyelids and the wrappings still waiting and four jars lined up neatly with the faces watching, and my feet aching and my body going heavy everywhere and my throat too dry to swallow but my teeth gleaming wide, and the dark night all around us and a long walk home, and far off, silent, coming closer: wolves.

The sounds for that, they've never put a name to. — Genevieve Valentine

I don't know what the usual reactions are of a man who goes to propose marriage.
In fiction his throat is dry and his collar feels too tight and he is in a pitiable state of nervousness. — Agatha Christie

Four years into her marriage, Sera had woken up one morning to feel something hot and sticky in the back of her throat. For a minute, she thought it was the start of another sinus infection, but when she swallowed cautiously, her throat did not hurt. It was hate. Hate that was lodged like a bone in her throat. Hate that made her feel sick, that gave her mouth a bitter, dry taste. Hate that entered her heart like a fever, that made her lips curve downward like a bent spoon. — Thrity Umrigar

So you don't do one night stands. And you're not looking for a boyfriend, or a husband. What do you want, Reina?"
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. How could one sentence strike with the force of a lightning bolt? "How about you make me an offer? — Tara Leigh

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers
goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me at every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.
I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat. — Sylvia Plath

It took almost fifteen minutes to explain the situation. By the time I finished, my throat was dry and Demi's eyes were so wide that it seemed like they might fall out of her head. I glanced at Jeff, afraid of finding judgment or disapproval in his eyes. Not because it would change the way I felt about my brother, but because I liked Jeff, and it would be a shame to have to find a place to hide his body. — Seanan McGuire

Though you wear your fingers to the bone with service, weep your eyes out with repentance, make your knees hard with kneeling, and dry your throat with shouting, if your heart does not beat with love, your religion falls to the ground like a withered leaf in autumn. — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

I can see it, when your heart slows down. That's how I know when to call. I keep your heart - the icon of your heart - in one corner of my vision. All the time." Her stomach flipped over and tried to exit through her fingertips. Adrenaline jangled down her arms like music. Her mouth went dry and all she could taste was the burn of the drug in her throat. "See, there? It skipped. — Madeline Ashby

He found his voice first, though it was a ragged whisper, "Thank you." If I'd had enough breath I'd have laughed. My throat was so dry, that my voice sounded stiff. "Trust me on this, Frost, it was my pleasure." He bent over and laid a kiss on my cheek. "I will try to do better next time." He moved his hands away from me, letting me move, but stayed sheathed inside me as if he were reluctant to let that go. I looked at him, thinking he was joking, but his face was utterly serious. "It gets better than this?" I asked. He nodded solemnly. "Oh, yes." "The queen was a fool," I said softly. He smiled then. "I always thought so. — Laurell K. Hamilton

Charmaine swallowed nervously as she hesitated for a moment, her throat dry, arid and parched like the sands of the desert under the burning sun, grated painfully inside her body as her glands struggled to lubricate her air passages sufficiently. — Jill Thrussell

So once the zookeeper realized it was the monkeys who stole the bananas, he knew there was only one way he'd be able to get them back."
"How?" I whispered. My throat was so sore.
"Don't talk. He had to beat them in shuffleboard, of course."
"What?"
"I said don't talk. Monkeys love shuffleboard."
He used a page from a homework assignment he'd failed and a stack of quarters to make a shuffleboard court. I watched the monkeys and the zookeepers have their showdown while I sipped the last of my applejuice.
"Need more?" Graham asked me without looking up, when my straw skidded against the dry bottom of the box.
"Uh uh."
"You're supposed to drink juice."
"I just drank some."
"More, though."
I shook my head.
"Drink more juice or the monkeys are going to kill you. The only thing they love more than shuffleboard is beating up dehydrated sick boys. — Hannah Moskowitz

Adlestrop
Yes, I remember Adlestrop
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop
only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
— Edward Thomas

Caspian looked angry. "Did you ever think that things might have changed? We don't live and die by the sword anymore. I may not have a lifetime of darkness to atone for. Maybe I just need her to be the star in my night sky. To hold back the darkness and to let me see the light." He looked at me then, and my throat went dry. "Or maybe it really is as simple as something in her fills the hollow in me. The black void disappears when we are together. — Jessica Verday

The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself, after a while it whirred and cleared its throat and struck six times. — William Faulkner

The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I'll be safe in hell.

Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering heart.

The pretty stuff you're made of
Will crack and crease and dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye.

You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line,
And split your throat on laughter,
And burn your eyes with brine.

You will be frail and musty
With peering, furtive head,
Whilst I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead. — Dorothy Parker

Ed held his sword tight in both hands and went slowly and carefully down. There was the unmistakable smell of sicko down here and Ed's throat was very dry. — Charlie Higson

Everyone warned me against continuing my investigation,"Gobi continued. "They said the people I was going up against were too powerful. I did not care. They said I would die. Again, I did not care. I knew that my life would mean nothing if I did not come back to avenge my sister's honor. But by the time I was able to pinpoint who had taken her here, it was too late. She had died."
I tried to say something, but my throat was too dry. For a second I couldn't even swallow. My chest felt so tight that it ached, and I thought if I didn't say something, or at least try to, I was going to explode. — Joe Schreiber

Death Valley is the perfect flesh-grilling device, the Foreman Grill in Mother Nature's cupboard.

It's a big, shimmering sea of salt ringed by mountains that bottle up the heat and force it right back down on your skull. The average air temperature hovers around 125 degrees, but once the sun rises and begins broiling the desert floor, the ground beneath Scott's feet would hit a nice, toasty 200 degrees - exactly the temperature you need to slow roast a prime rib. Plus, the air is so dry that by the time you feel thirsty, you could be as good as dead; sweat is sucked so quickly from your body,you can be dangerously dehydrated before it even registers in your throat. Try to conserve water,and you could be a dead man walking.

But every July, ninety runners from around the world spend up to sixty straight hours running down the sizzling black ribbon of Highway 190, making sure to stay on the white lines so the soles of their running shoes don't melt. — Christopher McDougall

Air struggles up my throat and past my lips as Mom talks with our new landlady. Even with the air conditioner working at full blast, the air is thin, dry, and empty. I imagine this is how it feels for someone with asthma, this constant fight for breath. As if you can't ever fill your lungs with enough air. I glare at Mom. Of all the places in the world to relocate, she had to choose a desert. I'm certain she's a sadist. — Sophie Jordan

Misty started to shake. "Oh, right. Don't worry. I was sitting here tied up, and you get shot, and you don't want me to worry." She swallowed, her throat dry. The thin-walled shack with its many cracks was like an oven. "You're a shithead, Graham. — Anonymous

Inside her head or out in the desert was the same, and the air inside her throat was very dry to keep from crying and her neck sore from forcing herself not to look down, not to look back. — Mike Bond

You know what I used to dream about, in stir?" His voice was hoarse, the words low and fast and faintly guttural. "I used to dream about you. You were the only clean and good and decent thing left in my life, and I would dream about you. I used to dream about taking your clothes off piece by piece, and what you would look like naked, and how it would feel to fuck you really good. I used to dream about that in high school, too. In fact, I got off almost every night for the last fourteen years, dreaming about you." Rachel's lips parted with shock. Speechless, she stared at him wide-eyed for what seemed an eternity while her heart suddenly hammered and her throat went dry.
"I'm fucking tired of dreaming, — Karen Robards

Slowly, very slowly, he sat up, and as he did so he felt more alive, and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone ... or at least, he would be gone from it. His breath came slow and deep, and his mouth and throat were completely dry, but so were his eyes. — J.K. Rowling

He held me still and spanked me again, really hard, the sound vibrating around the room. I felt dizzy. My throat was dry and suddenly the pain turned to an unexpected pleasure. — Chloe Thurlow

See my finger wet, see my finger dry, see my finger cut my throat if I tell a lie," said the girl, in a singsong tone, and with accompanying dramatic gestures of fearful histrionic fervour. — Carolyn Wells

He calls me his Queen of the Night. He shows me the wonders in this incredible city. He encourages me to find my own way, and to choose what I think is right or wrong.
And the sex, God, the sex! I never knew what sex was until him! It's not soft music and candlelight, a choice, a deliberate action.
It's as involuntary as breathing, and as impossible not to do. It's slammed up against a wall in a dark alley, or flat on my back on cold concrete because I can't stand one more second without him. It's on my hands and knees, dry-mouthed, heart-in-my-throat, waiting for the moment he touches me, and I'm alive again. It's punishing and purifying, velvet and violent, and it makes everything else melt away, until nothing matters but getting him inside me and I wouldn't just die for him - I'd kill for him, too.
Like I did tonight. — Karen Marie Moning

Winslow hurled stones at the little tree. Wrung its trunk as if it were a throat. He flailed and throttled the sapling to the ground. Winslow hugged its limbs and tried to weep, but was, at last, dry of tears. Under a pale moon, Winslow knew he no longer belonged to the world of men and would forever roam the woods as a lost son of the civil. — Alan Heathcock

And how will you know when you've found this elusive someone?" Shahrzad retorted.
"I suspect she will be like air. Like knowing how to breathe." He regarded her with the stillness of a hawk as he said these words, and Shahrzad's throat went dry.
"Poetry," she whispered. "Not reality. — Renee Ahdieh

I thought about death and was gripped by feelings which choked my chest and made my throat dry, a sudden pushing and shoving in my guts. It was a sort of chronic ailment I had. Once that feeling and that agitation of my whole body had begun, I wouldn't be able to shake it off until I got to asleep. And I couldn't recall it with the same impact in the daytime. — Kenzaburo Oe