Splayed Quotes & Sayings

He splayed a hand out over the photographs, trembling fingers not quite touching the shiny surface, and then he turned and leaned toward me, slowly, with the improbable grace of a tall tree falling. He buried his face in my shoulder and went very quietly and thoroughly to pieces. — Diana Gabaldon

I went over to where Ted was leaning against the green cinderblock wall. He was sitting with his legs splayed out below the bulletin board, which was full of notices from the Mathematical Society of America, which nobody ever read, Peanuts comic strips (the acme of humor, in the late Mrs. Underwood's estimation), and a poster showing Bertrand Russell and a quote: "Gravity alone proves the existence of God." But any undergraduate in creation could have told Bertrand that it has been conclusively proved that there is no gravity; the earth just sucks. — Richard Bachman

I don't know if I can."

I splayed my hand on the bulkhead beside Fran's shoulder and looked her in those pretty green eyes. "It's easier if you don't think about it. Shut it away, think about something else. Drink, fuck, do what you gotta do. Bury it so damn deep, it can't touch you. And before long, you'll forget what you were worried about."

Her lips turned down at the corners. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Is that what you do?"

"It works." Or it had. Until recently. Until One somehow made me look at myself though her eyes. Now I had shit going on in my head, like not wanting to let her down. Not wanting to let any of them down. Like this life and my place in it might actually mean something. That kinda thinking would get a man killed.

~ Caleb — Pippa DaCosta

She trailed her fingers down his sternum, then splayed her hand flat against his stomach. How interesting, to feel so comfortable in another person's skin. To want to rip him open and crawl inside him and never see the light of day again. — Stylo Fantome

It was not a beautiful sleep; it was a deep and worn out coma. Vhalla's face was flat against a pillow, her mouth open, and her breathing deep. Aldrik splayed out on the bed, limbs this way and that barely fitting alongside her. It was a sleep that rested in the comfort that they had one less thing to fear with the dawn. — Elise Kova

I need to be whole again. Even if it doesn't last."
"It can't last," she said, staring at him, because how could it, when they could never keep what they had? "It'll break our hearts."
He caught her by the wrist, brought her hand to his bare chest. Splayed her fingers over his heart. It beat against her palm, like a fist punching its way through his sternum. "Break my heart," he said. "Break it in pieces. I give you permission. — Cassandra Clare

As one, they leap, laughing, and that is where we leave them - mouths open, arms spread wide, fingers splayed to take in the whole world, bodies flying high in defiance of gravity, as if they will never fall. — Libba Bray

Fireheart tensed, waiting for whatever had hunted down these apprentices to emerge from the trees and attack, but nothing stirred. Feeling as if his legs hardly belonged to him, he sprang down and stumbled across to Swiftpaw.
The apprentice lay on his side, his legs splayed out. His black-and-white fur was torn, and his body was covered with dreadful wounds, ripped by teeth far bigger than any cat's. His jaws still snarled and his eyes glared. He was dead, and Fireheart could see that he had died fighting. — Erin Hunter

Avada Kedavra!" "Expelliarmus!" The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell. — J.K. Rowling

Asking isn't what I had in mind," Sicarius said.
"Yes, I can see that." Amaranthe planted a hand on his chest, fingers splayed. "Why don't you give Yara and me a few minutes alone to discuss this? I'll brief you on whatever we decide to do before we do it. And you can loiter nearby in case anything goes wrong."
His face didn't soften exactly - and he gave that hand a long look before meeting Amaranthe's eyes - but the hostility he'd been oozing did seem to lessen. "Assassins don't loiter," he said.
The comment startled Evrial, and she wondered if she'd heard it correctly. The man hadn't uttered much that could be classified as humor, not with her around anyway. Maybe he was simply feeling indignant.But Amaranthe smiled. "What do you call it?"
"Standing. Purposefully. — Lindsay Buroker

Can you remember another time when your chest felt like this?"
My fingers splayed across my aching chest as I carefully pondered her
question. Then I nodded vigorously as I remembered. Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked as I whispered hoarsely, "Yes, I do remember.After my husband died, it hurt like this. My chest felt full and heavy, and I thought then, Oh, this is what it feels like to have your heart break. — Mary Potter Kenyon

Tiny Cooper is splayed out across the thin carpet, using his backpack as a pillow. He's wearing skinny jeans, which look very much like denim sausage casings. — John Green

His shadow splayed out huge before him, and his mind gleamed with ancient wars and winged beings, a mountain of melted demon bones and the city on the far side of it--a city that had vanished in the mists of time. — Laini Taylor

Cocky much?" I muttered, hanging my arm out the window like Jesse was. I opened my hand and splayed my fingers to feel the wind rushing through them.
"Only when a pretty girl is sitting next to me and trying her hardest to pretend I'm the most irritating thing in the world," he replied, staring at the road and smiling. — Nicole Williams

Yes,love."He leaned down,his hands splayed on her ankles,up he raked to her knees,her inner thighs until he had her legs spread so wide her cunt wept for him."You in me and me in you.For hours,forever."

~Alexander Roman — Laura Wright

The naked man who lay splayed out on his face beside the swimming pool might have been dead. — Ian Fleming

His fingers splayed out while my heart slammed against his hand.
"How did i ever stay away from you ? I heard this calling out for me everyday." I could feel is breath across my face,his words so sad,filled with so much regret."Did you here mine?"
"yes",I breathed out as my whole body began to shake under his."My heart only beat because I could still feel your love.It was the only thing i had. — A.L. Jackson

He was saved from having to reply by Philippa, turning to face them. "What on earth? Do you see this?"
He had not been paying attention, but Olivia was now alternately pantomiming cracking a whip, and screwing up her face, eyes tightly closed, teeth bared, with her fingers splayed out at either edge of her mouth.
"Driving a squid! Whipping the sunshine!" the marchioness called out, pride in her tone, drawing laughter from the rest of the room.
"Driving a Squid is a play I would dearly love to read," Philippa said on a giggle, turning back to Penelope. "Penny, really. We could use your help. — Sarah MacLean

The mage leaned both hands on the table, scanning the charts splayed out on its surface. There was a map there, showing a land he could not recognize: a ragged coastline of fjords studded with cursory sketches of pine trees. Inland was a faint whitewash, as of ice or snow. A course had been plotted, striking east from the jagged shoreline, then southward across a vast ocean. The Malazan Empire purported to have world maps, but they showed nothing like the land he saw here. The Empire's claim to dominance suddenly seemed pathetic. — Steven Erikson

He sat up in bed, wishing Lily was there. He wouldn't even have needed to touch her, just watching her sleep would have soothed him. Caleb shoved the splayed fingers of his right hand through his hair. He had to go home to Fox Chapel, face Joss, take his place in the family again. He wanted his share of the land and the horses. And he wanted Lily at his side, now and forever. Sweating, — Linda Lael Miller

I don't want to feel this Sophie. Like I've led you on, or like I can't be with anyone else. "
"Lucien, you said yourself that you don't want to be with anyone else!"
"Yes, and you have no idea how much that fucks me off. Don't you get it, Sophie? I don't want these feelings, or these cravings." He splayed his hand on his chest. "It's not who I am. — Kitty French

I stare at the photo. It's an image of a huge black-winged moth from one of Alison's old albums. The shot is amazing, the way the wings are splayed on a flower between a slant of sun and shade, teetering between two worlds. Alison used to capture things most people wouldn't notice - moments in time when opposites collide, then merge seamlessly together. — A.G. Howard

He gently covered her hand with his, wishing he could feel her soft skin through the rough leather of his work gloves. He dragged her fingers down from his mouth and cradled them against his chest. His gaze never left her face. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn't look away. Fingers splayed, her palm pressed against the thin cotton of his shirt, directly over his heart. In that moment, he knew she belonged to him. — Karen Witemeyer

Let us roam then, you and I,
When the evening is splayed out across the sky
[ ... ]
Paths that follow like a nagging accusation
Of a minor violation
To lead you to the ultimate reproof ...
Oh, do not say, 'Bad kitty!'
Let us go and prowl the city.
In the rooms the cats run to and fro
Auditioning for a Broadway show.
(From The Love Song of J. Morris Housecat) — Henry N. Beard

Gods, he felt so good.
My hands splayed along his now clean torso and I leaned over and bit his bottom lip. No other man in the history of the universe was as hot as he was. I would dare anyone to say otherwise. My wolf barked her agreement. — Amanda Carlson

And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell. — J.K. Rowling

Jennings saw this and held the gun up with his fingers splayed placatingly as if to show her that he wasn't planning on using it. Not yet, anyway. "I don't want to hurt you again, Lily," he told her. "So just make sure you don't do anything stupid, and I won't." At that moment, he reminded her of John Cusack in Grosse Pointe Blank. He acted like he was making a reasonable request. As if there was justification for shooting someone thirty times. — Heather Killough-Walden

Capitalism is not wicked or cruel when the commodity is the whore; profit is not wicked or cruel when the alienated worker is a female piece of meat; corporate bloodsucking is not wicked or cruel when the corporations in question, sell cunt; racism is not wicked or cruel when the black cunt or yellow cunt or red cunt or Hispanic cunt or Jewish cunt has her legs splayed for any man's pleasure; poverty is not wicked or cruel when it is the poverty of dispossessed women who have only themselves to sell; violence by the powerful against the powerless is not wicked or cruel when it is called sex; slavery is not wicked or cruel when it is sexual slavery; torture is not wicked or cruel when the tormented are women, whores, cunts. The new pornography is left-wing; and the new pornography is a vast graveyard where the Left has gone to die. The Left cannot have its whores and its politics too. — Andrea Dworkin

Kat watched Gabrielle curl into a tiny ball like a kitten while Hale splayed across the limo's backseat, long legs and arms, and a head that, on occasion, would drift onto Kat's shoulder in a way she coudn't bring herself to mind. — Ally Carter

A sparrow-size moth with a blue body and black wings, splayed on a flower between a slant of sun and shade. — A.G. Howard

You didn't think I could figure something out so the woman I care about doesn't have to walk home in the dark, running from wild dogs? You didn't think I could manage to arrange that and still maintain your honor?" He smelled like Diamond C soap and something woodsy, and his nearness was intoxicating. She splayed her hands on his chest and could feel it heave beneath her palms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." "Hannah, I'm not offended." He cupped her cheek with one hand. "You scared me senseless." "I scared you?" "Yes, and I'd tell you never to do it again, but I think that would be a wasted effort." He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. "And right now, I have something else I'd much rather put my effort into." His hand slipped around the back of her neck, sending shivers coursing through her. She held her breath as he lowered his head until his lips touched hers in the sweetest of kisses. — Lorna Seilstad

There's something I want to give you", I wisper as my heart fires in my chest like a gunshot.
"What's that?" e traces my lips examining me like this, naked and splayed beneath him.
"All of me. — Addison Moore

Are you sure? What about your grandmother?"
He shrugged as though it didn't matter, and a beaming smile splayed across his mouth. "I'll be out here with you when I come out. — Shaye Evans

He tasted deeper, holding himself over me, and suddenly he was everywhere; his knee trapping my leg, his lips grazing warm, rough, sensuous. He splayed his hand at the small of my back, holding me tightly, driving me to sink my fingers deeper into him, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing part of myself. — Becca Fitzpatrick

I needed to take control of the dream. I held out a hand with fingers splayed and focused my will. "Zzzzzzzsssst! Pshew! Zzzzist!" I said. But nothing happened.
"What in Sang are you doing, love?" he asked.
My arm dropped to my side. "I was trying to shoot lightning bolts out of my fingertips," I said. Then, quietly, "It usually works."
"Told you it wasn't a dream. Do you want to try flying, too?"
Sheepishly, I gave a little hop, but my feet came back down to the ground.
"No," I said, feeling sullen and embarrassed and on the verge of outright panic. — Delilah S. Dawson

The damn bells kept ringing through the fog. Bud mumbled a command to his music system, a phased acoustical array splayed across both eardrums like the seeds on a strawberry. The volume went up but couldn't scour away the deep tones of the carillon, which — Neal Stephenson

The door was locked. The control had been buggered. Miles ripped it apart, shorted it out, and heaved the door open manually, nearly snapping his splayed fingers. She lay in a tumbled heap, too pale and still. Miles fell to his knees beside her. Throat pulse, throat pulse - there was one. Her skin was warm, her chest rose and fell. Stunned, only stunned. Only stunned. He looked up at a blurred Ivan hovering anxiously, swallowed, and steadied his ragged breathing. It had, after all, been the most logical possibility. — Lois McMaster Bujold

He stood up. In his own mind, he stepped sideways. Shifting his
thoughts. His fears were his own, weren't they? He'd spun them out
from himself. He'd forged them from every hurt and fury. Fear was a
reminder that even the insubstantial could kill. But insubstantial meant it had no shape. It couldn't be conquered or tamed or avoided. Only moved through, with force and will. Vikram crouched, his fingers splayed on the ground, his breath forming icicles in the air.
His fears bore down. Sharp. Hungry. He grinned.
I made you.
I own you.
He repeated the words like a mantra, until he found the strength to
stand . . .
And run. — Roshani Chokshi

Without looking at Jacob, I said slowly, 'Well, it seeps into you. It doesn't make you forget yourself, but totally the opposite.' I chance a glance at him. He was watching me intently. No glaze in his eyes. So I continued more bravely: 'It connect you with everything and fills you with awe that you share the same space with something that glorious. Like a sunrise on a clear blue day of the most extraordinary piece of glass. And then suddenly'
my hands escaped their tight grip in my lap, and now my fingers splayed wide like fireworks in the air
'you have this epiphany that there's more to the world than just you and what you want or even who you are. — Justina Chen

We're lucky." He slipped his hand around her waist and splayed it in the small of her back. "Most couples have only one first kiss. We'll have two. — Christina Dodd

---
Desire - hot, wet and undeniable - unfolded in her belly even as her temper flared. "You don't own me."
"I know that," he said, reaching out and tugging her close so that their bodies melded together, his hand splayed across her lower back, searing her skin. "But what you need to realize is that you own me - body and soul. — Avery Flynn

When are you putting me down?" he counters, no longer amused. "I mean, I've got an excellent view of your ass from here, but if you don't mind me staring -"
I drop him without thinking.
"Goddammit, Juliette - what the hell -"
"How's the view from down there?" I stand over his splayed body, arms crossed over my chest.
"I hate you. — Tahereh Mafi

Here's the "explorer" paragraph: Lydia swayed into him, her back arching, but his hands caught her. His warm hand splayed wide against her upper back. The other ventured lower, massaging circles, lower, lower. Edwards's hands, like his kisses, belonged to an explorer, not a ruthless conqueror. Testing and checking, his firm but gentle caresses enticed her into his web of curiosity and question. His kisses, his touch were not the rehearsed moves of a long-practiced rake, but genuine affection and sensuality braided into an explosive mix that promised to incinerate them on the spot if they didn't stop. — Gina Conkle

The Poet
His teeth splayed in a way he'd notice and pity
in his closest enemies or friends.
Youth held his eye; he blinked at passing beauties,
birds of passage that could not close the gap.
His wife was high-blooded, he counted on her living
she lived, past sixty, then lived on in him,
and often when he plotted lines, she breathed
her acrid sweetness past his imaginings.
She was still a magnificent handle of a woman
did she have her lover as a novelist wished her?
No
hating someone nearer, she found her voice
no wife so loved; though Hardy, home from cycling,
was glad to climb unnoticed to his study
by a circling outside staircase, his own design. — Robert Lowell

When I turned, I found myself looking at my reflection in the mirror. The dressing room lights surrounded it like a frame, but with the rest of the lighting off, only the center of the mirror was visible. Just us.
His gaze locked on mine as his hands slid slowly up from my hips. His fingers splayed wide, teasing me as they made their slow journey up my waist while his lips were at my ear. I want you to see how sexy you are, and hot you make me. — Lisa Kessler

He splayed his fingers in her hair and stared at her for a few moments. "I'm giving in to the need to do what I wanted the minute I saw ye exit the Land Rover with the Scottish gales blowing about yer golden hair."
"What?"
"I'm going to kiss ye. — Vonnie Davis

When you didn't force yourself to think in formal reconstructions, when you didn't catch these moments of ravishments under the lens of premises and conclusions, when you didn't impale them and label them, like so many splayed butterflies, bleeding the transcendental glow right out of them, then ... what? — Rebecca Goldstein

He dragged his lips up the soft skin of her neck and gently nipped her ear lobe, sipping on the soft flesh. Her hands splayed against his chest.
Expecting a shove, his senses careened when her fingers fisted his surcoat. Their ragged breath overloud in the forest, he eased his face away, nose rubbing against her jaw on his retreat, and sought her eyes. Hers darkened and - Lord help him - held no censure, only interest.
He stepped back. — Angela Quarles

As the thing came closer, what was left of Nick's body became revealed and I could see how the dead boy's eyes had bled from the trauma inflicted upon him; they dripped with steady succession onto the floor between his splayed legs. He looked like a rejected marionette tossed haphazardly in the corner by a frustrated puppeteer, his head drooping so low that his chin rested against his chest. His motionless arms lay at his sides, both of them squeezed into tight fists, as if he'd died futilely trying to defend himself. — J. Tonzelli

Sex does not enrich or deepen a relationship, it permanently cheapens and destabilises one. Everyone I know who is unfortunate enough to have a sex-mate, joy-partner, bed-friend, love-chum, call them what you will finds that
after a week or two of long blissful afternoons of making the beast with two backs, or the beast with one back and a funny shaped middle or the beast with legs splayed in the air and arms gripping the sides of the mattress
the day dawns when Partner A is keen for more swinking, grinding, and sweating and Partner B would rather turn over and catch up with Jeeves and Bertie. — Stephen Fry

Yes, an actual full-sized camel. If you find that confusing, just think how the criosphinx must have felt.
Where did the camel come from, you ask? I may have mentioned Walt's collection of amulets. Two of them summoned disgusting camels. I'd
met them before, so I was less than excited when a ton of dromedary flesh flew across my line of sight, plowed into the sphinx, and collapsed on top
of it. The sphinx growled in outrage as it tried to free itself. The camel grunted and farted.
"Hindenburg," I said. Only one camel could possibly fart that badly. "Walt, why in the world - ?"
"Sorry!" he yelled. "Wrong amulet!"
The technique worked, at any rate. The camel wasn't much of a fighter, but it was quite heavy and clumsy. The criosphinx snarled and clawed
at the floor, trying unsuccessfully to push the camel off; but Hindenburg just splayed his legs, made alarmed honking sounds, and let loose gas.
I moved to Walt's side and tried to get my bearings. — Rick Riordan

Her messy bun was too full and evenly greying to be her real hair; the way it splayed out behind her beak-nosed face made her look like a Polish chicken. — Madison Key

I'm sorry,' I said.
'Sorry? SORRY?' She splayed her arms. Bits of mud flew off.
I didn't know what to do with my own-- how to even look her in the eye. I'd seen her mad before, but never...never at me. I'd never had a friend to quarrel with-- who cared enough. — Sarah J. Maas

I'm always keen to use my body in my work, so I'm looking forward to the motion capture for Smaug. Both Gollum and King Kong were primates, whereas I'm playing a serpent, so it'll be interesting - I'll have to tie my legs together, possibly, or else they'll be kind of splayed out to the side as a reptile's should be. — Benedict Cumberbatch

Her magic sent him sprawling, and it then hurled into Rhysand again - so hard that his head cracked against the stones and the knife dropped from his splayed fingers. No one made a move to help him, and she struck him once more with her power. The red marble splintered where he hit it, spiderwebbing toward me. With wave after wave she hit him. Rhys groaned.
"Stop," I breathed, blood filling my mouth as I strained a hand to reach her feet. "Please."
Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine.
The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.
I snapped back into my own mind as Amarantha turned to me again. "Stop? Stop? Don't pretend you care, human," she crooned, and curled her finger. I arched my back, my spine straining to the point of cracking, and Rhysand bellowed my name as I lost my grip on the room. — Sarah J. Maas

She quickly took a drink to hide her mouth. That mannerism had never changed: whenever Sarah was embarrassed, after she'd told a joke and was waiting for the laughter, or when she was afraid she'd talked too much, she would go for her mouth as if to cover nakedness - with Cokes or popsicles as a child, with drinks or cigarettes now. Maybe all the years of splayed, protruding teeth, and then of braces, had made her mouth the most vulnerable part of her for life. — Richard Yates

I hate, for example, people who sit with their legs splayed. People who claim to give 110 percent. People who call themselves "comfortable" when what they mean is decadently rich. — Jenny Offill

I hate often and easily. I hate, for example, people who sit with their legs splayed. People who claim to give 110 percent. People who call themselves "comfortable" when what they mean is decadently rich. You're so judgmental, my shrink tells me, and I cry all the way home, thinking of it. — Jenny Offill

Has any woman ever touched you?" she asked as she splayed her fingers over his thigh.
"No."
"Do you want a woman to touch you?"
"No."
She stilled, and Clay pushed himself up. He cradled her check in his palm. "I want you to touch me. — Lorraine Heath

A bald man made an attempt on Constant's life with a hot dog. Stabbed at the window glass with it. Splayed the bun. Broke the frankfurter. Left a sickly sunburst of mustard and relish. — Kurt Vonnegut

Edin Viso's poetry and prose bear the obvious marks of dark drama-of a soul variously splayed apart and cinched back together...This is a book of psalms-at once craggy and rough as the Balkan landscape, and sublime as sunrise on the Aegean Sea. There are calluses on the palms, dried blood on the knuckles, and dirt under the fingernails of these pieces. And there is grace...Edin is a poet who knows the value of a blanket, a single orange, a moment shared...He is a man who is unafraid, and who does, in the pages before you, "take off his skin and dance in his bones.". — Stephen T. Berg

She hit the button again, holding her breath this time until she heard it.
Soft, sibilant, as insubstantial as the breaths that came before: Shannon. The voice whispered Shannon.
The blood rushed out of her head. Her heart knocked hard in her chest. Her knees buckled and she grabbed the counter to keep from falling. She was starting to hyperventilate, had to calm it down before she was taken by a full-blown panic attack.
Paper bag. Think. Think! Drawer below the silverware, next to the sink. Over the nose and mouth. Breathe slowly, slowly.
Holding the bag against her face, Shane slid to the floor with her back against the cabinets, legs splayed, lungs heaving.
It couldn't be him. It couldn't be Jordan. Jordan was dead. — Jane Taylor Starwood

Kelsea stared at it for a long moment, then turned to Pen.
"Go away."
"Lady - "
"What?"
Pen splayed his hands. "Things can't remain like this forever. We have to move past what happened."
"I have moved past it!"
"You haven't." Pen spoke quietly, but Kelsea heard the low hum of anger in his voice.
"It was a weak moment, and it won't repeat."
"I'm a Queen's Guard, Lady. You have to understand that."
"I understand that you're just like every other man in the world. Get out."
Pen's breath hissed through his teeth, and Kelsea was pleased to see real pain in his eyes for a moment before he retreated to his antechamber. — Erika Johansen

People mean well. That is what he believes. How then is he married to me? I hate often and easily. I hate, for example, people who sit with their legs splayed. People who claim to give 110 percent. People who call themselves "comfortable" when what they mean is decadently rich. You're so judgmental, my shrink tells me, and I cry all the way home, thinking of it. Later, — Jenny Offill

I walk back and forth past the bird one hundred and twenty-two times. I think of you and me, us, this elegant architecture called bird. Belly-up, beak to the north, wings splayed to the poles he disintegrates daily. In two days, his eyes are sockets, in four days, his under-feathers scatter to the east. The gentle wind detonates a downy bomb on still, green grass only a few stray flight-feathers cling to the skeleton — Micheline Maylor

Yet I never sought what is real, yearned for the real, but rather I have yearned for dreams more than solid things. I can say I love the textures of dreams. The way they hover and almost taste. The clouds and darkness that linger behind, mostly unseen. And the palette of dreams. You can almost taste the colours, they seem as words on the tip of the tongue, unsayable as pomegranate seeds, unsayable as thick cream, the darkness of such a thick cream. This is why I am obsessed with dreams. They know what we cannot. Night after night they try and tell us the impossible. Dreams are secret and closed, and also contain everything, gushing, splayed open. Dream suitcases, carpetbags, hold-alls. They influence us secretly and they draw me to travel to nowhere, to beauty's passage, through halls of mirrors where I know I am not myself, I know I am sublime. — Shawna Lemay

I settled into a contented routine of working, spending my free time with Veronica and, back in my student room, wanking explosively to fantasies of her splayed beneath me or arched above me. Daily intimacy made me proud of knowing about make-up, clothes policy, the feminine razor, and the mystery and consequences of a woman's periods. I found myself envying this regular reminder of something so wholly female and defining, so connected to the great cycle of nature. — Julian Barnes

A million flashes of Avery went through my mind. His mouth, his hair, his hand now in mine and then a vision of the future played out behind my eyes. Avery covered in blood, an older version of himself, splayed out on the side of the road. He was next to a red pickup truck with its driver's side smashed in. I was there too, older, screaming, holding my pregnant belly, kneeling down beside him. "Hey, are you okay?" Avery asked. I blinked hard and the vision disappeared. He was still holding my hand. How long had I spaced out for? It couldn't have been long. — Stacey Wallace Benefiel

My father quoted Shakespeare to me often and when I lay a book down with splayed pages he told me better to be cruel to animals, children even, but never so cruelly treat a book. — Christine Wade

Obinze's burger was served in four pieces, arranged in a large martini glass. When Georgina's order arrived, a pile of red raw beef, an egg sunnily splayed on top of it, Obinze tried not to look at it as he ate, otherwise he might be tempted to vomit. — Anonymous

Adam's hands wrapped around her waist, his fingers splayed across her lower back, pulling her against him and eliminating the space between them. His kiss deepened as his tongue moved against hers. — Andrea Johnson Beck

The kid looked at the man. His head was strangely narrow and his hair was plastered up with mud in a bizarre and primitive coiffure. On his forehead were burned the letters H T and lower and almost between the eyes the letter F and these markings were splayed and garish as if the iron had been left too long. When he turned to look at the kid the kid could see that he had no ears. — Cormac McCarthy

The Jews are cowering along the wall, eyes wide, palms up, fingers splayed -- a collective posture of submission. Even now, with everything that has happened, with the city in ruins and the dead as thick upon the streets as busted glass, they don't want to believe we are actually going to kill them. We are Germans, after all; the most civilized people in Europe. And we are soldiers, not murderers. Except for today. Today we are both. — Miles Watson

The Blessing
Heads are covered by the Tallit, or prayer shawl; hands are extended out with the fingers splayed to form the shape of the letter Shin, the first letter in the word Shaddai, a name for the Almighty. The chant, in Hebrew, is loud and ecstatic: "May the Lord bless and keep you."
The Shekhina is summoned; the feminine essence of God. She enters the sanctuary to bless the congregation. The very sight of her, the awesome light emanating from the Shekhina, is dangerous to behold. — Leonard Nimoy

He shot forward, clasping my cheeks. "Say it again."
"Say what?" I replied, gripping his wrists. "I said a lot of things. Help me out here."
"Say that I'm not just the Apollyon," he whispered, his voice harsh.
Tears built in my throat. "You're not just the Apollyon, Seth."
His eyes drifted shut, his face tensed as his fingers splayed across my cheeks. "I don't even know who I am anymore. Or what I ever was."
Oh goodness, that ripped right through my chest. "You're just ... you're just Seth."
A tremor moved through his arms. "And you ... you're just my salvation. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was indignant. "She called me a dork. She just met me. How could she possibly make that call after only one dinner?" Mom eyed my outfit critically and then said, "You do realize you're wearing your Gryffindor jersey, right?" I opened my mouth to tell her it was a collectible straight off the Harry Potter official clothing line, but Mom cut across me. "And you know that when Daisy walked in, you had your right hand up, fingers splayed in that strange Star Trek signal." Yeah, — Cookie O'Gorman

How did I ever stay away from you?" Gentle fingertips caressed my cheeks, my lips, ran over my chin and down my neck. His palm came to rest on my chest, his fingers splayed out over my heart. It thrummed in devotion against his hand. "I heard this calling out for me every day." His breath whispered across my face, his words so sad, filled with so much regret. "Did you hear mine? — A.L. Jackson

You want me to make it better for you. Just the way you feel full and satisfied now, you're going to let me satiate you in the bedroom. Any way I want. Splayed out for me in chains on the bed, unable to move while my tongue finds all the places that drive you crazy."

"I won't let that happen," she breathed.

"You already have. You've let me lick you. I swear I can still taste you--sweet. Addictive." He smiled. "I can already hear you moaning. Letting go. Submitting to me."

~Trance — Sydney Croft

On the warm stone walls, climbing roses were just coming into bloom and great twisted branches of honeysuckle and clematis wrestled each other as they tumbled up and over the top of the wall. Against another wall were white apple blossoms on branches cut into sharp crucifixes and forced to lie flat against the stone. Below, the huge frilled lips of giant tulips in shades of white and cream nodded in their beds. They were almost finished now, spread open too far, splayed, exposing obscene black centers. I've never had my own garden but I suddenly recognized something in the tangle of this one that wasn't beauty. Passion, maybe. And something else. Rage. — Meg Rosoff

Daemon's green eyes held a glassy sheen. His arm reached out, fingers splayed. They never reached the laser or the door. "I love you, Katy. Always have. Always will," he said, voice thick and hoarse with panic. "I will come back for you. I will- — Jennifer L. Armentrout

And books all over the floor, some stocked in piles, some worn-looking, some brand-new, some splayed upside down, some sliding off the pink bedside table next to the lamp with the orange fabric shade. — Rebecca Stead

He sits next to me, careful to avoid my hair that's splayed out around my head like blood. A bullet to the forehead, boom, blond waves everywhere. — Lauren DeStefano