Pulse Beat Quotes & Sayings

Unlinked by a pacemaker, the cells beat irregularly, spasmodically, each tapping out a rhythm approximate to the 350 beats a minute normal to a chick. But as the observer watches, over a period of hours an astonishing phenomenon occurs. Instead of five independent heart cells contracting at their own pace, first two, then three, and then all the cells pulse in unison. There are no longer five beats, but one. How is this sense of rhythm communicated in the saline, and why? — Paul W. Brand

Nina screamed, a howl that tore from the black space where her heart had beat only moments before. She searched for his pulse, for the light and force that had been Matthias. — Leigh Bardugo

The world's pulse skipped a beat. Magic flooded in. "Yes." I grinned and grabbed the blanket. "Onward, my noble steed. To our inevitable doom and gory death." Thirty — Ilona Andrews

I wanted her and only her.
I wanted to be a part of her storm.
I wanted to feel my pulse against hers.
I wanted the bitter on her sweet tongue.
I wanted the sadness in her sweet syrup eyes.
I wanted the silence in her screaming mind and the enigma that is really quite simple- a complicated happiness. I wasn't willing to let go. I was falling completely, forever, into solid fucking love that was swimming through my veins.
I wanted to be the breath in her mouth and the rhythm in her chest that would beat only for me. — Shey Stahl

At that moment, in the sunset on Watership Down, there was offered to General Woundwort the opportunity to show whether he was really the leader of vision and genius which he believed himself to be, or whether he was no more than a tyrant with the courage and cunning of a pirate. For one beat of his pulse the lame rabbit's idea shone clearly before him. He grasped it and realized what it meant. The next, he had pushed it away from him. — Richard Adams

My heart's beat thy sight stole,
Taking mine unruly soul.
My pulse at rates of abrupt speed; I proclaimed love before my creed. Blooming flowers hold no compare To thy blissful beauty, oh so rare.
Give me agony or give me death,
I'll take thy heart as eternal breath.

Ceaselessly Yours,
David Chios — Nely Cab

The simultaneous reactions elicited all over the world by the reading of newspaper dispatches about the same events create, as it were, a common mental pulse beat for the whole of civilized mankind. — Christian Lous Lange

My car rounds the corner, riding the path to the body shop. When I spot Alex leaning on his motorcycle waiting for me in the parking lot, my pulse skips a beat.
Oh, boy. I'm in trouble. — Simone Elkeles

We may be heartened by our sojourns on Sinai, but no man may live his life in the clouds. And what does pragmatism mean if not just this? We can only, as James told us again and again, understand the collective and distributive by living. Life is the true revealer: I can never understand the whole by reason, only when the heart-beat of the whole throbs through me as the pulse of my own being. — Mary Parker Follett

The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more. — Charles Lamb

She had never paid much attention to the heart beating in her own chest. As she watched the pattern traced by Korsak's, she became aware of her own pulse. She had always taken her heartbeat for granted, and she wondered what it would be like, to hang on every beat, fearful that the next might not come. That the throb of life in her chest would suddenly go still. — Tess Gerritsen

As we reached the turning of the hall, Randall spoke behind us. "Jamie," he said. The voice was hoarse with shock, and held a note halfway between disbelief and pleading. Jamie stopped then, and turned to look at him. Randall's face was a ghastly white, with a small red patch livid on each cheekbone. He had taken off his wig, clenched in his hands, and sweat pasted the fine dark hair to his temples. "No." The voice that spoke above me was soft, almost expressionless. Looking up, I could see that the face still matched it, but a quick, hot pulse beat in his neck, and the small, triangular scar above his collar flushed red with heat. "I am called Lord Broch Tuarach for formality's sake," the soft Scottish voice above me said. "And beyond the requirements of formality, you will never speak to me again - until you beg for your life at the point of my sword. Then, you may use my name, for it will be the last word you ever speak. — Diana Gabaldon

Beatrix tilted her head back to look at him. Perspiration had given his skin the sheen of polished metal, strong masculine features worked in bronze. His expression was engrossed, as if her body fascinated him, as if she were made of some precious substance he had never encountered before. She felt the soft, hot shock of his breath as he bent to kiss the inside of her wrist. He let the tip of his tongue rest against a tiny pulse. So new, this intimacy with him, and yet it was as necessary as the beat of her own heart.
She never wanted to be out of his arms again. She wanted to be with him always. — Lisa Kleypas

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ;
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat ;
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you. — Samuel Taylor Coleridge

He leaned forward to inspect her closer. "Is that all hair?"
... Sudden, overwhelming panic clawed up Cress's throat. With a squeak, she ducked out of view of the camera and scrambled beneath the desk. Her back struck the wall with a thud that rattled her teeth. She crouched there, skin burning hot and pulse thundering as she took in the room before her - the room that he was now seeing too, with the rumpled bedcovers and the mustached man on all the screens telling her to grab her imaginary partner and swing them around.
"Wha - where'd she go?" Thorne's voice came to her through the screen.
"Honestly, Thorne." A girl. Linh Cinder? "Do you ever think before you speak?"
"What? What did I say?"
" 'Is that all hair?' "
"Did you see it? It was like a cross between a magpie nest and ball of yarn after it's been mauled by a cheetah."
A beat. Then, "A cheetah?"
"It was the first big cat that came to mind. — Marissa Meyer

The pulse in music is what makes it alive. — J.R. Rim

What kind of understanding?" he murmured almost absently, his mind clearly on other, more provocative things.
The trace of amusement in his voice irritated her, as if he were merely humoring her. Savannah pushed at the solid wall of his chest to put a few inches between them. His large frame didn't budge, and she was locked in by his arm. She pushed at him again. "Forget it."
He bent his head to taste the vulnerable line of her neck, to feel her pulse in the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His blood surged and pounded. Little jackhammers began to beat at his skull. "I am listening to every word you say, ma petite," he murmured, lost in her softness, in the scent of her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body. "I could repeat each word verbatim, if you desire. — Christine Feehan

I can taste fear, and lies, on a man's skin, Cavrax." The Master Priest whispered, watching the large pulse on the cleric's neck beat like a caged thing begging for release. "You're lying to me. — C.N. Faust

My first record wasn't even with the Fugees. I was signed to Big Beat Records, so I was signed back in 1989 to the label that the Knocks are on now. You can always tell which generation had the pulse based on how they see things. — Wyclef Jean

Prayer is the pulse of the renewed soul; and the constancy of its beat is the test and measure of the spiritual life. — Octavius Winslow

The upholder of the cycles which sustain all Life is water. In every drop of water dwells a deity whom indeed we all serve. There also dwells Life, the soul of the primal substance - water - whose boundaries and banks are the capillaries that guide it, and in which it circulates. Every pulse beat arising through the interaction of will and resistance is indicative of creative work and urges us to care for those vessels, those primary and most vital structures, in which throbs the product of a dualistic power - Life — Viktor Schauberger

I don't do gentle, Mara," he felt compelled to warn even as he worked his way down from her lips, over her chin, to the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. He scraped his teeth over the frantic beat of her pulse and reveled in the delicate shudder that shook her body. "So if that's how you think this is going to go, back out now. — Tonya Burrows

I am a cold hearted, ruthless bastard who sees what he wants and takes it. Is that not so?" He stepped closer to her, too close. His voice, no longer tender, was like the growl of a hungry wolf. "You think I don't want you." He ran his fingers over the pulse beat of her throat..."But I do. — Paula Quinn

Noon, do you have any idea how madly" - he pressed his lips against the skin just behind my ear - "deeply" - I shivered as he moved his mouth slowly down my neck - "fiercely" - he kissed the spot on my throat where my pulse beat wildly - "ridiculously in love with you I am? — Jill Archer

This one," he said, "is for my wife."
With a pointed glance, Gideon signaled the band to start. An instantly recognizable bass beat ratcheted up my pulse.
"Lifehouse!" Shawny crowed, clapping her hands. "I love them!"
"He's calling you his wife already!" Megumi yelled, leaning toward me. "How freaking' lucky are you?"
I didn't glance at her. I couldn't. My attention was riveted on Gideon as he looked directly at me and sang, telling me in a lusciously raspy voice that he was desperate for change and starving for truth.
He was answering my song.
My eyes burned even as my heart began to beat with a different rhythm. Had I thought he'd be unemotional? My Good, he was killing me, baring his soul in the rough timbre of his voice.
"Holy fuck," Cary said, his eyes on the stage. "The man can sing."
I was hanging by a moment, too, hanging on to every word, hearing his message about chasing after me and falling more in love. — Sylvia Day

Detective, any warm-blooded male with a pulse would have his hand on your glorious ass. May I?"
"Knock yourself out."
His fingertips sketched over that tight sheen of Lycra before cupping a taut globe for a squeeze. "What kind of workout do you do to get that kind of muscle tone?"
She put her face up close to his. "I beat the shit outta guys who grab my ass. — Nancy Gideon

When I spot Alex leaning on his motorcycle waiting for me in the parking lot, my pulse skips a beat.
Oh, boy. I'm in trouble.
Gone is his ever-present bandanna. Alex's thick black hair rests on his forehead, daring to be swept back. Black pants and a black silk shirt have replaced his jeans and T-shirt. He looks like a young Mexican daredevil. I can't help but smile as I park next to him.
"Querida, you look like you've got a secret."
I do, I think as I step out of my car. You. — Simone Elkeles

Sung Win smiled to himself, enjoying the tension across his shoulders and the way his pulse beat in his veins. All life involved risk. — Conn Iggulden

Willow, you know that you said you couldn't tell how I felt at the rest stop?"
I nodded, and he took my hand, laying it flat on his chest with his own resting over it. "Can you tell now?" he asked.
His heart beat firmly under my hand; my own pulse was pounding so hard that I could barely think straight. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, steadying breath, and then another as I tried to clear my mind, to feel what he was feeling. For a moment there was just the softness of our breathing
then all at once it washed over me in a great wave.
He was in love with me, too.
I opened my eyes. Alex was still holding my hand to his chest, watching me, his expression more serious than I'd ever seen it. Unable to speak, I slowly dropped my hand and wrapped my arms around him. His own arms came around me as he rested his head on my hair.
"I really do, you know," he said, his voice rough.
"I know," I whispered back. "I do, too. — L.A. Weatherly

Perfect mind, the diamond mind, radiating all universes through your being, each pulse beat is the universe, each breath, eternity. Enlightenment, try it. You'll like it! — Frederick Lenz

It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more. — Ben Jonson

The rapids beat below the boat Deep in the heart of the land Feel the pulse of the river in the pulse at your throat Deep in the heart of the land. — Lynn Culbreath Noel

Blues had the pulse beat of the people who keep on going. — Langston Hughes

No. We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our mind create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime. — Zach Helm

Every song has it's own heartbeat. — J.R. Rim

Why didn't you ask me out?" Layla blurted, suddenly needing to know. She bit the inside of her lip, cursing her impulsive tongue. Her heart beat erratically, thumping hard against her ribs. "Two summers ago when we volunteered at the theater? I kept thinking you might." His hands paused on a spool of twine as he looked at her, his eyes somber. "I wanted to. But I was coming off a difficult relationship - I needed some time." Regret laced his voice. "Chloe Peterson." He nodded. She'd seen them around town for about a year. The grapevine claimed she'd cheated on him with Chris Geiger, but who knew? "I was about to ask you out," he said. "But before I could ... " "Jack." His eyes skimmed over her face. "You have no idea how many times I've regretted waiting." Her face warmed under his perusal. Her pulse skittered. "Wonder what would've happened." One corner of his lips tipped up as a look of serenity passed over his face, displacing the regret. "Who knows. Maybe we'd be engaged for real. — Denise Hunter

Do you belong to the king?" he asked, his voice husky. She gently placed his hand against the beating pulse of her heart. Always, always it beat out of control, and he held his hand to it until he felt it perfectly match his. "Yes, Finnikin," she said. "I belong to the king. I will always belong to him." And there lay the bittersweet despair of what awaited them in the Valley. — Melina Marchetta

One of the strangest events, however, happened in the first year of Elizabeth (1558), when dyed Sir Thomas Cheney, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, of whom it is reported for a certain, that his pulse did beat more than three quarters of an hour after he was dead, as strongly as if he had been still alive. — William Shakespeare

Every man's heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe their final breath. And, if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them believe deeper in something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized. By the storytellers, by the loyalty, by the memory of those who honor him, and make the running the man did live forever. — Warrior

He put his ear to his own chest and listened to the heart. How could the pulse go on, beat after beat, for all of life? No machine could run that long without a stumble. Ask not if the beating cranks are going to jam, but when. — Giulio Tononi

Immediately, Mrs. Ramsay seemed to fold herself together, one petal closed in another, and the whole fabric fell in exhaustion upon itself, so that she had only strength enough to move her finger, in exquisite abandonment to exhaustion, across the page of Grimm's fairy story, while there throbbed through her, like the pulse in a spring which has expanded to its full width and now gently ceases to beat, the rapture of successful creation. — Virginia Woolf

From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality. — Sara Teasdale

I love you... I want you... I need you. The words chanted in her head with the beat of her pulse, repeating over and over. His voice - or was it hers? - grew more insistent with each utterance. Come to me. Give yourself to me. — C.L. Wilson

Politics is but the common pulse-beat, of which revolution is the fever-spasm. — Wendell Phillips

How boys transitioned from bothersome pests to men who made her pulse skip a beat and her head swim in a flood of pleasurable sensations was beyond her. Perhaps this was the true definition of magic. — Jesikah Sundin

I see the pricks of blood the spear has left in his shoulder, and when Mutt slides the door shut, I spring on to Mutt and press my little switchblade to his great bulging neck. I can see his skin sucking in with his pulse. My knife lies right next to it. "I thought you said to beat you on the sand," Mutt says. corr slams the wall of his stall with his hooves. My voice hisses out through a cage of my teeth. "I also said ten drops of your blood for every drop of his." I want a pool of his blood around him like the one beneath Edana. I want him to lie against this wall and whimper like she does.I want him to know he'll never stand again. I want him to remember David Prince's death mask as he wears it for himself. — Maggie Stiefvater

An apostle does not just set up an 'empire of churches' over which he reigns and from which he receives glory and honor. Instead, the charge of all the local churches that God gives him becomes a gut-wrenching, intensely emotional, heartfelt, passionate ministry of life to precious souls! It is an awesome responsibility. It is not an arms-length transaction. The apostle must feel the very heart-beat, the pulse of the church, and be in touch with the lives of its people. — David Cannistraci

I believe it is in my nature to dance by virtue of the beat of my heart, the pulse of my blood and the music in my mind. — Robert Fulghum

Its very pulse, if I may use the word, was like no other clock. It did not mark the flight of every moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it would check old Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but measured it with one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to crush the seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to clear a path before the Day of Judgment. — Charles Dickens

And though the implication is that I am the sort who is always careful and preparing, I that that's not right, either' in fact I feel I have not really been living anywhere or anytime, not for the future and not in the past and not at all of-the-moment, but rather in a lonely dream of an oblivion, the nothing-of-nothing drift from one pulse beat to the next, which is really the most bloodless marking-out, automatic and involuntary. [pp. 320-321] — Chang-rae Lee

But it was more than a planet; it was the living pulse beat of an Empire of twenty million stellar
systems. It had only one, function, administration; one purpose, government; and one manufactured product, law. — Isaac Asimov

The seasons and the years came and went ... and always ... one was, as the crow flies, about 2,000 km away - but from where? - and day by day hour by hour, with every beat of the pulse, one lost more and more of one's qualities, became less comprehensible to oneself, increasingly abstract. — W.G. Sebald

Mahoney: "Thirty-seven seconds. Great, well done; now we wait."
Mr. Magorium: "No, we breathe, we pulse, we regenerate. our hearts beat, our minds create, our souls ingest. Thirty-seven seconds well used is a lifetime. — Suzanne Weyn

If somewhere beneath the blood, the past must beat in me to make a rhythm of survival for itself - to go on as this half-life which echoes as a second pulse inside the ticking moments of my existence - if this is what must be, why is the pattern of remembered instants so uneven, so gapped and rutted and plunging and soaring? I can only believe it is because memory takes its pattern from the earliest moments of the mind, from childhood. And childhood is a most queer flame-lit and shadow-chilled time. — Ivan Doig

Aside from a couple of signature flourishes, there's nothing to mark Paycheck as the product of acclaimed action director John Woo. In fact, there's little about this movie that makes it worth anyone's time and money. With a script that waffles between being hilariously absurd and insultingly stupid, and action scenes that won't cause anyone's pulse to skip a beat, Paycheck is less appealing than a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. — James Berardinelli

She gently placed his hand against the beating pulse of her heart. Always, always it beat out of control, and he held his hand to it until he felt it perfectly match his. — Melina Marchetta

Seven-11 is the pulse-beat of America. I think that Bruce Springsteen should do a song about a 7-11 in Asbury Park, New Jersey, but write it in such a way that American's youth can identify and slurp along with the Boss. Hail the Boss! Hail 7-11! — Henry Rollins

Education, learning by heart, may come to one but not knowledge in the deepest sense until the master pleases to transmit it to you. It is done as a favor. When your learning merges into real comprehension then the world takes on a different look. It is only then that one can see beyond vision, perceive beyond perception and the art of feeling the pulse-beat becomes true knowledge. You can even sense the presence of death in the midst of life. — Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay

This question haunted me all my life and suddenly it hit me: 'There is no self to realize. What the hell have I been doing all this time?' You see, that hits you like lightning. Once that hits you, the whole mechanism of the body that is controlled by this thought is shattered. What is left is the tremendous living organism with an intelligence of its own. What you are left with is the pulse, the beat and the throb of life. — U.G. Krishnamurti

So it is with the places preparing to teach us. It's only when the heart begins to beat wildly and without pattern - when it begins to realize its boundlessness - that its newly adamant pulse bangs on the walls of its cage and is bruised by its enclosure ... To feel the heart pound is only the beginning. Next is to feel the hurt - the tearing of the psyche - the prelude of entry into the place one has always feared. One fears that place because of being drawn to it, loving it, and wanting to be taught by it. Without the need to be taught, who would feel the psyche rip? Without the bruise, who would know where the walls are? — Kay Larson

Holding her gaze, he sheathed his short sword and pulled the gauntlet off his left hand with his teeth. He held out his bare hand to her.
She glanced at the proffered hand before laying her palm in his. Hot strength gripped her tightly as he pulled her upright before him, so close she would've had to move only inches to brush her lips across his throat. She watched the pulse of his blood beat there, strong and sure, before she lifted her gaze. His head was cocked almost as if he were examining her - searching for something in her face.
She drew in a breath, parting her lips to ask a question. — Elizabeth Hoyt

But the soul of Africa, its integrity, the slow inexorable pulse of its life, is its own and of such singular rhythm that no outsider, unless steeped from childhood in its endless, even beat, can ever hope to experience it, except only as a bystander might experience a Masai war dance knowing nothing of its music nor the meaning of its steps. — Beryl Markham

Here, I meant to put you at your ease but instead I've got you closed up against me again like a pretty little clam."
He stroked a finger over her cheek and watched the color rise once more beneath her skin.
"Or are you an oyster, hiding your pearls?" He slid his finger across her other cheek, then along her throat. She swallowed convulsively as he moved lower, his fingertip moving in a leisurely downward slide.
"Perhaps I can make it up to you." Bending, he dusted a kiss against her cheek, one side and the other. Then he continued on, planting a line of unhurried kisses against the skin he'd just stroked with his finger.
He heard her breathing quicken and smiled as he pressed his mouth into the curve of her throat. He licked her there in a tiny circle, savoring the fragrant taste of her skin and enjoying the hard beat of her pulse where it throbbed erratically nearby.
He suckled there, sure he would leave his mark. — Tracy Anne Warren

Their gazes locked and held for a long beat, like maybe he was taking her pulse from across the room, absorbing the fact that she was drenched and breathless. The corners of his mouth twitched. She'd amused him again. — Jill Shalvis

A book is a part of life, a manifestation of life, just as much as a tree or a horse or a star. It obeys its own rhythms, its own laws, whether it be a novel, a play, or a diary. The deep, hidden rhythm of life is always there - that of the pulse, the heart beat. — Henry Miller

Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad. — Kingsley Amis