Over Strained Quotes & Sayings

He said, "Miss Tiffany, the witch ... would you be so good as to tell me: what is the sound of love?"
Tiffany looked at his face. The noise from the tug-of-war was silenced. The birds stopped singing. In the grass, the grasshoppers stopped rubbing their legs together and looked up. The earth moved slightly as even the chalk giant (perhaps) strained to hear, and the silence flowed over the world until all there was was Preston, who was always there.
And Tiffany said, "Listen. — Terry Pratchett

When you wake up and your heart is going like the clappers or your back feels strained, or you develop some other hang-up, you should let your mind go to the pain and the pain itself will regurgitate the memory which originally caused you to suppress it in your body. In this way the pain goes to the right channel instead of being repressed again, as it is if you take a pill or a bath, saying 'Well, I'll get over it'. Most people channel their pain into God or masturbation or some dream of making it. — John Lennon

He put his forehead against hers.
"Alannah, my heart is yours." He said softly.
"And yet, I must hand it over to someone else for the keeping." Her last words falling to a strained whisper. — B.C. Morin

If that door opens now, of course," he murmured in her ear, "I can step away and only the flush in your cheeks will raise suspicion." His hands continued to chart a dangerous course over her body. He stroked her, caressed her, until she strained against him. He kissed the back of her neck. "So I think we should remove any doubt as to what is happening. — Courtney Milan

I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.58 — Eric Foner

I remember, when I have preached at different times in the country, and sometimes here, that my whole soul has agonized over men, every nerve of my body has been strained and I could have wept my very being out of my eyes and carried my whole frame away in a flood of tears, if I could but win souls — Charles Spurgeon

There is no doubt that the last hour of any flight is the hardest. If there are any clouds about to make shadows one is likely to see much imaginary land ...
As I approached shore I strained my eyes to see something recognizable, and there was nothing. However, I noticed a low place in the hills, and I thought, like the bear, I would go over the mountains to see what I could see. — Amelia Earhart

Due to Gail's drug addiction and my mother's street status, their relationship had been strained over the years. My — Mz. Lady P

Envy is an ill-natured vice, and is made up of meanness and malice. It wishes the force of goodness to be strained, and the measure of happiness abated. It laments over prosperity, and sickens at the sight of health. It oftentimes wants spirit as well as good nature. — Jeremy Collier

Auburn Mason Reed," I say out loud.

What are the chances?

I smile and run my thumb over the letters in her middle name. "We have the same middle name."

I look back up at Adam, and he's lowering his bed again with a faint smile on his face. "That could be fate, you know."

I shake my head, dismissing his comment. "I'm pretty sure she's your fate. Not mine."

His voice is strained, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll onto his side. He closes his eyes and says, "Hopefully she has more than one fate, Owen. — Colleen Hoover

Rolling flat onto his back, Drake shuddered. Then he inhaled deeply. He stared up at the night sky. "We're going to win," he said, his voice calmer, less strained. "This is nothing. Keep going. They can't stop us. Jason, give Rachel the necklace. Tell her ... tell her I'm sorry. Tell her ... I wanted ... to show her ... my little valley. Tell her I tried."
His voice was growing weak. Farfalee smoothed a hand over his brow. "Shhh," she whispered. "Be still, Drake. You can rest now. You did it. Rest. We'll take it from here."
"Failie," he whispered, his hand twitching toward the back of his neck with little jerks. "Where's my seed?" His head tipped sideways. The breath went out of him. — Brandon Mull

Beginning in the 1920s and 1930s, film has been a shadow thrown over the minds of all novelists. Ever since, novelists have strained to make themselves more relevant and, whether consciously or not, novel-writing has been influenced by cinematic doctrines - by turns, embracing and defying it. — Matthew Pearl

Good lack-a-daisy, Clara!" her aunt reproached her. "The man might dress improperly, but he's
behaving like a perfect gentleman otherwise. And being wonderfully kind to the lassies, too. Why do you
insist on being rude to him?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," Morgan teased, "do explain yourself." Settling back against the carriage, he
crossed his brawny arms over his chest. The muscles strained against the flimsy cambric shirt, making her
mouth go dry. Why must a scoundrel fit only for hell possess a body fit for heaven? — Sabrina Jeffries

He's focused on something - or someone - over her shoulder.
The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.
"What - who is it?" Summer asks in a strained whisper.
His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. "The Forsaken. — Laura Kreitzer

Vimes, listening with his mouth open, wondered why the hell it was that dwarfs believed that they had no religion and no priests. Being a dwarf was a religion. People went into the dark for the good of the clan, and heard things, and were changed, and came back to tell ...
And then, fifty years ago, a dwarf tinkering in Ankh-Morpork had found that if you put a simple fine mesh over your lantern flame it'd burn blue in the presence of the gas but wouldn't explode. It was a discovery of immense value to the good of dwarfkind and, as so often happens with such discoveries, almost immediately led to a war.
"And afterwards there were two kinds of dwarf," said Cheery sadly. "There's the Copperheads, who all use the lamp and the patent gas exploder, and the Schmaltzbergers, who stick to the old ways. Of course we're all dwarfs," she said, "but relations are strained. — Terry Pratchett

Fuck," he murmured, his gaze tracking over her exposed chest and torso. "I was going to say this is going too fast."

"You sure about that?" she murmured.

"I don't want to take advantage," he continued, his voice strained as he sat up, staring down at her as if he didn't know where to start.

Reaching behind her back, she unsnapped her black bra and let it slide down her arms as she sat half up. "Then let me take advantage of you. — Katie Reus

hear him breathing behind me, loud and fast. "Are you all right, Four?"

"Are you human, Tris? Being up this high..." He gulps for air. "It doesn't scare you at all?"

I look over my shoulder at the ground. If I fall now, I will die. But I don't think I will fall. A gust of air presses against my left side, throwing my body weight to the right. I gasp and cling to the rungs, my balance shifting. Four's cold hand clamps around one of my hips, one of his fingers finding a strip of bare skin just under the hem of my T-shirt. He squeezes, steading me and pushing me gently to the left, restoring my balance. Now I can't breathe. I pause, staring at my hands, my mouth dry. I feel the ghost of where his hand was, his fingers long and narrow.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," I say, my voice strained. — Veronica Roth

She has enough men fawning over her," I said. "They come and go like ... " I strained to think of an analogy and failed. "I'd rather be her friend."
"You would rather be close to her heart," Wilem said without any particular inflection. "You would rather be joyfully held in the circle of her arms. But you fear she will reject you. You fear she would laugh and you would look the fool." Wilem shrugged easily. "You are hardly the first to feel this way. There is no shame in it."
That struck uncomfortably close to the mark, and for a long moment I couldn't think of anything to say in reply. "I hope," I admitted quietly. "But I don't want to assume. I've seen what happens to the men that assume too much and cling to her. — Patrick Rothfuss

As I believe I told you before, there had been some slight unpleasantness between us, arising from the occasion when she had sent me over to New York to disentangle my cousin Gussie from the clutches of a girl on the music hall stage. When I tell you that by the time I had finished my operations Gussie had not only married the girl but had gone on the halls himself and was doing well, you'll understand that relations were a trifle strained between aunt and nephew. — P.G. Wodehouse

I was at the bottom of the sea, the pressure dense, crushing, inexorable. Dead silence strained against my eardrums. The darkness was without reprieve. No mental adjustment could make it less absolute. It was impenetrable - black painted over black painted over black. — Haruki Murakami

I'd say that if you had a strained relationship with your mom, for whatever reason, the best thing to do is be open with each other, talk it over, try and work it out somehow as opposed to just putting a wall up and pushing them away. — Victoria Justice

I suppose you mean to scandalize society by announcing your betrothal to Miss Butterfield tonight."
"Of course," Oliver said, without a trace of irritation. "Unless you'd rather do it yourself. I'm more than happy to hand the office over to you, Gran. Maria and I will just nod and smile while you get all the glory for making the match."
Mercy. Talk about throwing down the gauntlet.
Mrs. Plumtree's mouth fell open. Then snapped shut. When she spoke again, her voice sounded strained, though Maria could have sworn she caught a gleam in the elderly lady's eye. "Perhaps I will. God knows you won't do it properly."
"Go ahead." His eyes said, I dare you.
There was a trace of smugness on his face now, as if he knew he was on the verge of winning.
A tense quiet fell over the carriage. Clearly Mrs. Plumtree and Oliver were each waiting for the other to back down. — Sabrina Jeffries

Marigold searched between the trees - free organic hot apple cider clutched between her hands, she was not immune to its lure - and strained her ears over the sounds of laughing children and roaring chain saws. Under any other context, this combination would be alarming. Here, it was positively merry. Or it would've been, had her stomach not already been churning with horror-movie-like dread. — Stephanie Perkins

When I am in a situation where I feel uncomfortable about speaking but it is necessary for me to speak, or if I feel 'put on the spot' my voice sounds strained, really weird, and it feels as if I have no control over how I sound in these situations. Sometimes then my voice is barely audible and I am frequently asked to repeat myself. Attempts at speaking are often embarrassing, shaming experiences for me. I sound quite different when speaking with someone I am more relaxed with, but I don't like the way my voice sounds at the best of times; I was horrified when I heard a recording of myself. Because of this inhibition about speaking, I have never learned to project my voice or to use it effectively. I often feel that I could no more use my vocal cords to break a silence, to get somebody's attention or to initiate an interaction than I could run through fire or do something dangerous in my life. — Carl Sutton

Someone on my other side nudged my shoulder, and I shifted closer to Jenna to make room. And then a hand closed over mine.
Before I even turned my head, I knew.
"Mercer." Archer smiled down at me. "Fancy meeting you here."
As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just throw my arms around his neck and kiss the heck out of him. And I really wanted to. So I settled for lacing my fingers with his and pulling him slightly closer.
Archer here, safe, his hand in mine. And Jenna, pressed tight to my other side. My heart was so full, I could hardly breathe, and even though I tried to keep it light, my voice was strained when I said, "Of course. Everything going to hell, and you turn up. I should've know."
He shrugged, even though his eyes were burning with the same emotion currently racing through my veins. "Eh, Italy was getting boring. Figured I might as well see what you ladies were up to. — Rachel Hawkins

His remorse was purely physical. Only his body, strained nerves, and cowering flesh were afraid of the drowned man. Conscience played no part in his terrors, and he had not the slightest regret about killing Camille; in his moments of calm, when the spectre was not present, he would have committed the murder over again had he thought his interests required it. — Emile Zola

Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after. — T. S. Eliot

Emma knew what was going to happen if she didn't break away, and she used every shred of her willpower to turn from Steven and run through the daisies, her arms outspread. She'd gone only a few yards when she stumbled over something and went sprawling. She was laughing when she rolled over and started to sit up, and her plump breasts strained against her bodice. Before she could begin the arduous process of untangling herself from her skirts and struggling back to her feet, Steven was kneeling beside her on the ground. He reached out slowly to touch her braid. "God in heaven, but you're beautiful," he rasped, and it was as though he begrudged the words. "Who are you, Emma? Where did you come from?" She — Linda Lael Miller

It's often the case that the most strained moments in books are the very beginning and the very end - the getting in and the getting out. The ending, especially: it's awkward, as if the writer doesn't know when the book is over and nervously says it all again. — Robert Gottlieb

Thomas Kelly wrote, We feel honestly the pull of many obligations and try to fulfill them all. And we are unhappy, uneasy, strained, oppressed, and fearful we shall be shallow ... We have hints that there is a way of life vastly richer and deeper than all this hurried existence, a life of unhurried serenity and peace and power. If only we could slip over into that Center! ... We have seen and known some people who have found this deep Center of living, where the fretful calls of life are integrated, where No as well as Yes can be said with confidence. — John Ortberg

Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.22 — Michael Shermer

There is a tale of a man who found on the road a large stone bearing the words, "Under me lies a great truth." The man strained to turn the stone over and finally succeeded. On the bottom was written, "Why do you want a new truth when you do not practice what you already know? — Eknath Easwaran

The giant's blue left arm uncoiled from the Bloody-Nine's body, his blue hand seized hold of the Bloody-Nine's wrist, but there could be no stopping it. When the sapling seed finds a crack in the mountain, over long years its deep roots will burst the very rock apart. So the Bloody-Nine strained with every muscle and let the slow time pass, hissing out his hatred into the Feared's twitching mouth. The blade crept onwards, slowly, slowly, and its very point bit into painted flesh, just below the giant's bottom rib. — Joe Abercrombie

He [Jesus] did not say, 'You will never have a rough passage, you will never be over-strained, you will never feel uncomfortable,' but he did say, 'You will never be overcome. — Julian Of Norwich

While we're on brunch, how about hollandaise sauce? Not for me. Bacteria love hollandaise. And hollandaise, that delicate emulsion of egg yolks and clarified butter, must be held at a temperature not too hot nor too cold, lest it break when spooned over your poached eggs. Unfortunately, this lukewarm holding temperature is also the favorite environment for bacteria to copulate and reproduce in. Nobody I know has ever made hollandaise to order. Most likely, the stuff on your eggs was made hours ago and held on station. Equally disturbing is the likelihood that the butter used in the hollandaise is melted table butter, heated, clarified, and strained to get out all the breadcrumbs and cigarette butts. Butter is expensive, you know. Hollandaise is a veritable petri-dish of biohazards. — Anthony Bourdain

Poor May!" he said.
"Poor? Why poor?" she echoed with a strained laugh.
"Because I shall never be able to open a window without worrying you," he rejoined, laughing also.
For a moment she was silent; then she said very low, her head bowed over her work: "I shall never worry if you're happy."
"Ah, my dear; and I shall never be happy unless I can open the windows!"
"In THIS weather?" she remonstrated; and with a sigh he buried his head in his book. — Edith Wharton

He did not accept the good news of God; he strained it to his heart, and was jubilant over it. — George MacDonald

The sight of a scorpion as big as her hand had her scrambling back . . . wedging herself firmly against MacRieve - a very awkward position to be in with anyone, but especially with a werewolf.
He stiffened all around her. Every inch of him. She felt his arms bulging over her shoulders and his chiseled abs taut over her back.
His growing erection strained thick against her backside. So the rumors about male werewolves are true, she thought dazedly. Exhibit A is quite insistent.
"Move forward," he said, grating the words. He was breathing heavily right over her ear.
"No way. Kind of between a scorpion and a hard place here." She bit her lip, wishing one of her friends had heard her say that. — Kresley Cole

It was incongruous at Coombargana. In a great city such things happen now and then, where people are too strained and hurried to pay much attention to the griefs of others, but in a small rural community like ours, led by wise and tolerant people such as my father and mother, staffed by good types culled and weeded out over the years, such secret, catastrophic griefs do not occur. Troubles at Coombargana had always been small troubles in my lifetime. — Nevil Shute

I'm ... It's - it's like torture." His voice was strained, hardly even a whisper. "I think I'm losing it - I don't know what's happening, what happened, but I look at you, I look at you, and I love you so much. Not because of anything you've said, or done, or anything at all. I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you. Please ... you have to tell me ... tell me I'm not crazy. Please just look at me."
My eyes drifted up to his, and it was over. — Alexandra Bracken

I didn't think she was that kind of girl." I scampered up onto the ledge and strained to listen. "I overheard two of my students talking about her in homeroom yesterday. I never would have thought Natalie would do something like that. Then again, she's been acting out big-time. Fraternizing with that Spencer girl."
I closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning. What would have ever made me think that teachers wouldn't hear about this, too? After all, it was all over the school.
Another teacher agreed. "Natalie always seemed like such a nice girl."
But I am a nice girl, I wanted to scream. — Siobhan Vivian

1. The End of Summer The moon rose high in the sky. Rylie's veins pulsed with its power. It pressed against her bones, strained against her muscles, and fought to erupt from her flesh. A wolf's howl broke the silence of the night. It called to her, telling her to change. "No," she whimpered, digging fingernails into her shins hard enough to draw blood. "No." Rylie burned. The fire was going to consume her. The moon called her name, but it would be the end of her humanity if she obeyed it. She would never see her family again. She would never see her friends or graduate high school. Rylie might not die, but her life would be over. Yet if she didn't change, the boy she loved would die at the jaws of the one who changed her. Rylie had to lose him or lose her entire life. But was love worth becoming a monster? — S.M. Reine

If someone was ... you know ... going a bit weird in the head-"
"Mental, he means," said Wobbler, behind him.
"Just a bit Over-Strained," said Johnny. "I mean... would they know? Themselves?"
"Well, everyone thinks they're a bit mad,' said Yo-less. "It's part of being normal. — Terry Pratchett

I suppose the truth is simply that it was possible for benefits like these to accrue only to a Negro lucky enough to remain in the poor but relatively benign atmosphere of Virginia. For here in this worn-out country with its decrepit little farms there was still an ebb and flow of human sympathy - no matter how strained and imperfect - between slave and master, even an understanding (if sometimes prickly) intimacy; and in this climate a black man had not yet become the cipher he would become in the steaming fastnesses of the far South but could get off in the woods by himself or with a friend, scratch his balls and relax and roast a stolen chicken over an open fire and brood upon women and the joys of the belly or the possibility of getting hold of a jug of brandy, or pleasure himself with thoughts of any of the countless tolerable features of human existence. — William Styron

The low thrum of Dom's voice sent her pulse into a dance. Devil take him! She'd just seen him last night; his mere voice shouldn't make her swoon, for pity's sake. It shouldn't make her remember the soft words he'd whispered as he'd caressed her and kissed her and swept her into madness ...
What was wrong with her? She wasn't letting that man sweep her anywhere, not as long as he only wanted to sweep her out of his way.
Now if only she could be sure why.
She strained to listen. For a while, the gentlemen were too intent on eating to say much of interest. But once the clink of silver ended and the clink of glasses began, their tongues loosened.
Thank heaven for brandy. She could smell it all the way over here. — Sabrina Jeffries