Thick Head Quotes & Sayings

Time had ceased to feel linear. She looked up through the crisscrossing branches, thick with buds, into the night sky. The stars tugged at her gaze, trying to pull her up among them, or she was pulling them down to her. She was on the verge of some great discovery, she realized, but she had no idea what it was, what it related to, whether it even had anything to do with her at all. Was she a participant, or an observer? Did the world center around her, or could it carry on quite easily without her input? Looking up at those stars, feeling the embrace of their light as it enfolded her, she felt both small and large, as though everything mattered and nothing did. When someone crouched down beside her it took years for her to turn her head to see who it was. All she could make out was a dark shape, a vague outline of head and shoulders silhouetted against the stars, the rest of the body lost in the shadows of the rose bushes. — Charles De Lint

What are you doing?" asked Naomi from behind him, not from his helmet speakers. She was standing there with her helmet off. Sweat plastered her thick black hair to her head and neck. — James S.A. Corey

"You laid it on a little thick out there."
Morpheus clucks his tongue. "I performed masterfully," he answers, at last managing to claim his hat from Chessie.
"Right," Jeb scoffs. "Pretty sure my mistreatment wouldn't have sent you into hysterics, drama queen."
Morpheus smirks. "Fair enough. On the other hand, your portrayal of a brainless wind-up numbskull was spot on."
Jeb's lips quiver, as if he's fighting a smile himself. "You know, I still have enough paint to make that flyswatter."
"Tut. No need for violence." Morpheus taps the dust from his hat and places it on his head. "I'm simply giving credit where it's due." — A.G. Howard

Oh, why couldn't they know? Why did an old woman seem always to have been old? Abbie was back on the knoll near the Big Woods, singing ... her head thrown back ... her thick hair curling and rippling over her creamy white shoulders. Why couldn't they understand that once she had kept tryst with Youth? Why didn't they realize that some day, they, too must hold rendezvous with Age? — Bess Streeter Aldrich

A day ago, the sight of a man removing his face would have blown thick chunks of Aiden's mind out the back of his head, but not today. Today Aiden was fresh out of shock and running low on wonder. — Matt K. Turner

I've done this job for centuries On every student's head I've sat Of thoughts I take inventories For I'm the famous Sorting Hat I've sorted high, I've sorted low, I've done the job through thick and thin So put me on and you will know Which House you should be in — J.K. Rowling

I am genuinely sorry for scientists of the younger generation who never knew Fisher personally. So long as you avoided a handful of subjects like inverse probability that would turn Fisher in the briefest possible moment from extreme urbanity into a boiling cauldron of wrath, you got by with little worse than a thick head from the port which he, like the Cambridge mathematician J. E. Littlewood, loved to drink in the evening. And on the credit side you gained a cherished memory of English spoken in a Shakespearean style and delivered in the manner of a Spanish grandee. — Fred Hoyle

It felt like an eternity before he gingerly lifted himself from the table and staggered backwards. Glass shards protruded from chest to groin. The guy looked like a bloody porcupine. A cute, tall bloody porcupine. I'm tall too. Five foot ten. But he had at least four inches on me, even with my thick-heeled boots.
"What's your name?" he slurred.
While visions of reckless homicide charges danced in my head, I contemplated using an alias. Finally, I said my real name, "Sam."
"Nice to meet you, Sammers. I'm Jake," he said. — Betsy Cook Speer

My body shakes with a million different fires. Feet that look like yours warp and the corns split so you see craters of infinite variety, some pus-filled Lake Toba. The weakness in my limbs, the thick weight on my head and chest and the slow burning inside me that never reaches the skin, bring me closer to you. My afflictions bring me closer to you. — Jinat Rehana Begum

And when I'd lost him this time, to the sea, I'd remembered the sense of him beside me, warm and solid in my bed, and the rhythm of his breathing. The light across the bones of his face in moonlight and the flush of his skin in the rising sun. I could hear him breathe when I lay in bed alone in my room at Chestnut Street
slow, regular, never stopping
even though I knew it HAD stopped. The sound would comfort me, then drive me mad with the knowledge of loss, so I pulled the pillow hard over my head in a futile attempt to shut it out
only to emerge into the night of the room, thick with woodsmoke and candle wax and vanished light, and be comforted to hear it once more. — Diana Gabaldon

I guess I was lucky I didn't drown, or smother in the thick, black, icy mud that the river left behind in its slow withdrawal back within its banks.

I didn't feel lucky.

When I regained consciousness, my head and ribs winning the battle with the rest of my body for sharp, almost unbearable pain, my first thought was Chrissy. Chrissy, pulled away from me by the merciless power of the water. Chrissy, lost somewhere, maybe injured, calling for me and I wasn't there for her. Chrissy, beautiful, wonderful Chrissy, quite probably lying in the mud, dead!

My scream of anguish, of pain and loss, echoed through the empty Liverpool streets. There was no shame or embarrassment in that shout, that bellow of emotion. I had lost the woman I loved. Nothing I'd ever felt compared to the agony, the gut-wrenching loss of that moment.

I cried. I sat there in the middle of a street I didn't recognise, not knowing how far the wave had carried me, and cried. — Neil Davies

Rhosh, remember the being's skin, smooth, dark brown skin, like this one's skin, and the being's hair. The hair was the same, thick like this and with loose curls and the very same golden streak in it, only broader and on the right side of the head. — Anne Rice

Now he saw another elephant emerge from the place where it had stood hidden in the trees. Very slowly it walked to the mutilated body and looked down. With its sinuous trunk it struck the huge corpse; then it reached up, broke some leafy branches with a snap, and draped them over the mass of torn thick flesh. Finally it tilted its massive head, raised its trunk, and roared into the empty landscape. — Lois Lowry

Thick pulse and dizziness make his head light and stomach turn. He really can't feel his fingers, or knees for that matter. But everything settles down again - almost as if it were always meant to - when his eyes graze a dumb grin and a pair of glittering eyes. — Changdictator

Unlike those in power here on CIEL, reproduction wasn't what we mourned. We mourned the carnal. Societies may be organized around procreation, but individuals are animals. I think we craved her sexuality -- her sexual reality. The fact of her body. Not particularly female, leaning toward male, an exquisite androgyny. Her head of thick black hair a mighty emblem of desire. — Lidia Yuknavitch

Lift up." Green smiled devilishly. "I'm gonna help you relax." Ruxs was already panting heavily as he rose up and let Green push his pants just below his balls. Green pulled the lever to push the seat all the way back and quickly buried his nose in the thick patch of hair at the base of Ruxs' dick. He took a long inhale, breathing in his manly scent before closing his mouth over the thick head, sucking gently at first. Even though they were high enough off the ground that if a car drove onto the lot, they wouldn't be able to see him, he still wanted to get Ruxs off fast. He moaned around the thick girth, taking it all the way to the back of his throat. "Oh — A.E. Via

And what was she like?" "Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf was passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with the jetty mass of her curls. — Charlotte Bronte

Picker studied Quick Ben as they trudged up yet another grass-backed hillside. 'You want us to get someone to carry you, Mage?'
Quick Ben wiped the sweat from his brow, shook his head. 'No, it's getting better. The Barghast spirits are thick here, and getting thicker. They're resisting the infection. I'll be all right, Corporal.'
'If you say so, only you're looking pretty rough to me.' And ain't that an understatement.
'Hood's warren is never a fun place.'
'That's bad news, Mage. What have we all got to look forward to, then?'
Quick Ben said nothing.
Picker scowled. 'That bad, huh? Well, that's just great. Wait till Antsy hears.'
The wizard managed a smile. 'You tell him news only to see him squirm, don't you?'
'Sure. The squad needs its entertainment, right? — Steven Erikson

And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor- as you will sometimes see it- glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye. — Herman Melville

Please we would much rather sail free we mean you no harm I promise " he floated upright in the water frowning then bowed his head in agreement. With a flick of their tails the blue men dived and were gone. "I promise " Hannah breathed. Of course. "That's a hard one to rhyme with. Scarlet Max and Donovan leapt up and down shouting with joy. "I knew you could do it" Scarlet shrieked. "It was just luck " Hannah said "I didn't have time to think. I just said the first thing that came into my mind. I could've said I swear and then he could have said pear or mare or square ... " "That was amazing " Donovan said. "You were so quick" I didn't feel quick " Hannah grinned " I felt as thick as a brick." "O goodness she cant stop " Donovan said laughing. — Kate Forsyth

It was likely her due, then, that a familiar voice halted her progress just as she started to ascend the staircase. "You've certainly turned the afternoon on its head." Lucas regarded her with a wry smile from the first landing, his thick brown hair blending into an exceptionally large portrait of Gravethorne's favorite hounds. "How does it feel to be the most notorious debutante in London?"

Sparring with Lucas Bellamy held little appeal to her at the moment, but Amy was incapable of letting a jab go unanswered. She gripped the decorative knob on the newel post and lifted her chin. "Slightly inconvenienced yet decidedly more powerful, I think. — Rachel Pierson

His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby's head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who ducked. Harry raised his wand but to his amazement Hermione seized his arm. "You can't hurt a baby!" There was no time to argue the point. Harry — J.K. Rowling

Blindly, I ran to Archer, who was sitting on one of the thick mats we'd used in Defense. His elbows rested on his raised knees, and he had his head in his hands. I knelt in front of him, awkwardly wrapping my arms around his neck. He uncurled himself, pulling me to him. For a long time, we held each other, my hands fisted in his hair; his, stroking my back.
"I'm okay," he said at last. "I know that's hard to believe, but nothing hurts. I mean, except for my mind and soul, but those were always a little broken." Gently, we disentangled ourselves and rose to our feet. "Your magic is awesome, man," he said to Cal, who I just realized was standing at the edge of the mat, next to Jenna. "Although I have to say, now that you've brought me back from the edge of death-what, like, hundreds of times?-I'm starting to feel like our relationship is a little unbalanced."
"You can buy me a burger when we get out of here," Cal said, and as usual, I had no idea if he was joking or not. — Rachel Hawkins

He turned his head and caught her with his eyes. She froze, locked by the intensity of his stare. His eyes were stark and cold, the concentrated green of pale jade. Outlined in smudged black kohl, those eyes focused on her, unblinking through the feathery strands of his jet black hair, and it was like being watched through a cage by a complacent and calculating cat.
Discomfort welled in her, thick and black as an oil spring. Who was this guy and what was his royal problem? Her gaze flicked briefly to the small metal loop that hugged one corner of his bottom lip.
He blinked once, then slowly lifted one hand and crooked a beckoning finger at her. Isobel hesitated but then as though spellbound to obey, she found herself leaning in.
"What are you staring at?" he whispered. — Kelly Creagh

He's visitin' an old friend," supplied Eragon, dropping his voice into a thick accent. "I'm along t' make sure he don't get lost, if y' get m'meaning. He ain't as young as he used to be - had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y' know." Brom bobbed his head pleasantly. "Right. Go on through," said the guard, waving his hand and dropping the pike. "Just make sure he doesn't cause any trouble." "Oh, he won't," promised Eragon. He urged Cadoc forward, and they rode into Teirm. The cobblestone street clacked under the horses' hooves. Once they were away from the guards, Brom sat up and growled, "Touch of brain fever, eh?" "I couldn't let you have all the fun," teased Eragon. Brom harrumphed and looked away. — Christopher Paolini

Keep talking to me," he whispers.
I pause. "Doesn't noise hurt your head?"
Thick lashes cast shadows at the tops of his cheeks. "Your voice isn't noise. It's a song I want to hear over and over."
Oh. My. — Kristen Callihan

She fought the urge to take a closer look at his ruggedly handsome features, but failed. How could he have gotten better looking after being abused by every bronc-busting horse on the rodeo circuit? His angular jaw, strong and determined, was shaded with beard growth that was probably a day old, maybe more. Mandy suspected if Beau grew a full beard, it would grow in thick and be the smooth texture of his almost black head of hair. She forced aside past memories that gave her such knowledge with renewed irritation. — Lisa Mondello

Words kept salted when they cannot be found fresh. Words kept fresh when they cannot be found clean. The words go deeper, far out of reach of vessels, blood vessels bursting, that thick humming in the head. To find the words, just out of reach, beyond my hand, the coral of it, the pearl of it, fish. — Jeanette Winterson

Umm, why is it that we don't have any of this in a book? So we could study?" There was a hint of irritation in her voice. Silvia shook her head. "Dear girls, history isn't something you study. It's something you should just know." Marlee turned to me and whispered, "But clearly we don't." She smiled at her own joke, and then focused again on Silvia. I thought about that, how we all knew different things or had to guess at the truth. Why weren't we given history books? I remembered a few years ago when I went into Mom and Dad's room, since Mom said I could choose what I wanted to read for English. As I went through my options, I spotted a thick, ratty book in the back corner and pulled it out. It was a U.S. history book. Dad came in a few minutes later, saw what I was reading, and said it was okay, so long as I never told anyone about it. When — Kiera Cass

Legs are my favorite part. I never snap them off with a single bite. I nibble on them slowly as I work my way up. I crunch bony ankles, gnaw on slender calves. Knees are a delicacy; canine teeth are ideal for chipping cartilage. Thighs - oh sweet, sweet thighs - must be savored, eaten like a sacred drumstick. Thick and long and often hairy, a torso is best swallowed whole. The neck is delicious, but fragile: one bite and all I have left is a tiny head resting on my fingertips.

Animal crackers. They are a great snack... — Matt Blackstone

My father sits at the head of a table before the carcass of an enormous American turkey. What he is ashamed of is the one act of decency I have yet encountered in all the tales of our family's past. A young boy with a dead father and a dead friend bends down before a country dog and feeds it his butter sandwich. And I know that sandwich. Because he has made it for me. Two slices of that dark, unbleached Russian bread, the kind that tastes of badly managed soil and a peasant's indifference to death. On top of it, the creamiest, deadliest of American butter, slathered in thick feta-like hunks. And on top of that cloves of garlic, the garlic that is to give me strength, that is to clear my lungs of asthmatic gunk, and make of me a real garlic-eating strong man. At a table in Leningrad, and a table in deepest Queens, New York, the ridiculous garlic crunches beneath our teeth as we sit across from each other, the garlic obliterating whatever else we have eaten, and making us one. — Gary Shteyngart

The picnic table in the photo was an old door set up on sawhorses, and the seats were old tree stumps, or maybe thick pieces of firewood, topped with square cushions. Six men were sitting there, not looking at the camera, but at the beautiful woman with long, dark hair, almost to her waist, standing at the head of the table. She was smiling, her arms outstretched, as if welcoming everyone to her world. The apple tree in the background, just barely visible, was stretching a single limb out to her, as if wanting to be in the photo with her.
Even it looked a little in love with her. — Sarah Addison Allen

I had been thinking you were going to stay out on the farm through the whole Festival, Perrin Aybara shouted at Rand over the clamor. Half a head shorter than Rand, the curly-haired blacksmith's apprentice was so stocky as to seem a man and a half wide, with arms and shoulders thick enough to rival those of Master Luhhan himself. He could easily have pushed through the throng, but that was not his way. He picked his path carefully, offering apologies to people who had only half a mind to notice anything but the peddler. He made the apologies anyway, and tried not to jostle anyone as he worked through the crowd to Rand and Mat. — Robert Jordan

She froze when she thought she heard movement in a nearby copse of trees, then scanned the area. Probably just an animal. They tended to be in jungles. She turned back to the stream -
"Put your hands on your head."
Not an animal. As she slowly stood and turned, she recognized that these weren't locals. These were bad guys, three of them with machine guns aimed at her face.
In her present mood that equaled: Why, I believe I'll turn them into frogs! Just as she reached for the mirror in her pocket, they cocked their weapons.
The oldest man was clearly the leader, and his tone was deadly as he said, "Your hands on your head - or I'll put a bullet into it." He didn't have a thick accent. These must be the international narco-terrorists, the ones who made the cartel look mild. So much for the mirror's judgment.
Unless this was still better than Bowen. — Kresley Cole

THE PLAQUE read HARVEY GOULD, P I. It was the middle of the day, but the blinds were closed. Inside a desktop sat flanked by three non-matching chairs, a creased, leather sofa and a bookcase full of fiction.
A middle-aged man lay back with a pair of briefs hanging around his ankles. A gorgeous, young lady was bent over him in a pair of pink panties that stretched over her pert buttocks. Her head was bobbing up and down and her long, thick black hair swished around her neck with each bob. Harvey lay motionless, moaning. — Simon Palmer

Don't, Violet. I won't let you. Just ... come here." Abruptly, he (Matthew) held out his arms to me, and I allowed him to gather me in his embrace, his chin resting on the top of my head. "Got to England and have a great time with your friends, okay?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Just ... be happy. — Kristi Cook

Founders Day tradition dictated a peck on the cheek, but Travis had never been a follower. He lowered his head and took advantage of her surprise. Her lips were soft as a rose petal and just as pliable. He'd meant it to be a quick, comforting brushing of lips, but then she responded. Just the faintest movement. The yielding lit a fire in his belly that wouldn't be extinguished anytime soon. He went back for seconds. I've missed you so much. He took her face in his hands, wanted to thread his fingers through that long thick hair and pull her closer. But then two palms planted into his chest and pushed hard. Her eyes spat sparks. She dragged the back of her hand across her lips as if wiping the kiss away. Won't be as easy as that, darlin'. — Denise Hunter

That is also an idiom." Wilem grumbled. "Your language is thick with nonsense. I wonder how any of you understand each other. How is everything going? Going where?" He shook his head. — Patrick Rothfuss

The absence of any kind of communication from her was not at all like an absence. It was instead a presence: of mind-pain, like a thick, rusted arrow shooting straight into my head, poisoning my mind with something like tetanus, causing my thoughts to go haywire, a spasm here, a spasm there. — Chinelo Okparanta

And I'll tell you another thing, Patrick Michael Thomas Cunnane, if you think you can come and go at all hours as you damn please just because you're going off to college, you'd best get that thick head of yours examined in a hurry. I'll be happy to do it myself, with the skillet I have in my hand, just as soon as I'm done with it."
"Yes,ma'am." At the table Patrick say with his shoulders hunched, wincing at this mother's back. "But since you're using it, maybe I could have some more French toast.Nobody makes it like you do."
"You won't get around me that way."
"Maybe I will."
She shot a look over her shoulder that Brian recognized as one only a mother could conjure to wither a child.
"And maybe I won't," Patrick muttered, then brightened when he saw Brian at the door. "Ma,we've got company. Have a seat,Brian. Had breakfast? My mother makes world-famous French toast."
"Witnessess won't save you," Adelia said mildly, but turned to smile at Brian. — Nora Roberts

Judge lapped at the thick, flushed head, digging for any trace of Michaels' fluid. "I can't help it. You taste so good." Judge cupped his hands under Michaels' ass and used it to push his dick deep down his throat. Michaels arched his back. "Shit. Shit. Shit. — A.E. Via

Bridezellia was like General Patton she had an Operations Room, HQ established in her sitting room. Wall charts, to do lists, pictures, contact lists, mood charts, a calendar, list of dates and jobs were marked off with daily duties in her thick black diary. Her second in command was Saoirse, her local wedding planner. Nothing was going to be left to chance and nobody was going to ruin her prefect day. No expense was to be spared and fools were not suffered gladly. Raised voices were constantly heard in her phone calls to suppliers. Her personality changed and she became a hot head, losing her patience easily. Nobody entered her sitting room, the twilight zone without an invitation — Annette J. Dunlea

The creature had nut-brown skin mixed with patches of ash. It was human-sized and formed, but its skin looked like the bark of an old, old tree. About the same height as Donna, it was spindly with arms and legs that were all joints and angles. Its face was narrow and pointed, with hair on top of its head like thick moss and narrow black eyes that glinted even in the dim light of the room. The thing's body was clothed in lichen and moss, with vines twining around its sharp limbs. The creature opened its lipless mouth, a dark slash across its twisted face.

Donna's mind flashed back to the party and the shadow she'd seen sliding through the darkness outside Xan's house. She hadn't been imagining things, after all.

The wood elves had returned to the city. — Karen Mahoney

She ran and didn't slow until she came to a hallway that terminated in a multipaned window of thick, old-fashioned glass. Her breath rasped in her throat, but the dizziness and nausea eased enough that she stood steadier on her feet. She heard again the gentle ringing of metal sliding against metal. Musty air rose up with the same smell of leather and dust, an acrid undertone beneath. She whipped her head toward the end of the hall. At first she didn't see anything. The light shifted and swirled, and the swordsman materialized from the shadows. Gold and red emblazoned his tunic in a chevron against a cobalt background. The sword was back in its scabbard, strapped across his back. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, and he looked like Sebastian. Timed to the wind stirring the ivy outside, he vanished through the wall. — Carolyn Jewel

Gerard Manley Hopkins somewhere describes how he mesmerized a duck by drawing a line of chalk out in front of it. Think of me as the duck; the chalk, softly wearing itself away against the tiny pebbles embedded in the corporate concrete, is Joyce's forward-luring rough-smooth voice on the cassettes she gives me. Or, to substitute another image, since one is hardly sufficient in Joyce's case, when I let myself really enter her tape, when I let it surround me, it is as if I'm sunk into the pond of what she is saying, as if I'm some kind of patient, cruising amphibian, drifting in black water, entirely submerged except for my eyes, which blink every so often. Each word comes floating up to me like a thick, healthy lily pad and brushes past my head. — Nicholson Baker

You are the sweetest man, Savannah inserted softly, her voice brushing at him. Echoing.
Gregori frowned. Echoing? Close. He swung around, cursing in French, an eloquent dissertation that had Gary cringing. Savannah,however, simply took Gregori's arm and smiled up at him, the stars in her eyes dancing. She was like that.Distracting him and then slamming him sideways with her smile. With her blue-violet eyes with their accursed star centers. She didn't even have the decency to look repentant.
Don't be angry, Gregori.I was lonesome in the house all by myself. Are you really,really angry? Or just a little angry? Her voice was soft, a siren's whisper, made of silk sheets and candlelight. Her long lashes were thick and heavy, a sweep of magic that caught his eye and held it there.
It is impossible for you to be lonely when you are always running around in my head. — Christine Feehan

When the water is very calm and very beautiful, it won't take a long time that a thick head will throw a stone in it! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

Green gave Ruxs everything he had. He swallowed around the head of that sweet dick and dragged his teeth back up the solid shaft, making Ruxs' body tremble from the spike of pain, before he licked a return path down it. He spread his thick thighs wider, wanting a better of view of that sacred place. Green cupped Ruxs' sack and manipulated it until he could get the whole thing in his mouth. Ruxs loved it. The way he moaned and cursed the heavens told Green he'd found another hot button on his lover. But there was another spot he needed to explore. A spot deep inside. He licked Ruxs' balls, reaching up to simultaneously pinch his nipples. "Augh. Fuck you." Ruxs groaned around a chuckle. "You know that'll make me come." Green's — A.E. Via

The theatre is a machine of transformations: everything is transformed into another thing; a bald man has thick hair on his head; a man with strong legs gains a limp and a sharp-eyed person becomes blind; an actor who is an atheist immediately turns into the most pious priest on earth! ~ — Mehmet Murat Ildan

On the pavement by the side of the road was planted a banner two storeys high. Even in the blow-up the celebrity appeared stunted. He stood in a safari suit, his palms joined in greeting. His face was a light pink because poster artists did not have the freedom to paint his face black. His little mop of hair was spread thinly over an almost flat scalp. And his thick moustache had sharp edges. Just above his head was an English introduction in large font - DYNAMIC PERSONALITY. A thinner line that followed said he was the honourable Minister S Waman. It seemed appropriate that it was at Waman's black shoes the author took credit, in Marathi and in diplomatically-chosen small font - 'Hoarding Presented by P.Bikaji. — Manu Joseph

Does it hurt here?" he asked, his fingers slipping over the swollen entrance of her sex.
"A little." She leaned back against his arm, her head lolling on the polished wooden rim of the huge porcelain bathtub.
Nick kneaded lightly with his fingertips, as if he could heal her with his touch. "I tried to be gentle."
"You were," she managed to say, her thighs floating apart.
Nick's thick lashes lowered as he stared at the shimmering blur of her body beneath the water. His handsome features were carved with such severity that his face could have been molded from bronze. The edge of his rolled-up sleeve dragged in the water, the velvet turning hot and sodden.
"I won't ever hurt you again," he said. "That's a promise. — Lisa Kleypas

Dante watched Tess eat the thick, caramel-laced brownie, feeling her pleasure radiate across the small space that separated them on the river-walk bench. She'd offered him a bite, and although his kind could not consume crude human food in anything more than a mouthful, he accepted a small taste of the sticky chocolate confection if only to share in Tess's unabashed enjoyment. He swallowed the heavy, pretty much revolting bit of pasty sweetness with a tight smile.
"Good, huh?" Tess licked her chocolate-coated fingers, slipping one after the other into her mouth and sucking them clean.
"Delicious," Dante said, watching her with his own brand of hunger.
"You can have some more if you want it."
"No." He drew back, shaking his head. "No, it's all yours. Please. Enjoy it. — Lara Adrian

What happened?" she asked, dropping to the damp ground beside Win. "Has Merripen been burned?"
"Yes, on his back." Win ripped a makeshift bandage from the hem of her own gown. "Beatrix, would you take this, please, and soak it in water?"
Without a word, Beatrix scampered to the trough at the handpump.
Win stroked Merripen's thick black hair as he rested his head on his forearms. His breath hissed unevenly through his teeth.
"Does it hurt, or is it numb?" Amelia asked.
"Hurts like the devil," he choked out.
"That's a good sign. A burn is much more serious if it's numb."
He turned his head to give her a speaking glance. — Lisa Kleypas

The builder has ginger curly hair on top of his head, and a thick moustache. He has the look of a McDonald's manager from 1970 who spends his evenings sitting in the smoky back row of theatres in Soho. He's tall and muscular with hands the size of shopping baskets and, on the one occasion I did briefly meet him, I stared into his eyes and was shocked by their darkness. His nose is broken in three places and is the size and shape of a chicken nugget. A deep scar runs the length of his cheek hinting at a violent past.
Old tattoos fade on his arms.
The builder may have killed another human being at some point in his life. — Craig Stone

Why do you suppose the poets talk about hearts?' he asked me suddenly. 'When they discuss emotional damage? The tissue of hearts is tough as a shoe. Did you ever sew up a heart?'
I shook my head. 'No, but I've watched. I know what you mean.' The walls of a heart are thick and strong, and the surgeons use heavy needles. It takes a good bit of strength, but it pulls together neatly. As much as anything it's like binding a book.
The seat of human emotion should be the liver,' Doc Homer said. 'That would be an appropriate metaphor: we don't hold love in our hearts, we hold it in our livers.'
I understood exactly. Once in ER I saw a woman who'd been stabbed everywhere, most severely in the liver. It's an organ with the consistency of layer upon layer of wet Kleenex. Every attempt at repair just opens new holes that tear and bleed. You try to close the wound with fresh wounds, and you try and you try and you don't give up until there's nothing left. — Barbara Kingsolver

You got great hair, babe." "Tate - ""Thick.""Tate - ""Soft.""Tate," I whispered. "Shame it gets hacked off with a knife after some guy rapes you with that knife!" he finished on a roar. My body jolted. "Tate!""There's bad guys out there, Ace. Bad. Do things to you that'll make you glad you end up dead. You don't open a goddamned door not knowin' who's behind it." "I thought it was you." "Well it wasn't." "Tate - ""He fuck you?" Tate asked suddenly and my head jerked again. "Brad?" I asked back, confused. Tate leaned in and bellowed, "Wood!""No!" I shouted back. Then I was flying through the air. Literally, flying through the air. I bounced once on the bed and then Tate was on top of me. — Kristen Ashley

Judge's eyes slid closed. Michaels was the beautiful one. So beautiful for doing this to him, making him feel so desired. His cock was grabbed from between his legs and pulled back, right into Michaels' hungry mouth. He sucked hard on his thick head while rubbing his hole with the pad of his thumb. Judge's balls were drawing up, his stomach clenched tight and his eyes squeezed shut, preparing for the climax of his life. He didn't know if Michaels sensed it or not but the base of his dick was squeezed tightly and Michaels' mouth popped off. His orgasm had been simmering so close to the surface. — A.E. Via

Marko looked as if he could use a makeover himself. A big-boned six foot three, he was much stockier than most Serbians, with an olive complexion and the out-of-proportion head of a Peanuts character. He wore an overcoat that was one size too big, a thick gray Brooks Brothers sweater with flecks of white, and a cream-colored turtleneck that actually made him look like a turtle. Marko — Neil Strauss

Jon Kabat-Zinn, the father of MBSR, doesn't look like the kind of person to be selling meditation and mindfulness to America's fast-paced, stressed-out masses. When I met him at a mindfulness conference in April, he was dressed in corduroys, a button-down shirt and a blazer, with wire-rimmed glasses and a healthy head of thick gray hair. He looked more like the professor he trained to become than the mindfulness guru he is. — Kate Pickert

Myrnin blinked, looked at Eve, and smiled. It was his seductive smile, and it came with a lowering of his thick eyelashes. "Sweet lady," he said, "could you get me one of those delicious drinks you prepared for my friend, here?" He gracefully indicated Oliver, who remembered the cup of blood still sitting in front of him, and angrily choked it down. "Perhaps warm the bag a bit in hot water first? It's a bit disgusting, cold."
"Yeah, sure," Eve sighed. "Want a shot of espresso with that?"
Myrnin seemed to be honestly considering it. Claire urgently shook her head no. The last thing she - any of them - needed just now was Myrnin on caffeine. — Rachel Caine

Have some whiskey,there's nothing like it for clearing the head. You must expect to be thick-witted if you insist upon drinking beer. — W. Somerset Maugham

loneliness every day, day in and day out. Eventually, I come to thick snow and need to put on my snow boots so I can drudge through these rough patches. Never, have I felt this avalanche of snowfall on my head as I have tonight. I truly have no one. I am truly am alone. — April Raynne

Now she sat in front of him, nearly submerged under layers of thick sweaters and blankets. She looked like a laundry hamper without a head. — Louise Penny

When I'd lost him the first time, before Culloden, I'd remembered. Every moment of our last night together. Tiny things would come back to me through the years: the taste of salt on his temple and the curve of his skull as I cupped his head; the soft fine hair at the base of his neck, thick and damp in my fingers ... the sudden, magical well of his blood in dawning light when I'd cut his hand and marked him forever as my own. Those things had kept him by me. — Diana Gabaldon

Ideas are like beards. Men don't have them until they grow up. Somebody said that, but I can't remember who."
"Voltaire," the younger man said. He rubbed his chin and smiled, a cheerful,
unaffected smile. "Voltaire might be off the mark, though, when it comes to me. I have hardly any beard at all, but have loved thinking about things since I was a kid."
His face was indeed smooth, with no hint of a beard. His eyebrows were narrow, but thick, his ears nicely formed, like lovely seashells. "I wonder if what Voltaire meant wasn't ideas as much as meditation," Tsukuru said. The man inclined his head a fraction. "Pain is what gives rise to meditation. It has
nothing to do with age, let alone beards. — Haruki Murakami

Each evening she held his head in her hands and ran her aching fingers thru the thick ruff of fur around his neck. He burrowed against her, sighing devotion. — Meg Rosoff

Tears rolled down my cheeks as what happened today crashed into me. I kissed his head as I held him tight. "You saved my life," I whispered my voice warbling.
His words were thick with sleep, he told me, "I was returning the favor. — S.C. Stephens

And sometimes when I tilt my head,
in that deep sleep, I realize I forgot to tell you
what happened at work, in the thick of,
all other rubbish daily stuff.
And then I hate to believe, it's more than
5 hours to hit the snooze, and now suddenly
the night seems longer- than any lazy afternoon.
I want to talk to you now, before I forget
How I have imagined you will react, word by word,
And act by act.
But I kind of manage dozing off in a few minutes,
And I clearly forget it morning,
This entire instance.

But tonight- when you are asleep, and I am
Wide awake like a snake, I don't say I forgot any
Buzz to discuss, but I have this insane gush
Of words of tell you I how much I have loved you through.
Precisely none of this should be forgotten,
So I decide to write this poem and tell you,
I am so much in my moment of truth. — Jasleen Kaur Gumber

I love you, O'Reilly. When are you going to get that through your thick Aussie skull?"
He laughed softly, and she tilted back her head to look up at him wonderingly, "What's so funny?"
He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed the tight muscles of her neck. "Do you realize you've never used my first name?" he said. "It's Patrick, you know."
He watched her lips curl into a smile that made his chest ache. "You've always been O'Reilly to me."
"Huh," he grunted. "Except when you're mad. Then I become Mister O'Reilly. — Candice Proctor

At the last, Viserys looked at her. "Sister, please ... Dany, tell them ... make them ... sweet sister ... "
When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. "Crown!" he roared. "Here. A crown for Cart King!" And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.
The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering ... yet no drop of blood was spilled.
He was no dragon, Dany thought, curious calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon. — George R R Martin

(Devon) "Cam, what's wrong?"
He cursed and held her tighter. "Help me," he rasped.
Her senses dizzy from the scent and feel of him, it took a few moments for the words to register. She stroked her fingers through his thick, soft hair. "Help you?"
His head moved against her hand, as much a show of helpless pleasure as it was a nod. "Help me slow down."
She shook her head. "I don't want you to slow down - "
"I want to be gentle," he said roughly, his warm breath tickling her neck. "But I'm so fucking turned on right now all I can think about is pounding into you. — Kaylea Cross

Bleeding from the ear. Oh Jesus, God. That was on the list for not applying pressure. But what did that mean? I couldn't remember. Couldn't think.
"Is he okay?"
"You dropped a two-hundred pound log on his head!" I screamed at Nathan. The air shuddered around us; the building itself seeming to tremble.
"I didn't mean-"
"Shut up, man," Marco said, swatting at Nathan's arm. "Joss, you need to calm the fuck down."
"Calm down? Calm down?!" Energy pulsed around us, hot, thick, pricking at my eyes. Above, lights flickered, dimmed. A bulb shattered somewhere, and glass came tinkling down. — Susan Bischoff

We have all seen these circus elephants complete with tusks, ivory in their head and thick skins, who move around the circus ring and grab the tail of the elephant ahead of them. — John F. Kennedy

This guy is pretty slick, Atticus. What else do you think he has in his pockets? Maybe a thick salami for me?> I almost dropped the goblets. Gods, Oberon, it's a good thing no one can hear you. It's not polite to ask if a man has a big salami in his pants, okay? Especially this guy. Laughter bubbled forth from Jesus as he poured two generous shots for us. "I like your hound, Siodhachan." He turned his head a bit to address him. "Hello, Oberon. I can hear what you say as well, and I tell you truly, I have nothing against salami itself. It is best to know when to keep your salami in your pants and when to pull it out, however, and even my priests have had some difficulty with that issue. Fortunately for us, there is little doubt regarding the right course of action in this situation." He pulled a long soppressata from the same pocket that had produced the goblets. — Kevin Hearne

At the edge of the still, dark pool that was the sea, at the brimming edge of freedom where no boat was to be seen, she spoke the first words of the few they were to exchange. 'I cannot swim. You know it?"

In the dark she saw the flash of his smile. 'Trust me.' And he drew her with a strong hand until the green phosphorescence beaded her ankles, and deeper, and deeper, until the thick milk-warm water, almost unfelt, was up to her waist. She heard him swear feelingly to himself as the salt water searched out, discovered his burns. Then with a rustle she saw his pale head sink back into the quiet sea and at the same moment she was gripped and drawn after him, her face to the stars, drawn through the tides with the sea lapping like her lost hair at her cheeks, the drive of his body beneath her pulling them both from the shore. They were launched on the long journey towards the slim shape, black against glossy black, which was the brigantine, with Thompson on board. — Dorothy Dunnett

How long have I been here? I haven't been able to tell day from night with eyes covered." [Vincent]
"Nor could you anyway, in here. There are no windows and the walls are so thick you cannot hear the church bells. It was built so that the one who prayed here would not be aware of the passage of time or the world outside. When we reach into the higher planes, we pass beyond time. Only the body is governed by time, but that too, I will change". [Sylvian] — Karen Maitland

I've fallen. I must have slipped. Hit my head on something. I think I'm going to be sick. Everything is red. I can't get up. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl . . . Three for a girl. I'm stuck on three, I just can't get any further. My head is thick with sounds, my mouth thick with blood. Three for a girl. I can hear the magpies - they're laughing, mocking me, a raucous cackling. A tiding. Bad tidings. I can see them now, black against the sun. Not the birds, something else. Someone's coming. Someone is speaking to me. Now look. Now look what you made me do. — Paula Hawkins

It was there that I wanted, out there somewhere, when I sat elbow-to-elbow with my giggling friends and let my thoughts swirl up and away from the three-mile radius of our small town lives. In my head, I careened out of town and across state lines, until the landscape became strange and unfamiliar. I wanted to see all of it. Everything. The vast expanses of the flat Midwest, miles of horizontal earth with the curving horizon at its end. Strange, stunted trees and driftwood skeletons on the lonely windswept beaches of the farthest coasts. Towering oaks hung thick with the gray lace of Spanish moss, looming like hovering parents over shaded southern dirt. The California sun, dipping and disappearing into the ocean, tipping the waves with orange light. — Kat Rosenfield

I found myself facing a man and a woman who looked so much alike, they could only be twins, or two people who had been married for a very long time. They both had pear-shaped bodies with short, thick legs and grumpy-looking arms, and it looked like they had both tried on heads that were too small for them, and were about to ask the head clerk for a larger size. — Lemony Snicket

And so is another question that Sanderson's experience leads him to discuss: whether the mind is identical with the brain. He mentions a case of a man who died in a New York hospital, and who an autopsy revealed to have no brain, only "half a cupful of dirty water". This sounds, admittedly, like another of those absurd stories that are not worth discussing. But in the early 1980s Professor John Lourber of Sheffield University discovered a student with an IQ of 126 whose head was entirely filled with "water". A brain scan showed that the student's brain was merely an outer layer, only one millimetre thick. How can a person function with virtually no brain? Lourber, who specializes in hydrocephalis ("water on the brain") replies that he has come across many cases of perfectly normal people whose heads are filled with 95 per cent of fluid, and that 70 to 90 per cent is actually quite common. — Colin Wilson

At the present time he was a man of perhaps forty-five years of age, short and heavy-set, with a bullet-shaped head that rested on broad, ape-like shoulders. His thick torso and bulging paunch were supported by a pair of spindly legs that contrasted oddly with the upper portions of his beefy body. — H.P. Lovecraft

Diego considered while he stroked the thick ruff of fur around Finn's neck. "Fiction isn't lying. Everyone knows it's imaginary. It's not as if the writer's being dishonest and misleading the reader."

"Though it's still not true."

"Well...no, it's not."

"Honest lying." Finn laid his head on Diego's thigh. "I like that. — Angel Martinez

Two big hands cup my ass and pull me down onto his face. When his tongue glides over me, I almost come on the spot. Taking a breath, I grasp his cock in one hand and lower my mouth to his engorged head. I give a tiny lick, then breathe out, "Better?" His response is a hungry growl punctuated by the brush of his tongue on my clit. I wrap my lips around him and suck gently, the salty flavor of him tickling my tongue and heating my blood. He tastes delicious. He's thick and hard and throbbing in my mouth, and it's the hottest thing in the whole damn world. I don't know how long we lie in this position, torturing each other with greedy licks and deep sucks, but just as the first tingles of orgasm warm the base of my spine, Blake abruptly yanks me off of him and flips me over. "Cheezus!" he spits out. "If I don't fuck you right now, I'm gonna die, Jessie. — Sarina Bowen

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart ...
Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder ...
And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn't ... a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him - — J.K. Rowling

Julia was a physically affectionate person and had always been. She had always loved the warmth and vibrancy of skin and for some reason; Julia couldn't take her eyes off his neck. It was thick with muscle and looked vital, and very delicious. In her momentarily dumbstruck state she wanted nothing else but to touch, oh she wanted to lay both her hands there, on his skin right above the crew neckline of his tee. She wanted to touch it with her fingers and feel it throbbing with life. She wanted it, yearned for it, more than she wanted to take her next breath. His other hand touched her elbow and sanity returned to her in degrees. She shook her head, dislodging the uncharacteristic vampiric tendency and tried to extricate herself from his confining arms. — Anonymous

My tongue ran over my lower lip and I could taste the sin. It was thick and heavy in the air, and it made my head swim as I gazed into Abel's ocean-colored eyes. I wondered whether he tasted it too, whether his heart was pounding in his chest. I wondered most of all if it was artificial - a haze of adoration brought on by the pills. It had been so long since I'd wanted that; I didn't trust my own thoughts, but if felt too good to care. — Teresa Mummert

I want a new drug, one that won't make me sick. One that won't make me crash my car, or make my head three feet thick. — Huey Lewis

This time Simone did not smile at all.
"I cannot tell that to you, child. This is a
secret I am not allowed to talk about. I only hope that you will
know how to follow the true and right path. And now, farewell!" She
turned around and walked away between the bookshelves, disappearing
from their sight.
Nirupa looked at the book she held in her
hand. On its thick front cover she read:
"Atlantis."
Deep shudders shook her body. She turned her
head and looked at Miss Bell, who also looked numb with fear.
"Now that we have started the adventure, me
must carry it through to the end," Ni whispered to Miss Bell,
opening the book. She did not have time to see what was written
inside because, once the first page was open, a whirl of warm air
sucked Ni and Miss. Bell inside, In the twinkle of an eye they
found themselves standing up on the main street of a magnificent
bazaar. — Leora Cika Waldman

My lovers suffocate me! Crowding my lips, and thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls ... coming naked to me at night, Crying by day Ahoy from the rocks of the river ... swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flowerbeds or vines or tangled underbrush, Or while I swim in the bath ... or drink from the pump on the corner ... or the curtain is down at the opera ... or I glimpse at a woman's face in the railroad car; Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft and balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine — Walt Whitman

Furi's eyes roamed over Syn's muscular body, mapping each ridge and valley until his eyes landed on the thick, dripping cock jutting out proudly from a nest of dark pubic hair. Syn stroked himself a couple times, his head falling back as pleasure racked his body. Furi held out his arm, needing Syn's contact right now. Syn crawled up the bed like a panther stalking his prey. His dark eyes were full of hunger and just beneath that desire was a whole lot of love. "Syn. — A.E. Via

Sage shifted beneath me. I put one of my hands back into his thick hair and left it there, pretending I needed to hold him. It took all my willpower not to start playing with it.
"I guess you don't do this very often," I told him, my voice cracking slightly.
I couldn't see his face but I could feel him smile. "No. Usually my head's turned the other way around. — Karina Halle

I instantly thought the guy was cute, in that gaunt, never-sees-the-light-of-day, New York street urchin kind of way. And he never stood still for a second. From across the tracks I read his expression as I have everything on my side except destiny, only his expression clearly hadn't informed his head or heart yet. The guy looked over and caught me staring, and once his eyes met mine they never deviated. He took several cautious steps forward, stopping abruptly at the thick yellow line you weren't supposed to cross. His arms dangled like a puppet and he seemed to skim the ground when he walked, as if suspended over the edge of the world by a hundred invisible strings. — Tiffanie DeBartolo

You disappoint me, Cassandra. Your legends paint you differently," Daemon said softly, his voice thick with malevolence.
"I'm a Priestess serving at this Altar," she said, working to keep her voice steady. "You're mistaken, if you think
"
He laughed softly. She stepped back from the sound and found herself pressed against the counter.
"Do you think I can't tell the difference between a Priestess and a Queen? And the Jewels, my dear, name you for what you are."
She bent her head slightly in acknowledgment. "So I'm Cassandra. What do you want, Prince? — Anne Bishop

She rose to her feet, lining her body up with his and closing the gap between them. "What if I need help in a different way?"
"Darlin', I'm a full-service kind of helper." His hand dropped to her left hips, sending a jolt of awareness straight to her clit. "You tell me what ache is building and I'll relieve it." His other hand fell to her right hip and he pulled her close. "Tell me where it itches and I'll scratch it." His cock, hard and thick, pressed against her, letting lose a wave of desire that threatened to overwhelm her. "Show me where it hurts and I'll kiss it better."
"You make a lot of promises," she managed to get out...
"And I'll deliver on every single one." He dipped his head lower, letting his lips brush across hers. "You can count on it. — Avery Flynn

Weel, hallo there," he said in a thick accent ... He threw his head back and laughed - a rich, joyous sound that bounced off the water ... "Aye, that I am, indeed. Aiden MacRae of Eilean Donan. Very pleased to be meeting you. — Cyndi Tefft

There is no pleasure like leaving
before dawn in last night's clothes.
Light snow or thick dew in the grass-
no one's passed this way before.
The note you left needed only a few words,
no explanation where lies could creep in.
Your eyes, blinked clear, won't squint or glance off,
it's the stars that turn their faces away.
He or she is or is not the one you love
and you cannot stay. The dark
turns to mist and the mist cannot stay
but for once there's no need for alarm.
You're getting a good head start.
Maybe the world isn't made of dust.
Maybe you won't make another mistake.
You're as young as you'll ever be. — Dean Young

The other hand neither was he a man, nor any sapient proteinoid of the glutinous-albuminous variety. The head was round and plump, with red cheeks, but for eyes it had two penny whistles, and for ears it had thuribles, which gave off a thick cloud of incense. He was dressed — Stanislaw Lem

She wore so much thick white makeup in order to conceal her naturally rosy complexion that if she turned around suddenly her face would probably end up on the back of her head. — Terry Pratchett

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,
Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.
He leaned above me, thinking that I slept
And could not hear him; but I heard him say,
'Poor child, poor child': and as he turned away
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.
He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold
That hid my face, or take my hand in his,
Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:
He did not love me living; but once dead
He pitied me; and very sweet it is
To know he still is warm though I am cold. — Christina Rossetti

Melissa Hopkins wanted more than anything to be home in her warm bed, securely tucked under her thick down comforter. For several hours now, she'd been sitting in a small windowless room at the local police headquarters, being interrogated by the same two cops non-stop. It made her head ache, although she supposed the drinks she'd had earlier could be a contributor to that as well. — Pamela M. Kelley