Lips In Speak Quotes & Sayings

My Heart Is a Holy Place

My heart is a holy place
Wiser and holier than I know it to be
Wiser than my lips can speak
A spring of mystery and grace.
You have created my heart
And have filled it with things of wonder.
You have sculpted it, shaped it with your hands
Touched it with your breath.
In its own season it reveals itself to me.
It shows me rivers of gold
Flowing in elegance
And hidden paths of infinite beauty.
You touch me with your stillness as I await its time.
You have made it a dwelling place of richness and intricacies
Of wisdom beyond my understanding
Of grace and mysteries, from your hands. — Patricia Van Ness

And that's when I realize how tired I am, of lies and omissions and half-truths. I put Wes in danger, but he's still here - and if he's willing to brave this chaos with me, then he deserves to know what I know. And I'm about to speak, about to tell him that, tell him everything, when he brings his hand to the back of my neck, pulls me forward, and kisses me.
The noise floods in. I don't push back, don't block it out, and for one moment, all I can think is that he tastes like summer rain.
His lips linger on mine, urgent and warm.
Lasting. — Victoria Schwab

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone. — Sam Levenson

I'm so afraid to speak.
So afraid to move my lips.
I'm so scared that if I move even an inch, my body will snap in half and everyone will see that my insides are made up of nothing but all the tears I'm swallowing back right now. — Tahereh Mafi

Your lingering presence erodes me. Heartbeat by heartbeat. Cell by aging cell. Washing away any sense of self I ever had. Intruding into a nothingness I've struggled to find the pieces to fill. A jar filled with stones, piled with pebbles, topped with sand, only to be left with the knowledge that water, with enough time and persistence, has the power to wash it all away.
Your name is on my lips. Frozen. A familiar cadence of syllables that once soothed me.
A name I can't speak. Can't think of.
Not on this shore, at our lake. Not on this day. When only a year ago, with a foreshadowing that is now ice in my veins, you stood next to me, in this jacket, your hand in mine, so warm, and stared out at this expanse and whispered in awe, This is what a cold lake looks like. — S.A. McAuley

Lips to lips, mouth to mouth, Comes the speaker of the shrouds, Suck in the spirit, speak the words, Let secrets of the dead be heard. — Yasmine Galenorn

What is the spirit of Christmas, you ask? Let me give you the answer in a true story...
On a cold day in December, feeling especially warm in my heart for no other reason than it was the holiday season, I walked through the store sporting a big grin on my face. Though most people were far too busy going about their business to notice me, one elderly gentleman in a wheelchair brought his eyes up to meet mine as we neared each other traveling opposite directions. He slowed in passing just long enough to speak to me.
"Now that's a Christmas smile if I ever saw one," he said.
My lips stretched to their limit in response, and I thanked him for the compliment. Then we went our separate ways. But, as I thought about the man and how sweetly he'd touched me, I realized something simply wonderful! In that brief, passing interaction we'd exchanged heartfelt gifts!
And that, my friend, is the spirit of Christ~mas. — Richelle E. Goodrich

You speak Italian?" I ask.
"Some," he says, leaning down like he's going to kiss me, but instead he runs his nose along my jawline. "Why? You want me to talk dirty to you?"
"I, uh..." He's got me flustered as he grabs my hip, pulling me even closer. I shiver, feeling his warm breath on my skin. It's like he's breathing me in. "Well, I didn't, but I kind of do now."
He laughs. "Let's go upstairs, and I'll teach you all the dirty words you want."
I hum, tilting my head as his lips trace along my cheek. "All of them?"
His breath is against my ear as he whispers, "Every single one. — J.M. Darhower

I learned regret in the ruins of Tarbfhlaith. I regretted that ambition had ruled my heart instead of affection for my kin. And with the lesson of regret came the gratitude for having life still to move my lips and limbs, and to speak kind words to and embrace those I may not see again on this sweet-smelling earth. I learned that I cannot wait to love what is in my presence, for it or I may well be gone tomorrow. To some, such as Giannon, this lesson poisons the heart with bitterness. But such bitterness has no value and is, in fact, cowardly. For bitterness risks nothing. — Kate Horsley

The tears of those who never cry, the calm, the levelheaded ones, are terrible to see. She seemed to be split or torn by the force of the tears, which she squeezed her eyes shut against, which she forced back with her fist against her lips. Smokey, afraid and awed, came immediately to her as he might to rescue his child from a fire, without thought and without knowing quite what he would do. When he tried to take her hand, speak softly to her, she only trembled more violently, the red cross branded on her face grew uglier; so he enveloped her, smothered the flames, Disregarding her resistance, as well as he could he covered her, having a vague idea that he could by tenderness invade her and then rout her grief, whatever it was, by main strength. He wasn't sure he wasn't himself the cause of it, wasn't sure if she would cling to him for comfort or break him in rage, but he had no choice anyway, savior or sacrifice, it didn't matter so long as she could cease suffering. — John Crowley

The upper lip during the act of grinning is retracted, as in snarling, so that the canines are exposed, and the ears are drawn backwards; but the general appearance of the animal clearly shows that anger is not felt. Sir C. Bell[3] remarks "Dogs, in their expression of fondness, have a slight eversion of the lips, and grin and sniff amidst their gambols, in a way that resembles laughter." Some persons speak of the grin as a smile, but if it had been really a smile, we should see a similar, though more pronounced, movement of the lips and ears, when dogs utter their bark of joy; but this is not the case, although a bark of joy often follows a grin. — Charles Darwin

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.
Now, I can't look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter.
Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.
A name I won't throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.
And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form ... .. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart. — Coco J. Ginger

My name is Nathan, just twenty-three and given to the curation of stories. I listen, retain, then polish and release them over the fire at night, when the others hush and lean forward in their desire to hear of the past. They crave romance, particularly when autumn sets in and cold nights await them, and so I speak of Alice, and Bethany, and Sarah, and Val, and other dead women who all once had lustrous hair and never a bad word on their plump lips. I can remember this is not how they were; I knew them, I knew them! Only six years have passed and yet I mythologize them as if it is six thousand. I am not culpable. Language is changing, like the earth, like the sea. We live in lonely, fateful flux, outnumbered and outgrown. — Aliya Whiteley

Maybe pick it up by mistake with the cleaning?" "It is there." "With the cleaning?" "In the closet." "No, it isn't. I looked." About to speak, Willie tightened her lips and scowled. Karl had walked in. "Good evening, Madam." He went to the sink for a glass of water. "Did you set those traps?" asked Chris. "No rats." "Did you set them?" "I set them, of course, but the attic is clean." "Tell me, how — William Peter Blatty

When you pray, remember that you are not praying to a distant God, but to the God that dwells within you. Don't just speak the words; feel what they mean in your life. Don't pray from your lips, but from your heart. Your prayers aren't for God, they are for you, to remind you of the presence of the Holy Spirit within you. When you say "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done," remember that you are loved and protected. God has planned greater things for us than we can imagine. The more we maintain an awareness of God's unchanging love, the safer and more at home we will feel in the world. — Susan L. Taylor

Our breath and movements flowed evenly, measured, in unison. He brought his torso up to meet mine as he heaved, hands grasping at my bra straps, my curls, anything tangible to keep him from floating into the ether. I witnessed his face speak a thousand words as his lips just uttered one: my name again. He was all at once demonic, blissful, tortured, humble and at peace. — Jessica Topper

But what do you care about Qorlec?" went on Dr. Zorgone. "I heard you escaped Alsa Sif V, and immediately upon your departure," he frowned, "you set coordinates for Earth?" He laughed softly, nastily, and Quinn felt anger shiver through her to see the twinkling mockery in his eyes.

"What would your people think to know that, I wonder?" continued Dr. Zorgone, tilting his head. "The first place you ran to wasn't Qorlec, wasn't the ancient home of your 'mighty' ancestors, but the polluted shit-ball of ape people? The true home of the true empress is Earth." His eyes danced over her, searching, hungry. "You speak Roknal and English fluently, but I bet you don't know a damn lick of Aviye. The entirian princess isn't even entirian --"

"What do you want?" Quinn said abruptly.

"What do I want?" repeated Dr. Zorgone, rolling his eyes to the starry sky. "Let's see . . . What do I want? I always wanted an indoor pool."

Quinn's lips tightened. — Ash Gray

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.
...
We leave you a tradition with a future.
The tender loving care of human beings will never become obsolete.
People even more than things have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed and redeemed and redeemed.
Never throw out anybody.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands: one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.
Your "good old days" are still ahead of you, may you have many of them. — Sam Levenson

Lo!" said Percivale, "those I had slain were not put to silence. I heard their breath speak out of the lips of others; I saw their looks mock out of the eyes of others; the life that was gone from their bodies was but draughted to enliven fresh matter. In every ray of light, in every gust that blew, the life of the dead moved to confound me. Ah, Saint, the things they had uttered were black and heavy; I could not bear them. — Clemence Housman

I've learned to listen not to what peolpe have to say 4but how they say it. I watch them closly how they speak, in particular their eyes.Lips lie, but the eyes never do. — Patrick Jones

All love tends to become like that which it loves. God loved man; therefore He became man. For nine months her own body was the natural Eucharist, in which God shared communion with human life, thus preparing for that greater Eucharist when human life would commune with the Divine. Mary's joy was to form Christ in her own body; her joy now is to form Christ in our souls. In this Mystery, we pray to become pregnant with the Christ spirit, giving Him new lips with which He may speak of His Father, new hands with which He may feed the poor, and a new heart with which He may love everyone, even enemies. — Fulton J. Sheen

Why do you consult [women's] words when it is not their mouths that speak? Consult their eyes, their colour, their breathing, their timid manner, their slight resistance, that is the language nature gave them for your answer. The lips always say 'No,' and rightly so; but the tone is not always the same, and that cannot lie. Has not a woman the same needs as a man, but without the same right to make them known? Her fate would be too cruel if she had no language in which to express her legitimate desires except the words which she dare not utter. — Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Many people believe letters the most personal and revealing form of communication. In them, we expect to find the charmer at his nap, slumped, open-mouthed, profoundly himself without thought for appearances. Yet, this is not quite true. Letters are above all useful as a means of expressing the ideal self; and no other method of communication is quite so good for this purpose. In conversation, those uneasy eyes upon you, those lips ready with an emendation before you have begun to speak, are a powerful deterrent to unreality, even to hope. — Elizabeth Hardwick

I'm not with Rob," I say quickly. "Not anymore."
"You're not?" He's staring at me so intensely I can see the stripes of gold alternating with the green in his eyes like spokes of a wheel.
I shake my head.
"That's a good thing." He's still staring at me like that, like he's the first and last person who will ever stare at me.
"Because ... " His voice trails off, and his eyes travel slowly down to my lips, and there's so much heat roaring through
my body I swear I'm going to pass out.
"Because?" I prompt him, surprised I can still speak.
"Because I'm sorry, but I can't help it, and I really need to kiss you right now. — Lauren Oliver

when my mother opens her mouth to have a conversation at dinner my father shoves the word hush between her lips and tells her to never speak with her mouth full this is how the women in my family learned to live with their mouths closed — Rupi Kaur

Hyacinth," he said.
She looked at him expectantly.
"Hyacinth," he said again, this time with a bit more certitude. He smiled, letting his eyes melt into hers. "Hyacinth."
"We know her name," came his grandmother's voice.
Gareth ignored her and pushed a table aside so that he could drop to one knee. "Hyacinth," he said, relishing her gasp as he took her hand in his, "would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"
Her eyes widened, the misted, and her lips, which he'd been kissing so deliciously mere hours earlier, began to quiver. "I ... I ... "
It was unlike her to be so without words, and he was enjoying it, especially the show of emotion on her face.
"I ... I ... "
"Yes!" his grandmother finally yelled. "Yes! She'll marry you!"
"She can speak for herself," he said.
"No," Lady D said, "she can't. Quite obviously. — Julia Quinn

She seated herself on a dark ottoman with the brown books behind her, looking in her plain dress of some thin woollen-white material, without a single ornament on her besides her wedding-ring, as if she were under a vow to be different from all other women; and Will sat down opposite her at two yards' distance, the light falling on his bright curls and delicate but rather petulant profile, with its defiant curves of lip and chin. Each looked at the other as if they had been two flowers which had opened then and there. Dorothea for the moment forgot her husband's mysterious irritation against Will: it seemed fresh water at her thirsty lips to speak without fear to the one person whom she had found receptive; for in looking backward through sadness she exaggerated a past solace. — George Eliot

Steeling herself, she rose out of her chair, looped her arm around Kenny's neck, and planted herself in his lap.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Have I missed something?"
She curled her mouth into what she hoped was a seductive smile and tried to speak without moving her lips. "Kiss me at once."
"No," he said indignantly.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like your attitude."
She had been a bit bossy, but that was only because she was nervous. "I apologize."
His eyes settled on her mouth. "Okay, I'll kiss you."
The burly man turned away, and she immediately ejected from Kenny's lap. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Today the guns are silent. A great tragedy has ended. A great victory has been won. The skies no longer rain with death - the seas bear only commerce - men everywhere walk upright in the sunlight. The entire world lies quietly at peace. The holy mission has been completed. And in reporting this to you, the people, I speak for the thousands of silent lips, forever stilled among the jungles and the beaches and in the deep waters of the Pacific which marked the way. — Douglas MacArthur

The leech didn't stay long. Only long enough to check his bandages and proclaim this the most miraculous recovery he'd ever witnessed.
"I'll let the others know," Phantom said.
Adara nodded as she returned to sit on the edge of Christian's bed. He had yet to speak with words. But his loving gaze told her volumes. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Christian."
He swallowed, then coughed.
"Easy," she said, afraid he might tear the stitches in his chest.
"I'm sorry, Adara," he said, his voice raspy and strained. His words baffled her.
"Sorry for what?"
"That I disappointed you."
Her tears started anew. "You are never a disappointment to me, Christian. Never ... unless you die on me. That would make me dreadfully disappointed, and then I should have to kill you for it."
The corners of his lips lifted a tiny bit. — Kinley MacGregor

It was the only way to silence you."
She bristled with outrage. "Silence
me? You took liberties with
my ... my ... my lips in order to silence
me? That was very impertinent of you,
Laird. I won't allow you to do it again."
6/756
He smiled and folded his arms over
his chest. "Aye, you will."
Her mouth gaped open in astonishment
and then worked up and down as
she struggled to speak. "I assure you I
won't."
"I assure you that you will. — Maya Banks

If I could, I would take you with me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
She tried to pull away from him. "You would not. You would grow tired of me in a few weeks."
He shook his head, pulling her tight against him. "No ... I could never grow tired of you."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked.
He brushed tendrils of hair from her face. "I have craved to know you for years ... even just to hear you speak my name ... a single touch of your hand on mine ... "
He kissed her softly, his lips tasting hers. "I want you to be mine ... I want you always."
- 'unknown script' 2012 — Faye Hall

Unlike the tedious priests of Mithras and Minerva - so careful, so exact, so smug in the enactment of their obscure rituals - old Potitus saw no need to weary heaven with ceaseless ceremony or meaningless repetition. "God knows the cry of our hearts," he would say, "before it ever reaches our lips. So speak it out and have done with it. Then get about your business." My — Stephen R. Lawhead

I have been right, Basil, haven't I, to take my love out of poetry, and to find my wife in Shakespeare's plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth. — Oscar Wilde

The harvested fields bathed in the autumn mist speak of God and his goodness far more vividly than any human lips. — Albert Schweitzer

I am thirsty, and very susceptible to flattery ... you could talk me into anything ... "
"So much for fighting the good fight," I observed dryly. "He'll have a harem within a week."
Bones watched Juan disappear down the hall, nuzzling the blonde's neck in a manner that didn't speak only of hunger. "He's a fine bloke. He'll learn."
"Learn what?" At least he can't get or pass diseases anymore, I thought. That's one advantage turning Juan into a vampire did for womankind.
Bones put an arm around me as we headed toward the exit of the flesh feast. "He'll learn that many women can satisfy for a short period of time, but when he falls in love, only one will sustain him forever."
I cast him a sideways glance "Are you trying to seduce me?"
His lips curled with promise. "Absolutely. — Jeaniene Frost

And then there was you. You changed everything I believed in. You know that line from Dante that I quoted to you in the park? 'L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle'?"
Her lips curled a little at the sides as she looked up at him. "I still don't speak Italian."
"It's a bit of the very last verse from Paradiso - Dante's Paradise. 'My will and my desire were turned by love, the love that moves the sun and the other stars.' Dante was trying to explain faith, I think, as an overpowering love, and maybe it's blasphemous, but that's how I think of the way I love you. You came into my life and suddenly I had one truth to hold on to - that I loved you, and you loved me. — Cassandra Clare

How do you make someone love you? For the very young, there can be nothing harder in the world. You may try as hard as you like: place yourself beside them, cook their favourite food, bring them wine or sing the love songs that you know will move them. They will not move them. Nothing will move them. You will waste days interpreting the simple banalities of a phone call; months staring at their soft lips as they talk; you will waste years watching a body sitting in a chair and willing every muscle to take you across the room and do a simple thing, say a simple word, make them love you and you will not do it; you will waste long nights wondering how they cannot feel this - the urge to embrace, the snow melt in the heart when you are near them - how they can sit in that chair, or speak with those lips, or make a call and mean nothing by it, hide nothing in their hearts. Or perhaps what they hide is not what you want to see. Because surely they love someone. It simply isn't you. — Andrew Sean Greer

If you are tempted to reveal
A tale to you someone has told
About another, make it pass,
Before you speak, three gates of gold;

These narrow gates. First, "Is it true?"
Then, "Is it needful?" In your mind
Give truthful answer. And the next
Is last and narrowest, "Is it kind?"

And if to reach your lips at last
It passes through these gateways three,
Then you may tell the tale, nor fear
What the result of speech may be. — Beth Day

One summer day I lay upon the grass. I'd sinned, no matter how, and in sin's wake there came a kind of drowsy peace so deep I hadn't even will enough to loathe myself. I had no mind to pray. I scarcely had a mind at all, just eyes to see the greenwood overhead, just flesh to feel the sun.
A light breeze blew from Wear that tossed the trees, and as I lay there watching them, they formed a face of shadows and of leaves. It was a man's green, leafy face. He gazed at me from high above. And as the branches nodded in the air, he opened up his mouth to speak. No sound came from his lips, but by their shape I knew it was my name.
His was the holiest face I ever saw. My very name turned holy on his tongue. If he had bade me rise and follow him to the end of time, I would have gone. If he had bade me die for him, I would have died. When I deserved it least, God gave me most. I think it was the Savior's face itself I saw. — Frederick Buechner

Dear Miss Smallwood, I thought it was time you received a real love letter. I am too shy to speak to you of my feelings in person, but I want you to know how pleased I am you are with us. You have an ardent admirer here at Ebbington Manor. I will be watching you. For I could gaze upon your soft green eyes and sweet lips forever. Your Secret Admirer — Julie Klassen

The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words HOME, CHRIST, ALE, MASTER, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language. — James Joyce

Shards of glass slip down the wall and into the sink. IT pulls away from me, puzzled. I reach in and wrap my fingers around a triangle of glass. I hold it to Andy Evans's neck. He freezes. I push just hard enough to raise one drop of blood. He raises his arms over his head. My hand quivers. I want to insert the glass all the way through his throat, I want to hear him scream. I look up. I see the stubble on his chin, a fleck of white in the corner of his mouth. His lips are paralyzed. He cannot speak. That's good enough.
Me: I said no. — Laurie Halse Anderson

He didn't speak; his lips continued working against mine. His solid arms enveloped me, and then he buried his face in my neck.

"You're quiet th — Jamie McGuire

We may well be the ones Proverbs warns when it reminds us: "Kings take pleasure in honest lips; they value the one who speaks the truth." The point is clear: If the people speak and the king doesn't listen, there is something wrong with the king. If the king acts precipitously and the people say nothing, something is wrong with the people. — Joan D. Chittister

A kiss, he said, is a conversation. Easing closer, he continued to speak as he caressed her cheeks with featherlight stokes of his thumbs.
"A first kiss", his lips neared hers, is an introduction and then his mouth brushed against hers. The contact sparked, sharp and bright like lightning, yet his lips were soft, unexpectedly so. Her breath caught the same instant his did.
Against her mouth he whispered "That was Hello" His breath mingled with hers as he waited, his lips so close she could feel their warmth. For a moment she simply breathed him in growing heady on the scent of him and the tight anticipation gathering in her belly. Then she understood. Nerves fluttering, she brushed her lips across his as he had done. Again his breath hitched, as if he too felt that same spark, that hot need. Her eyes drifted closed and his voice poured over her like warm cream.
"This is, 'I'm Jack'. — Kristen Callihan

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. — James Joyce

What are they waiting to see?" Sam follows my gaze and I shrug. "Who knows? You could always do a dance, or tell a joke, or ... kiss the bride?"
"Not the bride," he wraps his arms around me, and gradually pulls me close. Our noses are practically touching. I can see right into his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his skin. "you." Me.
"The girl who stole my phone." His lips brush across the corner of my mouth. "The thief."
"It was in a bin."
"Still stealing."
"No it isn't-," I begin. But now his mouth is firmly on mine, and I can't speak at all. And suddenly, life is good. — Sophie Kinsella

Don't try to be in control and don't speak. The only word you're permitted to say tonight is Mark. I don't want anything else leaving those plump lips of yours. My dick's going in and only my name's coming out... that and my cum. — Aven Jayce

I have nothing to offer you," he finally said in a guttural voice.
"Nothing."
Win's lips had turned dry. She moistened them, and tried to speak through a thrill of anxious trembling. "You have yourself," she whispered.
"You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. The things I've done, the things I'm capable of
you and your family, all you know of life comes from books. If you understood anything
"
"Make me understand. Tell me what is so terrible that you must keep pushing me away."
He shook his head.
"Then stop torturing the both of us," she said unsteadily. "Leave me, or let me go."
"I can't," he snapped. "I can't, damn you." And before she could make a sound, he kissed her. — Lisa Kleypas

I forbid you to go."

"I am not yours to forbid. Comfort your pride with your conquest!"

"Felicia!"

The raw anguish of it stopped me. Tears were threatening to spill from my eyes so that I had to bend my head, fighting for self-control, and I did not hear him come up beside me. His hand touched my shoulder, then dropped again as I shivered.

"Does this look like pride?" His voice was shaking. "Or must I grovel?"

He was on his knees at my feet, and as I watched he lifted the hem of my gown to his lips and kissed it. I made some sort of sound in my throat, but I could not speak.

"You cannot go." He spoke in a whisper, without lifting his head. "I love you. I have always loved you--I bought you from your vile brother because I could not live without you."

As I stared down at his bowed, bright head, the earth shook under my feet. This could not be happening, I thought. — Teresa Denys

It is of mercy that we are not in hell. It is of mercy that we have the hope of heaven. It is of mercy that we live in a land of spiritual light. It is of mercy that we have been called by the Spirit, and not left to reap the fruit of our own ways. It is of mercy that we still live and have opportunities of glorifying God actively or passively. Surely these thoughts should crowd on our minds whenever we speak with God. Surely we should never open our lips in prayer without blessing God for that free grace by which we live, and for that loving kindness which endureth for ever. — J.C. Ryle

Dove still couldn't trust herself to speak without blubbering. But she could kiss. Not Lotsa, not a dressed-up weirdo. Just Dove. She pulled her hand from its sweet prison and touched his face. She leaned in to kiss him, and instead of worrying about which way her nose was pointing, if her armpits were sweating, or if there was a funky taste in her mouth left over from dinner, she thought about lips and touch and kissing. When Johnson moaned, Dove felt so powerful she could have head-butted a dinosaur to death. — Debra Anastasia

But my attention's elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person - only belongs to him
Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea.
My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and bring him back to me. But just as I'm about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me - hair tangled and wet - clothes twisted and clinging - frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude's tanned strong arms still wrapped around me.
I release myself from Jude's grip, but it's too late. Damen's already seen me.
Already moved on.
Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat.
No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place. — Alyson Noel

Her lips thinned, but she ignored the bait. "Schedules have been moved up in all departments, you know. Claire received her new reproduction assignment. It didn't include Tony." "Reproduction assignment? You mean, having a baby?" Leo could feel his face flushing. Somewhere within him, a long-controlled steam pressure began to build. "Do you hide what you're really doing from yourselves with those weasel-words, too? And here I thought the propaganda was just for us peons." Yei started to speak, but Leo overrode her, bursting out, "Good God! Were you born inhuman, or did you grow so by degrees - M.S., M.D., Ph.D. . . ." Yei — Lois McMaster Bujold

I don't hate you, Jace."
"I don't hate you, either."
She looked up at him, relieved. "I'm glad to hear that - "
"I wish I could hate you," he said. His voice was light, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half smile, his eyes sick with misery. "I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I think I do hate you and then I see you and I - "
Her hands had grown numb with their grip on the blanket. "And you what?"
"What do you think?" Jace shook his head. "Why should I tell you everything
about how I feel when you never tell me anything? It's like banging my head on a
wall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop."
Clary's lips were trembling so violently that she found it hard to speak. "Do you think it's easy for me?" she demanded. — Cassandra Clare

Cinema captures the sound of speech close up and makes us hear in their materiality, their sensuality, the breath, the gutturals, the fleshiness of the lips, a whole presence of the human muzzle (that the voice, that writing, be as fresh, supple, lubricated, delicately granular and vibrant as an animal's muzzle), to succeed in shifting the signified a great distance and in throwing, so to speak, the anonymous body of the actor into my ear: it granulates, it crackles, it caresses, it grates, it cuts, it comes: that is bliss. — Roland Barthes

In the quiet of an early morning, honesty finds me. It calls to me through a crack in my soul and invites the real me to come out, come out, wherever you are. Not the carefully edited edition of the me I am this year. No, honesty wants to speak to the least tidy version of the woman I've become. The one I can't make look more alive with a few swipes of mascara and a little color on my lips. — Lysa TerKeurst

Our favorite film is Vertigo. Amy Eleni and I must watch it seventeen or eighteen times a year, and with each viewing our raptness grows looser and looser; we don't need the visuals anymore
one or the other of us can go into the kitchen halfway through and call out the dialogue while making up two cups of Horlicks. From the minute you see empty, beautiful, blond Madeleine Elster, you know she is doomed because she exists in a way that Scottie, the male lead, just doesn't. You know that Madeleine is in big trouble, because she's a vast wound in a landscape where wounds aren't allowed to stay open
people have to shut up and heal up. She's in trouble because the film works to a plan that makes trauma speak itself out, speak itself to excess until it dies; this film at the peak of its slyness, when people sweat and lick their lips excessively and pound their chests and grab their hair and twist their heads from side to side, performing this unspeakable torment. — Helen Oyeyemi

In God's school, the teachers must be masters of the art of holiness. If we teach one thing by our lips and another by our lives, those who listen to us will say, "Physician, heal thyself." "Thou sayest, 'Repent.' Where is thine own repentance? Thou sayest, 'Serve God, and be obedient to His will.' Do you serve Him? Are you obedient to His will?" An unholy ministry would be the derision of the world, and a dishonour to God. "Be ye clean, that bear the vessels of the Lord." He will speak through a fool if he be but a holy man. I do not, of course, mean that God chooses fools to be His ministers; but let a man once become really holy, even though he has but the slenderest possible ability, he will be a more fit instrument in God's hand than the man of gigantic acquirements, who is not obedient to the divine will, nor clean and pure in the sight of the Lord God Almighty. — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Prayer is the best weapon we have; it is the key to God's heart. You must speak to Jesus not only with your lips, but with your heart. In fact on certain occasions you should only speak to Him with your heart. — Padre Pio

And as she looked at the pool she saw the waters gather up into a column, rushing up foaming and standing there before her startled eyes, and turn into the form of a man.
Not a man, a god. So perfectly formed, so handsome, with such wisdom and desire in his eyes and such quiet joy on his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful and Anne felt herself grow weak with some unnamable longing. His eyes met hers and caught her soul tight, and she could not look away as he read every thought in her mind.
"Come," he said to her in a voice like liquid silver, "I know your mind, and it is one with mine."
Anne could not speak, but she did not need to. Her eyebrows raised in question.
He laughed, "Why to love, of course. — Elliot Mabeuse

Enoch could respond with nothing more than a simple gesture in the orbs' direction. His brain was frozen. He could not think or speak, but the voiceless answer roused Fallon instantly. When he followed Enoch's gaze, a silent curse passed over his lips and then, We're in big trouble. — S.R. Ford

We can all take pictures but not everyone can capture the beauty that's usually hidden in plain view ...
We can all open our mouth to sing but not everyone can melodically touch your soul ...
We can all pick up a pen to write but not everyone can write words in such a way that they leap off of the page for you ...
We can all part our lips to speak but not everyone can speak life into you ...
We can all move our bodies to a beat but not everyone can become one with music, stir emotions and shift energy with dance ...
Point is: WE CAN all do something but Know your gifts, cultivate them and ALWAYS, ALWAYS BE YOURSELF! Then working together becomes effortless. Copies aren't accepted everywhere ... ORIGINALS are eventually required! — Sanjo Jendayi

What value do I have,
If my lips are sealed ...
What value does my life have,
If my right to speak in my own point of view is taken away from me ...
I'm no less than a dead man,
Silenced forever ... — NerD_Seyer

She looked ... She looked young, and- and
" I glanced down at Rossana gazing up at me, lips parted, eyes shining, her hair loose around her shoulders, and the next words I spoke were intended with no artifice at all. "She is almost as beautiful as you."
There was laughter, and I looked up, confused.
"If you wish to pay court to my daughter, Matteo, you must first speak to me," Captain dell'Orte said in mock severity.
Rossana's face colored pink.
"Elizabetta is also very beautiful," I said quickly, thinking to cover any embarassment, but also because it was true.
The adults roared with laughter.
"Now Matteo seeks to woo both girls with one compliment. — Theresa Breslin

When bodies talk, a hand brushing across a face declares love the tongue never speaks. When bodies talk, eyes make promises and lips keep them in the silent transfer of vows of the heart.
When bodies talk, a steady stare and firm glance becomes a rod of correction.
When bodies talk, they speak to us all in quiet whispers, heart-to-heart, and soul-to-soul, in soundless conversations. — Stella Payton

Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare. — William Shakespeare

Tell me have you ever wanted someone so much it hurts?
Your lips keep trying to speak, but you just can't find the words.
Well I had this dream once, I held it in my hand ...
You had me dim the lights, you danced just like a child.
The wine spilled on your dress and all you did was smile.
Yeah, it was perfect.
I hold it in my mind.
When we owned the night. — Lady Antebellum

That afternoon she was wearing a yellow dress the same shade as her hair, and again his throat tightened when he saw her, and again he could not speak. But when the first moment passed and words came, it was all right, and their thoughts flowed together like two effervescent brooks and coursed gaily through the arroyo of the afternoon. This time when they parted, it was she who asked, "Will you be here tomorrow?" - though only because she stole the question from his lips - and the words sang in his ears all the way back through the woods to the cabin and lulled him to sleep after an evening spent with his pipe on the porch. — Robert F. Young

There's often a distressing disconnect between the good words we speak and the way we live our lives. In personal relations and politics, the mass media, the academy and organized religion, our good words tend to float away even as they leave our lips, ascending to an altitude where they neither reflect nor connect with the human condition. We long for words like love, truth, and justice to become flesh and dwell among us. But in our violent world, it's risky business to wrap our frail flesh around words like those, and we don't like the odds. — Parker J. Palmer

And then a scholar said, "Speak of talking." And he answered, saying: "And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. — Kahlil Gibran

He stopped. She heard the intake of his breath. "You are my country, Desdemona." Yearning, harsh and poignant and she felt herself swaying toward him. "My Egypt. My hot, harrowing desert and my cool, verdant Nile, infinitely lovely and unfathomable and sustaining."
She gasped.
His gaze fell, shielded by his lashes. An odd, half-mocking smile played about his lips. "You'll never hear old Blake say something like that."
She swallowed, unable to speak, her senses abraded by his stimulating words, her pulse hammering in anticipation? Trepidation?
"Remember my words next time he calls you a bloody English rose. — Connie Brockway

Treasure of my soul," he said. He took one of her hands, brought it to his lips, and kissed it, just above the knuckles, as he had been doing every night for the last month, since their engagement. "You have brought me such peace."
"Ambrose," she replied, amazed by his name, amazed by his face.
"It is in our sleep that we most closely glimpse the power of the spirit," he said. "Our minds will speak across this narrow distance. It will be here, together in nocturnal stillness, that we shall finally become unbound by time, by space, by natural law and physical law. We shall roam the world however we like, in our dreams. We shall speak with the dead, transform into animals and objects, fly across time. Our intellects shall be nowhere to be found, and our minds will be unfettered."
"Thank you," she said, senselessly. — Elizabeth Gilbert

Mel? Mel, I love you. Mel, come back . Mel, Mel, Mel."
It's Jared's voice, trying to call me back the way Wanda called back the Healer's host, the way she taught Kyle to call to Jodi.
I can answer him. I can speak now. I can feel my tongue in my mouth, ready to move into whatever shape I ask it to. I can feel the air in my lungs, ready to push out the words. If I want this.
"Mel, I love you, I love you."
This is Wanda's gift to me, paid for with her silver blood. Jared and I, put back together again as if she'd never lived. As if she hadn't saved us both.
If I accept this gift, I profit from her death. I kill her again. I take her sacrifice and make it murder.
"Mel, please? Open your eyes."
I feel his hand on my face, cradling my cheek. I feel his lips burn against my forehead, but I don't want them, not at this price.
Or do I? — Stephenie Meyer

As you thus take "sweet counsel" with others in the ways of God, take care that the theme of your converse is the Lord Jesus. Let the eye of faith be constantly looking unto him; let your heart be full of him; let your lips speak of his worth. Friend, live near to the cross, and thou wilt not sleep. — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Ask no one to speak of you, not even contemptuously. And when time passes and you notice how your name is spreading around among people, don't take it more seriously than any of the other things you find on their lips. Think: your name has turned bad, and get rid of it. Take on another, any other, so that God can call you in the night. And conceal it from everyone. — Rainer Maria Rilke

My Heart Cries

My heart cries, but you don't hear it.
My heart breaks, but you don't feel it.
My body longs to feel your arms around me.
My lips long to feel your kisses.
My ears long to hear you say I love you.
My eyes long to see your smile and eyes twinkle.
My life longs to have you in it.
My world longs to have you make it complete.
My body longs to feel you lie next to it.
My love longs to have you return it.
My heart will cry, my heart will break.
My body will go limp, my lips will only speak.
My ears will miss your words, my eyes will shed tears.
My life will be so lonely, my world will be so empty.
My love will go unreturned.
My heart aches as my life is turned inside out.
My mind will never forget, my heart will never let go.
I have loved you since the day I met you
But now my heart cries, and you don't hear it. — Kelly Gray

The angels are so enamored of the language that is spoken in heaven that they will not distort their lips with the hissing and unmusical dialects of men, but speak their own, whether their be any who understand it or not. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Swallow Daughter, pull them in, those words that sit upon your lips. Lock them deep inside your soul, hide them 'til they've time to grow. Close your mouth upon the power, curse not, cure not, 'til the hour. You won't speak and you won't tell, you won't call on heav'n or hell. You will learn and you will thrive. Silence, daughter. Stay alive. — Amy Harmon

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness. "No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you." Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight. "My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!" "No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?" She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. — J.K. Rowling

When he opens his mouth to speak, I place a finger on his lips.
"It's my love for you that makes this hurt so much," I say, my voice strong and resolved. "I had faith in you and you betrayed me." — A.G. Howard

I must pour out my heart in the language which his Spirit gives me; and more than that, I must trust in the Spirit to speak the unutterable groanings of my spirit, when my lips cannot actually express all the emotions of my heart. — Charles Spurgeon

I've been wondering all day what flavor lip gloss you've got on."

"Dr. Pepper," I say, before my brain starts to work again.

"Lip Smackers?" He laughs. "Really?"

"My mom always puts a ton of them in my stocking at Christmas," I try to explain, but really, what's the point now? He already knows my taste in cosmetics hasn't changed since the seventh grade.

"I like it."

"You do?"

"Well, let me double-check," he says, and then he licks his bottom lip before he kisses me again. I feel the tip of his tongue soft against mine, taste the sweetness of his breath as he kisses me deeper. Then he moves his lips, all warm and soft over to my ear and kisses me there until I can't speak. — Mercy Brown

The ladies egged him on; in Eve's name, they dared him; so he made love with discreet verbs and light nouns, delicate conjunctions. They begged; they defied him to define ... define everything. They could not be scandalized - impossible, they said. Indecent prepositions such as in, on, up, merely made them smile, and the roundest exclamation broke upon them like a bubble's kiss, a butterfly's. Smooth and creamy adjectives enabled them to lick their lips upon the crudest story. How charmingly you speak, Reverend Furber, how much you've seen of this wicked world, and how alive you are to it, they said. — William H Gass

Good night, Aphrodite," he said softly, liking the feel of the word on his lips, like some sort of incantation. Her green eyes widened behind her spectacles at hearing him speak her actual name. But she didn't correct him. And if he wasn't mistaken, there was a blush rising in her cheek. Perhaps there was more of the pretty scholar's namesake in her than she'd previously let on. — Manda Collins

The raw urgency in Rob's voice sent fresh blood flooding into Emily's already swollen sex. She squirmed. feeling her orgasm approaching. Fast.
"Say it again," Rob ground out, dragging one hand up her torso until his fingers found her breast. He cupped its weight, worshipping its form through the soft fabric of her dress.
She gasped again, arching her back. "I want you," she panted, the sensations his fingers on her breast created almost stealing her ability to speak. "I want you. I have from the very - "
He didn't let her finish. His lips claimed hers, his hand squeezing and massaging her breast as his tongue plundered her mouth. He pinched her nipple with hungry force, his tongue matching the ferocity of the caress. Her body burned with pleasure at his feverish actions, the undeniable desire each stoke of his tongue, each flick of his fingers wrought on her body pushing her closer and closer to eruption. — Lexxie Couper

To behold Queen Gwenhwyvar and the Lady of the Lake together was to peer too long into the sun's brilliant dazzle, to feel the heart lurch in the breast for yearning, to have the words stolen from the tongue before the lips could speak them. — Stephen R. Lawhead

It is understandable how some people could give way to this kind of pervasive pessimism, but we speak of a gospel which brings good tidings of great joy and this must be reflected in our lives, if we are to be believable especially as we suggest to others that there is, in fact, not only a better way, but also the way. Scriptures that speak of man as a being who "might have joy" have more impact when falling from the lips or pens of men and women whose lives give fresh evidence of the validity of that scripture. — Neal A. Maxwell

Sin looked over at Boyd through sleepy looking, heavy lidded eyes. "Callate la boca, blanquito."
Hearing Sin speak Spanish didn't help any; he sounded especially sexy when he was drawling those words fluidly in his low, velvety voice. "What does that mean?" he asked, half with an edge and half just curious.
Full lips turned up into a small smirk and Sin raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to the window. "It's a secret."
"Putain de beau gosse," Boyd muttered under his breath in mild annoyance, flipping forward several pages. — Santino Hassell

Not just the listeners, either. Miro had to be fair - he was as impatient with himself as they were. When he thought of the sheer effort involved in explaining a complicated idea, when he anticipated trying to form the words with lips and tongue and jaws that wouldn't obey him, when he thought of how long it would all take, he usually felt too weary to speak. His mind raced on and on, as fast as ever, thinking so many thoughts that at times Miro wanted his brain to shut down, to be silent and give him peace. But his thoughts remained his own, unshared. — Orson Scott Card

I must leave you, Claudia. 'Tis unlikely we will have another opportunity to speak alone again before tomorrow." His lips brushed against hers in a kiss so brief that it was over almost before she realized it began. "Do not kiss anyone else until then. I want you to save your kisses for me. — Elizabeth Elliott

Grey rocks, and greyer sea,
And surf along the shore
And in my heart a name
My lips shall speak no more. — Charles G.D. Roberts

I have no words.

They are blind and deaf because they speak nonsense .

Harmonically flow from my lips

only interested in one thing ...
dance forever.. — Pamela Abreu

I follow his eyes to the pane of glass separating us from reality and I wait for his lips to part; I wait to listen to him speak . And then I try to pay attention as his words bounce around in the haze of my head, fogging my senses, misting my eyes, clouding my concentration. — Tahereh Mafi

In my household, you will be treated as a child. You shall have no responsibilities beyond pleasing me. You will have a nanny who will see to all of your needs. During the day you will receive instruction from her. You will learn your letters and numbers. At night, you will receive instruction from me." Penelope licked her lips. Not wanting to speak out of turn, she still needed to know. "What kind of instruction?" Alex ran his thumb over her wet bottom lip, the desire heavy in his gaze. "Submission, my dear Penelope. — Zoe Blake

Sefalin coddled his father's head in his lap. The old man's eyes were becoming glassy. Reminded of the elves, Lozane said, "Have you done as they say, my boy? Have you dredged up the Coda Uma and let it go to that blackheart Helix?"
Tears burst from Prince Sefalin's eyes. He couldn't speak, just nodded. His lips flushed a deeper purple. His hair was matted to his reddened forehead by blood. From head to toe he wore spatters and blotches of cadaverous slime and melting snowflakes. A vein in his temple throbbed hotly while mucus dripped from his nose. — Leonard Mokos

And what is love, Angel? What is love! he yelled. Is it a pressure inside that makes me want to scream when you do this? he palmed his chest roughly, Is it my body in constant chaos when you're around me? Is it murder in cold blood when I even think of you being with anybody but me! he roared. Or maybe it's not being able to think or speak when your life is in danger, or wanting to spend every second - of every - fucking day with you, wanting to never leave your side. Is that love? Is it, Isadore? He drew closer and hit his fist repeatedly against his chest. Is it pain so hard and heavy that I can't fucking breathe unless I smell you, touch you, taste you? His body heaved as his bright green gaze seared her heart. Because if it is, Angel...he held his lips together and shook his head slowly, then I am....slain with an eternal and violent love for you. — Lucian Bane

Before you can speak the truth with your lips you must know truth in your heart.
Psalm 15:2 — Deborah Brodie

He could hear her ramping up and rather than letting it happen, he silenced her the best way he knew hos.
He lowered his head to hers, slowly, so she could see him coming. Her lips parted, in anticipation, in fear, out of breathlessness or a need to speak, he didn't care. He pressed his against them and heard her quick intake of breath.
Her hands went up to his neck and she pulled herself closer, her mouth softening against his, opening, until they were necking like the pair of teenagers they had been, urgently, desperately, the rest of the world falling away until it was only them, no one else mattering, nothing necessary to their survival but that they hold on, hold on, hold on to each other and never let go. — Roxanne Snopek