Quotes & Sayings About Lying In His Arms

He would tell stories about the Holy City, about Solomon, a just king, a poet-king, a monarch with a thousand concubines. We weren't quite sure what concubines were, but we guessed: a concubine ... Concubines! One thousand! One thousand women in all colours and shapes - but all of them sexy, of course - one thousand - one thousand raving beauties lying side by side on a bed (what a bed! How wide it must have been!), all of them smiling, all of them reaching out their arms, all of them saying something in Hebrew - but the meaning was unmistakeable - "Come here, sweety." One thousand women. If one were to spend twenty, or fifteen minutes with each one of them, how long would it take to ... ? A problem that our math teacher never assigned us for homework ... ! — Moacyr Scliar

I won't let him hurt you again." His breath makes me shiver. A strange sensation, when surrounded with such blazing warmth. "I believe you," I tell him, lying. Because I am weak, I turn in his arms. Because I am weak, I press my lips to his, searching for something to make me stop running, to make me forget. We are both weak, it seems. As his hands run over my skin, I feel a different sort of pain. Worse than Maven's machine, deeper than my nerves. It aches like a hollow, like an empty weight. I am a sword, born of lightning, of this fire - and of Maven's. One already betrayed me, and the other might leave at any moment. But I do not fear a broken heart. I do not fear pain. — Victoria Aveyard

I am so weak that I can hardly write, I cannot read my Bible, I cannot even pray, I can only lie still in God's arms like a little child, and trust. — Hudson Taylor

Valentine whirled. Clary, lying half-conscious in the sand, her wrists and arms a screaming agony, stared
defiantly back. For a moment their eyes met - and he looked at her, really looked at her, and she
realized it was the first time her father had ever looked her in the face and seen her. The first and only
time.
"Clarissa," he said. "What have you done?"
Clary stretched out her hand, and with her finger she wrote in the sand at his feet. She didn't draw runes.
She drew words: the words he had said to her the first time he'd seen what she could do, when she'd
drawn the rune that had destroyed his ship.
MENE MENE TEKEL UPSHARIN. — Cassandra Clare

Not a single object seems to possess a practical use. The antechamber itself seems useless, a sort of vestibule to a barn, It is exactly the same sort of sensation I get when I enter the Comedie-Francaise or the Palaise- Royal Theatre; ; it is a world of bric-a-brac, of trap doors, of arms and busts and waxed floors, of candelabras and men in armor, of statues without eyes and love letters lying in glass cases. Something is going on, but it makes no sense; it's like finishing the half-empty bottle of Calvados because there's no room in the valise. — Henry Miller

You're mine," he said, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid inside. "You're mine."
And much later, when they were exhausted and spent, lying in each other's arms, he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "And I'm yours. — Julia Quinn

There is a certain proper and luxurious way of lying in bed. Confucius, that great artist of life, "never lay straight" in bed, "like a corpse", but always curled up on one side. I believe one of the greatest pleasures of life is to curl up one's legs in bed. The posture of the arms is also very important, in order to reach the greatest degree of aesthetic pleasure and mental power. I believe the best posture is not lying flat on the bed, but being upholstered with big soft pillows at an angle of thirty degrees with either one arm or both arms placed behind the back of one's head. — Lin Yutang

she thinks about lying in here with alex, of the tangle of arms and rope, or lips. — Emily Franklin

I have never been able to sleep with anyone. I require a full-size bed so that I can lie in the middle of it and extend my arms spreadeagle on both sides without being obstructed. — Mae West

Madison looked from Jason, who jerked his head toward the gate, signaling her to get moving, to Longbranch, whose cold, direct gaze said Jason would pay in blood for any kind of double-cross.
One thing was clear: Jason Haley had been lying to her since the moment he set foot on her porch. Was he really plotting with the Roses? Or had he decided to sacrifice himself to get her into the sanctuary?
Madison threw her arms around Jason's neck as if she couldn't face being parted from him and whispered fiercely in his ear, "You lying lunatic bastard. They're going to kill you."
"I love you too," he murmured. "Go find Seph. Help him. — Cinda Williams Chima

Look with your heart and not with your eyes. The heart understands. The heart never lies. Believe what it feels, and trust what it shows. Look with your heart; the heart always knows. Love is not always beautiful, not at the start. But open your arms, and close your eyes tight. Look with your heart and when it finds love, your heart will be right. — Andrew Lloyd Webber

But no matter what was going on in our lives, I could imagine lying beside her in bed at the end of the day, holding her while we talked and laughed, lost in each other's arms — Nicholas Sparks

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry's mind was in freefall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossiblity, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying - — J.K. Rowling

We lie in each other's arms eyes shut and fingers open and all the colors of the world pass through our bodies like strings of fire. — Marge Piercy

I remember just how bizarre my friendship with Tiffani has been - but then I remember that no one else but Tiffani could really even come close to understanding how I feel after losing Nikki forever. I remember that apart time is finally over, and while Nikki is gone for good, I still have a woman in my arms who has suffered greatly and desperately needs to believe once again that she is beautiful. In my arms is a woman who has given me a Skywatcher's Cloud Chart, a woman who knows all my secrets, a woman who knows just how messed up my mind is, how many pills I'm on and yet she allows me to hold her anyway. There's something honest about all of this, and I cannot imagine any other woman lying in the middle of a frozen soccer filed with me-in the middle of a snowstorm even - impossibly hoping to see a single cloud break free of a nimbostratus. Nikki would not have done this for me, not even on her best day. — Matthew Quick

He pulled her hand to his chest. She was suddenly flooded by the oh-so-recent memory of lying against his chest, his strong arms around her, the warmth of his breath in her ear as he whispered to her. — Melanie Dickerson

God! Molly, will you just stop and listen to me?" he begged, trying to wrap himself around me again.
I pushed him away. "What could you possibly say that I'd want to hear?" I demanded, slapping his lying arms away.
"I love you," he pleaded.
And it broke my heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Because it was only now, when I knew that I could never stand to be near him again, that he was telling me what I'd always wanted to hear. — Sarra Manning

Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night. — Edmund Waller

She has never been a pretty crier. She sobbed the way she did everything else - with passion and excess. That she had managed to keep it inside her this long was astounding to James. He thought of pushing open the half-closed door and kneeling before his wife, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and helping her upstairs. He raised his hand, stroking the wood of the door, planning to say something to calm her. But what wisdom could he offer Gus, when he could not even heed it himself? James walked upstairs again, got into bed, covered his head with a pillow. And hours later, when Gus crept beneath the sheets, he tried to pretend that he did not feel the weight of her grief, lying between them like a fitful child, so solid that he could not reach past it to touch her. — Jodi Picoult

He begins to sing to her, very softly, almost not singing at all, just a whisper of a tune. He spins out the tune like it is a tale he is telling her, until he feels her body relax, until he feels her falling into sleep. He sings to let her know he's there, to stay anchored to the earth, to keep from laughing or crying in amazement that he is lying with Alice in his arms, he sings as if music could keep her alive, as if music could feed her soul, as if music could weave a protective spell around her to survive these days and these weeks and these months and these years, he sings as if he could give her a piece of himself, which will ring inside of her like a bell, like a promise, like hope whenever she needs him; and in his singing, he promises her every single thing he can think of, and more. — Laura Harrington

I choose you," he said very softly, "Max."
Then his hard, rough hand tenderly cuppoed my chin, and suddenly his mouth was on mine, and every synapse in my brain shorted out.
We had kissed a couple of times before, but this was different. This time, I squelched my immediate, overwhelming desire to run away screaming. I closed my eyes and put my arms around him despite my fear. Then somehow we slid sideways so we were lying in the cool sand. I was holding him fiercely, and he was kissing me fiercely, and it was ... just so, so intensely good. Once I got past my usual, gut-wrenching terror, there was a long, sweet slide into mindlessness, when all I felt was Fang, and all I heard was his breathing, and all I could think was "Oh, God, I want to do this all the time. — James Patterson

Strange is this alien despotism of Sleep which takes two persons lying in each other's arms & separates them leagues, continents,asunder. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

And me not sleeping tonight or tomorrow night or any night for a long while, now that this has started. And he thought of her lying on the bed with the two technicians standing straight over her, not bent with concern, but only standing straight, arms folded. And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty.

How do you get so empty? he wondered. Who takes it out of you? And that awful flower the other day, the dandelion! It had summed up everything, hadn't it? 'What a shame! You're not in love with anyone!' And why not? — Ray Bradbury

Beliefs about how lying looks are plentiful and often contradictory: depending on whom you choose to believe, liars can be detected because they fidget a lot, hold very still, cross their legs, cross their arms, look up, look down, make eye contact or fail to make eye contact. — Robin Marantz Henig

He buttoned his trousers. Without a word, he took her into his arms again.
She had not expected that.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent shakily ... 'Stay with me.'
His hands fell away.
'Viola -'
... 'This one night. Only for comfort. You needn't make love to me again.' She was begging, and frankly lying. She wanted him for more than comfort and rather forever. 'I want your arms around me. — Katharine Ashe

Lying there, feeling safe in his tight embrace, a tear escaped my resolute eye and darkened his purple shirt. I usually do not cry when I am afraid, but invariably did when I felt safe and cocooned, like I felt in the confines of his strong, sure arms. — Kavipriya Moorthy

This desire to govern a woman
it lies very deep, and men and women must fight it together ... But I do love you surely in a better way then he does." He thought. "Yes
really in a better way. I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms. — E. M. Forster

Even your own arms, deep inside your body feel foriegn to you, feel that they do not belong to you. Here lies an important secret. Butoh's radical essence is hidden here. — Tatsumi Hijikata

And suddenly, lying in bed, I became aware of every inch of my body and I apologised to it, quietly. I apologised for bring so ungrateful for so long. Then I thanked my arms, hands and fingers for always trying so hard. I thanked my legs and feet for holding me up all the time. I thanked my brain for working so amazingly well and conjuring up thoughts and dreams and sentences and images and crazy poems. And I thanked all my organs for working together and giving me life. It had taken four and a half billion years for me to be here. Right now. In this universe. And in that moment, I felt totally overwhelmed at being alive. There could be nothing but there was everything. I didn't want to waste a single second more worrying about trivialities. Worrying that I'd never match up to an ideal that didn't even exist. Nobody is normal. We are all different. I had to make sure that every moment I had left on this planet counted. — Francesca Martinez

I wish I could run into the world's arms. Linger within the spaces between nothing. I wish I could filter out of existence. To live quietly without dying. I wish I could be cherished by life itself. To speak and sing volumes without lying to myself. — F.K. Preston

To live differently, to love differently, to think differently, or to try to. Is the danger of beauty so great that it is better to live without it (the standard model)? Or to fall into her arms fire to fire? There is no discovery without risk and what you risk reveals what you value. Inside the horror of Nagasaki and Hiroshima lies the beauty of Einstein's E=MC squared — Jeanette Winterson

All to prove to her I'm not lying and I'm not sleeping around on her. She's a vagina with arms, and legs, and two faces. Do you know what it's like to have your penis ridden by a two-hundred thirty pound woman?" He stood now, looking traumatized. — Lucian Bane

Many people say they're looking for love, yet they're actually committed to never finding it. Many people would really rather not know the true scars and triumphs of the person who lies in their arms. — Marianne Williamson

The three girls were sitting and lying beside her, holding one another, weeping, their arms and legs and hair tangled like the roots of close trees, sobs shaking them like leaves in a high wind. — Shannon Hale

When Salter was fifty-five, his twenty-five-year-old daughter, Allan, died in an electrical accident. She was in the shower in a cabin next door to his in Aspen. He walked in and found her lying naked on the floor, the water running. He carried her dead body in his arms. He took her outside and tried to resuscitate her, somehow thinking she was drowning. We do not talk about this. He says only, There was the wreckage of that. — Katie Roiphe

When they finally left the shed, he reached out to stop her before she headed back to her house. He pulled her close and began to kiss her. First her lips, then her cheek, and then her neck. Her skin was like fire, as if she'd been lying in the sun for hours, and when he kissed her lips again, he felt her fold her body into his. He buried his hands in her hair, continuing to kiss her as he slowly backed her against the wall of the workshop. He loved her, he wanted her, and as they continued to kiss, he could feel her arms moving over his back and shoulders. Her touch was electric against his skin, her breath hot against his, and he felt himself slipping away to a place governed only by his senses. — Nicholas Sparks

I have a dream.
And in this dream I'm under the covers in bed, just a few scant inches away from Carter's body. I stare at his prone form lying next to me, the greenish-blue glow from the alarm clock on the bedside table providing just enough illumination for me to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The sheet is draped low over his hips as he sleeps peacefully with one arm flung over his eyes and the other resting on his taut, naked stomach. I slide my body ever so slowly across the bed, careful not to disturb him, until I'm so close I can feel the heat from his skin warming me from head to toe. I pull my arms out from under the sheet and my hands reach out towards him. I connect with his smooth, muscular chest, slide my fingers up his body, and ... choke the ever living shit out of him. — Tara Sivec

Would you like me to court you?" the earl finally asked.
YES. She smoothed her hands over her skirts to keep from confessing it aloud. "I would like to know if you are," she replied. "Or what your intentions are, if you aren't."
"My intentions . . ." His slow smile acted like a torch held to her skin. She felt prickly with heat and yet transfixed by the glowing allure of it. "I intend to have you, Maggie, in every way a man can have a woman. I want your hand in mine while we dance. I want you laughing beside me in the theater. I want you lying naked in my arms at night. And I want you standing beside me in church, saying 'I will.' — Caroline Linden

Here, sleep with your back against me. I shall protect you better this way."
She nodded, shuffled closer, and leaned back against him. Her unique womanly scent washed over him, and he fortified his resolve, though having her so close on a bed of furs fired his blood. She dragged her fur up, and he draped his extra across, tucking it in around her shoulders and arms.
"I do not fancy having one of them lying next to you. Besides, I wish not for your pinkie to wander. — Angela Quarles

Willow nestled against him. He smoothed her long hair down the back of her T-shirt, feeling its softness. In a few moments she fell asleep again, her breathing warm and regular against his chest. Alex kissed her head, his arms tightening around her. As he drifted back to sleep himself, he saw a brief flash of the thousands of angels streaming in, but right then it seemed distant, almost unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that he was lying in a bed holding Willow, their bare legs entwined.
It was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. — L.A. Weatherly

Love's night and a lamp
Judged our vows:
That she would love me ever
And I should never leave her.
Love's night and you, lamp,
Witnessed the pact.
Today the vow runs:
"Oaths such as these, waterwords."
Tonight, lamp,
Witness her lying
- In other arms. — Meleager

I'll take lying in your arms tonight over and above any love I've known. Memories may find me, but they'll always be behind me. I'll take today over yesterday, anyday. — Gary Allan

I think I must be bleeding. I think, if I'm thinking, I must be alive. I think, my arms must be here somewhere, I can feel them under the concrete. I think, what am I holding, what am I lying on top of? — Joakim Zander

They stood silently before each other for a moment, and she thought that the most beautiful words were those which were not needed. When he moved, she said: "Don't say anything about the trial. Afterward." When he took her in his arms, she turned her body to meet his straight on, to feel the width of his chest with the width of hers, the length of his legs with the length of hers, as if she were lying against him, and her feet felt no weight, and she was held upright by the pressure of his body. They lay in bed together that night, and they did not know when they slept, the intervals of exhausted unconsciousness as intense an act of union as the convulsed meetings of their bodies. — Ayn Rand

How can this dog be such an easy victim? A dog who was mistreated by her previous owner over and over again. Why doesn't she recognize evil when she runs straight into its arms? Because she has the ability to forget. Burrows down into the feathery snow and is pleased to see anyone who streches out a hand to her. And now she is lying here. — Asa Larsson

No, we don't accomplish our love in a single year as the flowers do; an immemorial sap flows up through our arms when we love. Dear girl, this: that we loved, inside us, not One who would someday appear, but seething multitudes; not just a single child, but also the fathers lying in our depths like fallen mountains; also the dried-up riverbeds of ancient mothers-;also the whole soundless landscape under the clouded or clear sky of its destiny -; all this, my dear, preceded you. — Rainer Maria Rilke

When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them, no root to cling to, I was seized with vertigo and felt myself as if flung forth and plunging downward like a diver. — Antoine De Saint-Exupery

So if this were a normal book about a girl with leukemia, I would probably talk a shitload about all the meaningful things Rachel had to say as she got sicker and sicker, and also probably we would fall in love and have some incredibly fulfilling romantic thing and she would die in my arms. But I don't feel like lying to you. She didn't have meaningful things to say, and we definitely didn't fall in love. She seemed less pissed with me after my stupid outburst, but she basically just went from irritable to quiet. — Jesse Andrews

He drew her into his arms, gathering her close, and dusted kisses over her cheek, her hair. Wrapped in his embrace, Laurien closed her eyes, murmuring a sigh of exquisite satisfaction. A delightful drowsiness overtook her and she gave in to it, snuggled securely against Darach's chest, lying on a stolen wolf pelt, in the hold on a ship of thieves. — Shelly Thacker

Oh, but this,' I think I say, 'is perfect! This is all I have longed for! What are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting here? That girl is lost! She has been drowned! She is lying, fathoms deep. Do you think she has arms and legs, with flesh and cloth upon them? Do you think she has hair? She has only bones, stripped white! She is as white as a page of paper! She is a book, from which the words have peeled and drifted
— Sarah Waters

Priorities Are Like Arms; If You Think You Have More Than A Couple, You're Either Lying Or Crazy. — Merlin Mann

[ ... ] Some parts were totally inappropriate. The corded length of his arms. The broad shoulders and chest that stretched and molded the fabric. The deep bronze of his skin as if he had been lying in the sun for hours. The animal litheness of his movements. He had grown up, and he was no pretty boy. Nick Ryan was all hot-blooded man - and still looked at her as Maggie's little playmate. — Jennifer Probst

There were once two sisters who were not afriad of the dark because the dark was full of the other's voice across the room, because even when the night was thick and starless they walked home together from the river seeing who could last the longest without turning on her flashlight, not afraid because sometimes in the pitch of night they'd lie on their backs in the middle of the path and look up until the stars came back and when they did, they'd reach their arms up to touch them and did. — Jandy Nelson

All these soft, warm nights going to waste when I ought to be lying in your arms under the moon - the dearest arms in all the world - darling arms that I love to feel around me - How much longer - before they'll be there to stay? When I do get home again, you'll certainly have a most awful time ever moving me one inch from you. — Zelda Fitzgerald

Lucus?
She found him on the bed in the master suite, lying with his arms crossed behind his head, glaring at the ceiling as though it had done him wrong in some way. — Sarah Mayberry

She barely moved and was, of course, concerned only with her own beautification and cleanliness. She dozed or was, at any rate, lying down, eyes closed, on her front, on her back, on one side, on the other, covered in sunscreen, her gleaming arms and legs always fully extended so that no part of her would remain untanned, no fold in her skin, even her armpits, even her groin (nor, it goes without saying, her buttocks), — Javier Marias

This is a foul thing that shouldn't be allowed to exist. No firearms should exist. The fact that they are still made and that all sorts of people have them lying about in drawers or carry them around in the street just shows that the whole system is perverted and crazy. Some bastard makes a fat profit by making and selling arms, just the way other people make a fat profit on factories that make narcotics and deadly pills. Do you get it? — Maj Sjowall

My name is Phoebe Meadows." I covered my nakedness again with my arms. "I know it's a little late for this, since I'm currently lying butt naked in your arms, and you've already saved my life three times, but now is better than never. You can call me Phoebe if you like. — Amanda Carlson

I study her expression, trying to memorize what love looks like, just in case things don't work out. Apparently, it looks vulnerable, like a dog that's been hit by a car. Just lying there on the pavement, waiting for you to run into the street and scoop it up in your arms. — Paula Stokes

Her words at the party replayed in my mind.
If we were in another life, I could love you.
Abby was lying weak and sick in my arms, depending on me to take care of her. In
that moment I recognized that my feelings for her were a lot stronger than I thought. Sometime between
the moment we met, and holding her on that bathroom floor, I had fallen in love with her. — Jamie McGuire

Micah: "Come, on. Let's get you out of here." He began putting his arms under me and lifted me off my bed of rocks.
"Oh, no. You can't just come trotting in here like some hero. I'm saving myself this time. Go away!"
"And let me just say you were doing a fine job lying there on your back. — Terra Harmony

Yet this perhaps is what love does, or the memory of it; it sucks the life from the living, glorying body and leaves it, when love has gone, a shred, a simulacrum - dross, to be swept up from the factory floor, pitiful and dusty, useless ... Do all men and women feel love before they die? This force, this source of light, that lies before the sun; glances off mountains and lakes, blinding and dazzling, on a Sunday afternoon; so brilliant you have to guard your soul, fold your arms to shield your heart from the very memory of it. — Fay Weldon

Why, from the very windows, even in the dusk, you see a swelling run through the street, an aspiration, as with arms outstretched, eyes desiring, mouths agape. And then we peaceably subside. For if the exaltation lasted we should be blown like foam into the air. The stars would shine through us. We should go down the gale in salt drops- as sometimes happens. For the impetuous spirits will have none of this cradling. Never any swaying or aimlessly lolling for them. Never any making believe, or lying cosily, or genially supposing that one is much like another, fire warm, wine pleasant, extravagance a sin. — Virginia Woolf

Dennis had imagined that he and Beth would be one of those couples who never quarreled, that when they weren't kissing they would be laughing or lying in each other's arms, serenely, deliriously happy. He could never have imagined that she would make him so crazy angry he would scream at her in front of their friends. But in that instant, he learned a little about love. — Larry Doyle

Palmer had reached the field so fast that not all of the mortally wounded had died. "That's one of the problems we had," he said. "We were sitting there waiting for it, so they didn't have that time to die." For example, Palmer came upon a man who was lying on the runway. "He basically had both legs and both arms amputated. He asked me, 'Am I gonna live?' " Palmer told him, "We're gonna do what we can for you," but he knew that he could not save the man. — Laurence Gonzales

If you die, I will lie down beside you and I will stay there until the end, without eating or drinking, you will rot in my arms and I will love you as carcass: for you love nothing if you do not love everything. — Jean-Paul Sartre

I am lying in the same bed where my mother died so long ago; on the same mattress,
beneath the same black wool coverlet she wrapped us in to sleep. I slept beside her, her
little girl, in the special place she made for me in her arms.
I think I can still feel the calm rhythm of her breathing; the palpitations and sighs that
soothed my sleep ... I think I feel the pain of her death ... But that isn't true.
Here I lie, flat on my back, hoping to forget my loneliness by remembering those times.
Because I am not here just for a while. And I am not in my mother's bed but in a black box
like the ones for burying the dead. Because I am dead.
I sense where I am, but I can think ... — Juan Rulfo

...the Indian boy is the result of a curious convolution of branches in an old chestnut; there are two perfectly formed legs, a long slim body, a small knotted head, and two branching arms... The only drawback is that in order to [see him] you have to be lying in the bath. Unless you are in a prone position, gazing out of one particular window, he refuses to materialize.... Very few other people have seen him. You cannot ask people to come up to the bathroom and lie flat on their backs in order to see the little Indian boy. It would make them gloomy and suspicious, particularly if they were females. 'If you come up and lie down in the bathroom I will show you my little Indian boy....' No. Definitely not. Out. — Beverley Nichols

These Moments Cascade Upon One Another
Here at shepherd's dusk, in a valley without echo, I listen for you. With a frayed longing, I hear your shadow voice whispering within me from far away. I grasp at what is left of this husky sun lying golden upon the upper meadows of lodge pole and bear grass. I gather the last remnants of the evening's breeze, so cool and lazy within my arms, feeling it curl up like a small and innocent kitten. And I see that behind a cloak of clouds, dalliance suits the canting moon. Suddenly I do not wish to lose another moment, And I covet all pristine light. — Carew Papritz

Door's open!" she shouted. She was in her underwear, lying on the floor, arms outstretched and legs up against the couch. She tilted her head back and looked at me upside down. "Charlie, darling! Why are you standing on your head? — Daniel Keyes

If a summer were a girl, she'd always be lying stretched out in the grass in a long white dress, her arms over her head, her eyes half closed. — Elizabeth Berg

She had been lying there, facedown in the water long before the tide had turned at 3.04 that morning. Her eyes were staring into the river, her blonde hair first fanning out, then drawing back under her head with the wash of the water, like a pulsating jellyfish. The belt of her raincoat was caught on the branches of an overhanging tree and she'd been hooked, destined to forever flap against the corner of the broken pier with outstretched arms. She wasn't going anywhere now; she was simply bobbing up and down with the rhythm of the water - and she hadn't blinked in a long while. — A.J. Waines