Skin Was Grey Quotes & Sayings

His skin like grey bark, his eyes pale as a winter pool, time and age had worn my father to the bone. In our youth, he'd been a strict master lording over my lessons while tender with the flower of his heart, my sister Anabine. Ana, the lovely, blooming jewel. Zyndel, she of clever wit. — Jamie Wyman

Steiner's skin went grey at that, a tremble — T.J. McFadden

I was terrified of what might have happened to you," I choked out.
"I was terrified thinking the same about you."
"The devilcraft-" I began.
Patch exhaled beneath me, and my body dipped with his. His breath carried relief and raw emotion. His eyes, stripped of everything but sincerity, found mine. "My skin can be replaced. But you can't, Angel. When Dante left, I thought it was over. I thought I'd failed you. I've never prayed so hard in my life. — Becca Fitzpatrick

Gargoyles sat on the battlements- lean they were and the same hideous damp grey as the stone. They looked at her with hollow eyes and rattled their silver chains. They had wings of bats or wings or birds, most of them, and licked their beaks or teeth with forked or double tongues. Two paced restlessly before their platforms; others whined or picked their claws or groomed their mangy fur or feathers or lizard skin or scales. — Meredith Ann Pierce

And then there she was, a girl of elegant height, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age - gawky and coltish, all long legs and arms, but with the promise of stunning beauty to add graceful curves to the lean lines of her body. She was dressed in a pair of my blue jeans, cut off at the tops of her muscled thighs, and my own T-shirt, tied off over her abdomen. A pentacle amulet, identical to my own, if less battered, lay over her heart, between the curves of her modest breasts. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, her hair a shade of brown-gold, like ripe wheat, her eyes a startling, storm-cloud grey in contrast. Her smile lit up her face, — Jim Butcher

He did not appear to be a very tall man; what I could see of legs seemed stumpy, though heavily muscled. His chest was broad and deep. Later I learned that he swam in the sea almost every morning. His thick strong arms were circled with leather wristbands and a bronze armlet above his left elbow that gleamed with polished onyx and lapis lazuli ... Puckered white scars from old wounds stood out against the dark skin of his arms, parting the black hairs like roads through a forest ... Odysseos wore a sleeveless tunic, his legs and feet bare, but he had thrown a lamb's fleece across his wide shoulders. His face was thickly bearded with dark curly hair that showed a trace of grey. His heavy mop of ringlets came down to his shoulders and across his forehead almost down to his black eyebrows. Those eyes were as grey as the sea outside on this rainy afternoon, probing, searching, judging. — Ben Bova

A disagreement about what?" The voice belonged to Frost, Doyle's second in command. Other than the fact that they were both tall, physically they were almost opposites. The hair that fell in a glimmering curtain to Frost's ankles was silver, a shimmering metallic silver like Christmas tree tinsel. The skin was as white as my own. The eyes were a soft grey like a winter sky before a storm. His face was angular and arrogantly handsome. His shoulders were a touch broader than Doyle's, but other than that they were both very alike and very unalike. He — Laurell K. Hamilton

Her skin is cold, and clammy; her eyes are the color of sky, on the grey, wet days that leach the world of color and meaning; her voice is little more than a whisper; and while she has no odor, her shadow smells mucky, and pungent, like the skin of a snake. Many years gone, a sect in what is now Afghanistan declared her a goddess, and proclaimed all empty rooms her sacred places. The sect, whose members called themselves The Unforgiven, persisted for two years, until its last adherent finally killed himself, having survived the other members by almost seven months. Despair says little, and is patient. — Neil Gaiman

We love each other like brutes. Gorgeously
and twilled. Any geography is hard. The skin
ends where skin ends.
It's mapless. I want to be borrowed, to be
assembled, again. To feel a tug on the other
side of the string. — Kimberly Grey

The morning light played up his hazel eyes and for a moment I was caught in his allure. The dark brows, the dark hair, the tan skin. A weaker woman would have thrown herself at him a long time ago. — R.S. Grey

Black vomit came gushing out Samantha's mouth, adding to the puddle already on the floor. Samantha was covered in a sheen of sweat, crouched on all fours on the wooden hallway floor, like an animal. Her thick yellow fingernails made deep scratches in the wood as her body convulsed with each new expulsion of the black vomit. Her hair was long and thick and full; thicker and fuller than he had ever seen it. It reminded him of a lion's mane. Her skin was a sickly pale grey with disturbing red boils the size of grapefruit and weeping puss-filled black blotches where others had burst. Spider webs of blue veins were visible under the skin all over her body. — Joseph M. Chiron

Their skin is the colour grey would be if grey turned grey. — James Marshall

He was the most wickedly handsome creature she had ever seen in all her days. His hair was black as night, his stature large, his muscles were etched with precision into his smooth skin, every last ripple chiseled into wicked perfection. — Madison Thorne Grey

She had a pretty good idea what Tony was seeking. He couldn't look at her without seeing her mother, and father, and brother. He needed to know for certain that she would never share their point of view, one which saw nothing beyond the color of his skin. Janet wanted to abolish his doubts but could not, for the simple reason that she did see Tony's color. The genesis of their love was physical attraction, and his complexion had lured her the same as hers undoubtedly pulled him. It was not his blackness that she fell in love with, but it was a part of him, and therefore, a part of what she loved. — Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Careful, Miss Cavanaugh," he whispered. "You don't know what you're asking." He lowered his face to her neck, dragging his lips along her skin up to her ear. "If I steal more from you, if I give you more, I'll want it all and won't let up for a very, very long time. — Madison Thorne Grey

How did you keep this by you?" Grey demanded abruptly. "You were searched to the skin when you were brought back."
The wide mouth curved slightly in the first genuine smile Grey had seen.
"I swallowed it," Fraser said.
Grey's hand closed convulsively on the sapphire. He opened his hand and rather gingerly set the gleaming blue thing on the table by the chess piece.
"I see," he said.
"I'm sure you do, Major," said Fraser, with a gravity that merely made the glint of amusement in his eyes more pronounced. "A diet of rough parritch has its advantages, now and again. — Diana Gabaldon

Without a word, I moved beside him.He slid the cutting board in front of me.
"First," he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, "choose your tomato." He dipped his head so his mouth was at my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin. "Good. Now pick up the knife."
"Does the hef always stand this close?" I asked, not sure If I liked of feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me.
"When he is revealing culinary secrets, yes. Hold the knife like you mean it. — Becca Fitzpatrick

Amanusa sighed. She held out her hand to her husband who helped her to her feet. "Back to the salt mine Grey calls a workroom. I left my students practicing lancing."
"Good god," Grey exclaimed. "The floors will be awash in blood."
"Hardly. They're practicing on themselves. Most of them haven't managed to pierce the skin yet." Amanusa shook her head in mild disappointment. — Gail Dayton

I will never get enough of you. Don't leave me," he murmurs and kisses my belly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Christian, and I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly," I grumble sleepily.
He grins at my skin. "Nothing stopping you baby. — E.L. James

Cold air rises from the ground as the sun goes down. The eye-burning clarity of the light intensifies. The southern rim of the sky glows to a deeper blue, to pale violet, to purple, then thins to grey. Slowly the wind falls, and the still air begins to freeze. The solid eastern ridge is black; it has a bloom on it like the dust on the skin of a grape. The west flares briefly. The long, cold amber of the afterglow casts clear black lunar shadows. There is an animal mystery in the light that sets upon the fields like a frozen muscle that will flex and wake at sunrise. — J.A. Baker

The skin around my eyes was becoming, even as I watched, a mass of wrinkles; chin and jowls were sagging, neck like a turkey, marionette lines rushing from my mouth to my chin in manner of Angela Merkel. As I stared I could almost seamy hair turning into a tight grey perm. It had finally happened. I was an old lady. — Helen Fielding

Absorbing the rest of her shadow into his, he knuckled the wall on either side of her head, trapping her in the cage of his arms, but not touching. The cool, sweaty bricks ground into his skin. She shivered and flattened her hands as if clinging to the wall for protection. Fire flared low in his gut, spurring him on. — Kendall Grey

One morning, as he sat at his desk, he heard the sound of a horse's hooves on the path outside his house. He stepped out on to the verandah. There, on a tall grey horse, sat Morgane. 'I've come to have my picture painted,' she said. She took off her hat and her long black hair cascaded below her shoulders. 'You said you would,' she added, before dismounting. She wore a pair of moleskin jodhpurs and a white shirt, open at the neck. Her skin was radiant from the African sun. — P.B. North

It is curious, but till that moment I had never realized what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working - bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming - toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned - reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone - one mind less, one world less. — George Orwell

According to Yiannis' sister Irini, who had trained as a hairdresser in London, the British spent their long winters in grey and black, and this was why they chose such gaudy colours for the summer: turquoise with blue, orange with pink, mauve with indigo. Colours that didn't go well with the bleached hair of the women and the reddish flush of tans that resulted from too great a greediness for the sun, as if Mother Nature, who hated to be hurried, had imprinted her exasperation on their skin. — Alison Fell

He stood looking down at her for a moment, then walked to the window and raised it. "Let's let the storm in," he said, and then it was with them, filling the half-dark room with sound and vibration. The rain-chilled air washed over her, cool and fresh on her heated skin. She sighed, the small sound drowned out by the din of thunder and rain.
There by the window, with the dim grey light outlining the bulge and plane of powerful muscle, Wolf removed his wet clothing. — Linda Howard

As their eyes became accustomed to the light, the girls were startled to see the figure in front of them. Hunched over, wearing a dark cloak, was an old man. His long, white hair straggled over his shoulders, his skin was covered with grey whiskers and one of his eyes, hooded, drooped below the other bulging one. His mouth hung open and his yellowed teeth did nothing to stop his rank breath pervading the air. — Helen Laycock

This is my favorite place. Buried in you," he murmurs against my skin.
"Please, move," I plead.
"Slow, Mrs. Grey." He flexes his hips again and pleasure radiates through me. I cup his face and kiss him, consuming him.
"Love me. Please, Christian. — E.L. James

Anita is small and colourless in her grey trousers, grey knitted cardigan, grey hair and grey skin. But ove notices that her face is slightly red-eyed and swollen. Quickly she wipes her eyes and blinks away the pain. As women of that generation do. As if they stood in the doorway every morning, determinedly driving sorrow out of the house with a broom. — Fredrik Backman

Shame isn't a quiet grey cloud, shame is a drowning man who claws his way on top of you, scratching and tearing your skin, pushing you under the surface. — Kirsty Eagar