Ankle Quotes

Jay showed up after school with a bouquet of flowers and an armful of DVDs, although Violet couldn't have cared less about either . . . he was all she wanted. She couldn't help the electric thrill of excitement she felt when he came strolling in, grinning at her foolishly as if he hadn't seen her in weeks rather than hours. He scooped her up from the couch and dropped her onto his lap as he sat down where she had been just a moment before. He was careful to arrange her ankle on a neatly stacked pile of pillows beside him.
He stubbornly refused to hide his affection for her, and if Violet hadn't known better she would have sword that he was going out of his way to make her self-conscious in her own home. Fortunately her parents were giving them some space for the time being, and they were left by themselves most of the time.
"Did you miss me?" he asked arrogantly as he gently brushed his lips over hers, not bothering to wait for an answer.
She smiled while she kissed him back, loving the topsy-turvy feeling that her stomach always got when he was so close to her. She wound her arms around his neck, forgetting that she was in the middle of the family room and not hidden away in the privacy of her bedroom.
He pulled away from her, suddenly serious. "You know, we didn't get much time alone yesterday. And I didn't get a chance to tell you . . ."
Violet was mesmerized by the thick timbre of his deep voice. She barely heard his words but rather concentrated ~ Kimberly Derting

could put no weight on the wounded ankle at ~ Larry McMurtry

He considered her ruthless, in his moments of pain, but also in moments of happiness, experienced mere feet from her but bound right wrist to left ankle by her rules: nothing could evolve, nothing could be consummated, nothing repressed could surface, nothing previously accepted could be ignored. One must not speak of it, in case one could no longer sing of it. Instead, she only kept directing his attention to the wondrously charged air they could tame and make dance between them. ~ Arthur Phillips

She paused, and said, "May I ask you a question?" He said, "Sure." "Are we having dinner?" "That's what it said on the menu. Lunch was different, and this sure ain't breakfast." "No, I mean having dinner, as opposed to grabbing road food." "As in candlelight and piano music?" "Not necessarily." "Violin players and guys selling roses?" "If appropriate." "Like a date?" She said, "Broadly, I suppose." He said, "Honest answer?" "Always." "Suppose we had found Keever yesterday, maybe stepping off the train, or fallen over in a wheat field somewhere, with a sprained ankle, somewhat hungry and thirsty but otherwise OK, then yes, for sure I would have asked you out to dinner, and if you had accepted, then we'd be having that dinner right about now, so I guess this half-qualifies. ~ Lee Child

Then his fingers trembled on her ankle - tightened around her foot. His head shifted, turning toward her. With a growl, she crashed the poker down onto his head. His hand jerked. A gurgling noise arose, not from his throat but from his chest, from deep down, as if he were fighting for something. Struggling. His eyes shifted toward her. Joan raised the poker again. The gurgling stopped - not abruptly but in a final, lingering, prolonged, exhalation of breath. His lungs gradually expelled every last atom of oxygen. ~ Cate Campbell Beatty

Because sometimes it's better to believe in the impossible. To believe you are a secret agent or a private detective or a superhero and not just a kid with freckled cheeks and gangly arms who is too clumsy to leap a tipped-over garbage can in a single bound.
Until you are lying in the middle of the sidewalk, with a throbbing ankle and bloody chin, wishing you hadn't even tried. ~ John David Anderson

It used to be that people went to their doctor to find out what was wrong. That was the expectation when someone made an appointment with their local family doctor: they wanted to know what they had and how they could feel better. Ear infection: what should I take? Pulled muscle: what should I do? Broken ankle: how can you fix it? Over the years, something happened to this common sense approach. "Algorithms" and "pathways" have proliferated in ways that have reduced each person's unique story to simplistic recipes. More often than not, this cookbook approach ends up telling patients what they don't have - which, while potentially reassuring, does not result in a real diagnosis.1 ~ Leana Wen

You damn fool!" one of the men grated in angry concern as they both squatted down on their haunches and peered anxiously at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Bracing herself on her forearms, Lauren lifted her chagrined gaze from the man's shoes to his face. "Auditioning for the circus," she told him dryly, "And for an encore, I usually fall off a bridge."
A rich chuckle sounded from the other man as he took her firmly by the shoulders and helped her to her feet. "What's your name?" he asked, and when Lauren had told him,he added worriedly, "Can you walk?"
"For miles," Laruen assured him unsteadily. Every muscle in her body was protesting, and her left ankle was throbbing painfully.
"Then I guess you can make it as far as the building so we can have a look at the damage," he said with a smile in his voice. ~ Judith McNaught

And I know someone who's
perfect for her. He works in my lab. He's smart. He's funny. His name is Bert."
Bert?
Is she fucking kidding me? What kind of sick son of a bitch names his kid Bert in this day and
age? That's just cruel.
"He'll show Kate a good time. I plan on setting them up this weekend."
And I plan on handcuffing myself to Kate's ankle and eating the key. Let's see what kind of good
time Bert can show Kate when she's dragging me around behind her like a Siamese twin. ~ Emma Chase

My life felt heavy that night, with each year of my life like a weighty crate, so I had almost thirteen crates to carry around inside me, with each crate full of notebooks and each notebook full of secrets. It is hard to lug such a heavy load around with me and to keep everyone from seeing it. But some secrets are so strange and so dangerous that showing them to people makes the strangeness and the danger pour into their lives like dark, dark ink. I lived with this ink myself, emblazoned on my ankle for me to see each morning when I got out of bed, except for the days when I collapsed exhausted with my shoes on. But I did not want to stain anyone else's life. ~ Lemony Snicket

Suddenly, as Avis clung to her father's neck and ear while, with a casual arm, the man enveloped his lumpy and large offspring, I saw Lolita's smile lose all its light and become a frozen little shadow of itself, and the fruit knife slipped off the table and struck her with its silver handle a freak blow on the ankle which made her gasp, and crouch head forward, and then, jumping on one leg, her face awful with the preparatory grimace which children hold till the tears gush, she was gone - to be followed at once and consoled in the kitchen by Avis who had such a wonderful fat pink dad and a small chubby brother, and a brand-new baby sister, and a home, and two grinning dogs, and Lolita had nothing. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

I had a MRSA infection on my ankle. At the time, I had never heard of MRSA. I didn't really know a whole lot about it. It really scared me. ~ Grant Hill

It was a sense of belonging that blurs the lines between two people, when you find your ankle wrapped around someone else's, or your fingers intertwined, and it's so natural, so automatic, that you have no conscious thought of it happening. When I think of God, I think of all these magical, inexplicable things, multiplied by infinity. ~ Leylah Attar

Seeing him standing there in his boxers and hoodie with sticking-up hair, one sock pulled up to his calf, the other scrunched around his ankle, and his glasses just a tiny bit skew, my wildly beating heart falls in love with him all over again. ~ Rachel Morgan

Pearls' burst out the Snork Maiden excitedly. 'Could ankle rings be made out of pearls?'
'I should think they could,' said Moomintoll. 'Ankle-rings, and nose-rings and ear-rings and engagement rings ... ~ Tove Jansson

And then she started picking up trash behind the dumpster. It was ankle deep back there, blown in from all over the city to a kind of wind eddy between buildings. We picked up newspaper pages and hamburger wrappers, straws, cigarette packs, plastic bags, as well as shop trash that had fallen out when the dumpster was overflowing. There was so much, we would've needed snow shovels to make a real dent in it, but I didn't think about what we were doing, more than to believe in easing a nervous breakdown with small bursts of insanity. ~ Wayne Harrison

Look, now, in the distance, a person, closer, it's two people, hand in hand, ankle deep in the froth. Sunrise in hair, blonde, green bikini, tall, shining. They kiss. Handsy things happening underneath hist trunks, her tongue.
Who wouldn't envy such youth, who wouldn't grieve what has been lost in watching. They come up the dune, she pushing him backward, up.
Study them from the balcony, holding your breath while the couple stops in a smooth bowl of sand, protected by the dunes. She pushes down his trunks, he takes off her bathing suit, top and bottom. Oh yes, you would return to your wife on hands and knees, crawl the distance of the eastern seaboard to feel her fingers once more in your hair.
You are unworthy of her. Yes. No.
Even as you think of flight, you're transfixed by the lovers, wouldn't dare move for fear of making them flap like birds into the blistered sky.
They step into each other, and it's hard to tell where one begins and one ends. Hands in hair and warmth on warmth, into the sand her red knees raised, his body moving.
It is time. Something odd happening though you are not ready for it. There is an overlap. You have seen this before, felt her breath on your nape, the heat of her beneath, and the cold damp of day on your back, the helpless overwhelm, a sense of crossing. The sex reaching it's culmination.
Come. Lip bitten to blood and finish with a roar and birds shoot up and crumbles in the pink folds of an ear. Serrat ~ Lauren Groff

You wonder if you've got what it takes to keep building up obstacle courses for your self, and to keep leaping through them, sprained ankle or not. ~ Sylvia Plath

I've played with IVs before, during and after games. I've played with a broken hand, a sprained ankle, a torn shoulder, a fractured tooth, a severed lip, and a knee the size of a softball. I don't miss 15 games because of a toe injury that everybody knows wasn't that serious in the first place. ~ Kobe Bryant

Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled
welcome. Jake kicked my ankle. ~ Josh Lanyon

A few of the guests, who had the misfortune of being too near the windows, were seized and feasted on at once. When Elizabeth stood, she saw Mrs. Long struggle to free herself as two female dreadfuls bit into her head, cracking her skull like a walnut, and sending a shower of dark blood spouting as high as the chandeliers.
As guests fled in every direction, Mr. Bennet's voice cut through the commotion. "Girls! Pentagram of Death!"
Elizabeth immediately joined her four sisters, Jane, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia in the center of the dance floor. Each girl produced a dagger from her ankle and stood at the tip of an imaginary five-pointed star. From the center of the room, they began stepping outward in unison - each thrusting a razor-sharp dagger with one hand, the other hand modestly tucked into the small of her back. ~ Seth Grahame-Smith

[…] mines don't work that way. They don't blow up a human body, they take off a leg or ankle or the family jewels. That's what they're designed for, not to kill people, but to wound 'em so the army will spend valuable resources keeping them alive, and then send 'em home in a wheelchair so Ma and Pa Civilian can be reminded every time they see 'em that maybe supporting this war isn't such a good idea. ~ Max Brooks

I always feel the most comfortable in a breezy short summer dress and a pair of ankle boots. ~ Keltie Knight

Hey...you okay?"
I recognized the voice-how had my dreams known his voice?-but when he crouched down next to me, I skittered away.
"Don't touch me!" I snapped.
He held up his hands to show he was harmless. "Okay, okay," he said with a smirk. "You were the one chasing me."
I glared at him. It was an impressive show of restraint on my part, when the truth was that having him physically in front of me was wreaking havoc on my body and my brain. My heart was pounding fast, and my mind played a loop of every moment we'd shared in my dreams.
I forced myself to remember he was a stranger. Quite possibly a dangerous stranger. I needed answers from him, but I also needed to stay strong.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were hurt."
"I am hurt. I twisted my ankle."
"Maybe you shouldn't be chasing strange men through the woods, then."
"Maybe you shouldn't pretend you don't know who I am."
His eyes widened in shock for a moment. "You reme-"
Then he twitched his head briefly to the side, as if flicking away an unwanted thought, and his face relaxed. Only the clenched muscle in his jaw gave away any tension.
"You must be mistaken. I don't think we've ever met."
"Really? You look at most girls like you were caught with your hand in their purse?"
"I don't know what you're talking-"
"And then you ran away. Full speed, even though you knew I was trying to catch up with you. That's not normal. That's not how you act w ~ Hilary Duff

She only maintains that it is possible, under some circumstances, for a lady to murder her husband; but that a woman who wears ankle-strap shoes and smokes on the street corner, though she may be a joy to all who know her and have devoted her life to charity, could never qualify as a lady. ~ Judith Martin

Ah, my dear friend Hassim, seems our paths cross once again, how fortunate for this humble Sheik." As Abdullah spoke in his usual self deprecating manner I realized that a favor was on the tip of his tongue and that I was about to be offered a quid-pro-quo.

We were sitting crossed legged on large fat pillows with gold fringe. The tent was large with partitions dividing living, sleeping and cooking space. It was made from heavy cotton canvas erected on thick poles in the center giving the structure a peaked circus tent appearance. The women serving us were young, wearing harem pants low on their hips with cropped gauze tops made from sheer silk. Their exposed midriffs were flat and toned, their belly buttons were decorated in precious stones that glittered in the torch light as they moved. They were bare footed with stacks of gold ankle bracelets making the only sound we heard as they kept our glasses filled with fresh sweet tea and our communal serving trays piled high with dates and sugar incrusted sweets of undetermined origin.

Abdullah took no notice of these women, his nonchalance intrigued me as I was obviously having trouble keeping my mind focused on the discussion at hand, this was all part of the Arab way, when it came to negotiation they had no peers.

"So my dear friend, tell me, the region is on fire is there a solution?"

I spoke in a deliberate and flat tone, little emotion just concern, one friend to another.

Nick Hahn

Her skin smelled of candy floss and the soothing scent of lemon grass. The hem of her skirt grazed her ankles and revealed her silver anklets. ~ Sudha Nair

Until then, I would pretend my ankle was made of steel, like some kind of bionic joint, and that I could feel no pain. I was superhuman. I could do anything.
But I'd take some Tylenol, just in case. Lots of Tylenol. ~ Rachel Vincent

Perspective basically guarantees that there's no such thing as a pure emotion. Every emotion is based on how sucky (or not) something is in relation to something else that has already happened. I realized that Hy and Marcus and my ankle wouldn't be so huge if I had experienced a Hiroshima-size disaster.It kind of makes me wish that the worst thing that will ever happen to me will just hurry up and happen already. That way I could live the rest of my life in bliss, if only because I
know how much worse things could be. ~ Megan McCafferty

Some had hurled spears first. Those spears thumped into our shields, making them unwieldy, but it hardly mattered. The leading Danes tripped on the hidden timbers and the men behind pushed the falling men forward. I kicked one in the face, feeling my iron-reinforced boot crush bone. Danes were sprawling at our feet while others tried to get past their fallen comrades to reach our line, and we were killing. Two men succeeded in reaching us, despite the smoking barricade, and one of those two feel to Wasp-Sting coming up from beneath his shield-rim. He had been swinging an ax that the man behind me caught on his shield and the Dane was still holding the war ax's shaft as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I twisted the blade, ripping it upward, and as Cerdic, beside me, chopped his own ax down. The man with the crushed face was holding my ankle and I stabbed at him as the blood spray from Cerdic's ax blinded me. The whimpering man at my feet tried to crawl away, but Finan stabbed his sword into his thigh, then stabbed again. A Dane had hooked up his ax over the top rim of my shield and hauled it down to expose my body to a spear-thrust, but the ax rolled off the circular shield and the spear was deflected upward and I slammed Wasp-Sting forward again, felt her bite, twisted her, and Finan was keening his mad Irish song as he added his own blade to the slaughter. "Keep the shields to ~ Bernard Cornwell

A complete history of sexual scandal in Washington will probably never be written, because the public does not want to read a 20,000 page book that needs to be updated weekly (note to self: maybe they DO -- idea for next book). From the earliest days of the Republic, when our first Ambassador, Benjamin Franklin, fondled and groped the awestruck wives of his French hosts while on mission to Paris, shortly to be succeeded by the even-more-amorous Thomas Jefferson, who broke an ankle in the Louvre while leaping to an assignation with yet another married Frenchwoman, all the way down to our contemporary satyrs, the priapic Kennedys, Wilbur "Fanne Fox" Mills, "Slobbering Bob" Packwood, Bill "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" Clinton, etc., our political leaders have repeatedly proven to be incredibly horny old goats. ~ Guillermo Jiménez

He wanted to know her with such familiarity that he could curve his fingers around a wrist, an ankle, a knee and recognize her from a hundred, a thousand other women ~ Karen Ranney

Elizabeth's concern that Ian might insult them, either intentionally or otherwise, soon gave way to admiration and then to helpless amusement as he sat for the next half-hour, charming them all with an occasional lazy smile or interjecting a gallant compliment, while they spent the entire time debating whether to sell the chocolates being donated by Gunther's for $5 or $6 per box. Despite Ian's outwardly bland demeanor, Elizabeth waited uneasily for him to say he'd buy the damned cartload of chocolates for $10 apiece, if it would get them on to the next problem, which she knew was what he was dying to say.
But she needn't have worried, for he continued to positively exude pleasant interest. Four times, the committee paused to solicit his advice; four times, he smilingly made excellent suggestions; four times, they ignored what he suggested. And four times, he seemed not to mind in the least or even notice.
Making a mental note to thank him profusely for his incredible forbearance, Elizabeth kept her attention on her guests and the discussion, until she inadvertently glanced in his direction, and her breath caught. Seated on the opposite side of the gathering from her, he was now leaning back in his chair, his left ankle propped atop his right knee, and despite his apparent absorption in the topic being discussed, his heavy-lidded gaze was roving meaningfully over her breasts. One look at the smile tugging at his lips and Elizabeth realized that he wanted her to kno ~ Judith McNaught

A long light robe, sulphur-coloured, clung to the sleeper from low throat to ankle; bands of narrow nolana-blue ribbon crossed her breast and were brought together in a loose cincture about her waist; her white, smooth feet were sandalled; one arm was curved beneath her lustrous head; the other lay relaxed and drooping. Chrysoberyls, the sea-virgins of stones, sparkled in her hair and lay in the bosom of her gown like dewdrops in an evening primrose.
("The Accursed Cordonnier") ~ Bernard Capes

The Road To Serfdom is about capitalism. That's why on the side of that road you'll find me, in a kiosk, selling ankle chains and handcuffs. ~ Jarod Kintz

We're trying to work on Sami to get through that and shoot the puck. MacInnis shot the puck all the time. If there was a fool who wanted to stand in front and break an ankle, tough luck. ~ Alain Vigneault

Is his eyesight really that bad?"
"Worse," Liam said. "So right after we got the hell out of Caledonia, we broke into this house to spend, right? I woke up in the middle of the night hearing the most awful noise, like a cow dying or something. I followed the wailing, clutching some kid's baseball bat, thinking I was going to have to bad someone's head in for us to make a clean getaway. Then I saw what was sitting at the bottom of the drained pool."
"No way," I said.
"Way," he confirmed. "Hawkeye had gone out to relieve himself and had somehow missed the giant gaping hole in the ground. Twisted his ankle and couldn't climb out of the deep end. ~ Alexandra Bracken

Strong arms wrap around my waist, and a boot kicks the severed hand off my ankle, leaving maggots on my leg. I shut my eyes and try not to squeal. "Get the maggots off me! ~ Susan Ee

A pale, bored woman in white ankle-socks and a white tasselled beret was sitting on a bentwood chair at the corner entrance to the verandah of the writer's club, where there was an opening in the creeper-grown trellis. In front of her on a plain kitchen table lay a large book like a ledger, in which for no known reason the woman wrote the names of the people entering the restaurant. She stopped Koroviev and Behemoth.

'Your membership cards?' she said, staring in surprise at Koroviev's pince-nez, at Behemoth's Primus and grazed elbow.

'A thousand apologies, madam, but what membership cards?' asked Koroviev in astonishment.

'Are you writers?' asked the woman in return.

'Indubitably,' replied Koroviev with dignity.

'Where are your membership cards?' the woman repeated.

'Dear lady...' Koroviev began tenderly.

'I'm not a dear lady,' interrupted the woman.

'Oh, what a shame,' said Koroviev in a disappointed voice and went on: 'Well, if you don't want to be a dear lady, which would have been delightful, you have every right not to be. But look here - if you wanted to make sure that Dostoyevsky was a writer, would you really ask him for his membership card? Why, you only have to take any five pages of one of his novels and you won't need a membership card to convince you that the man's a writer. I don't suppose he ever had a membership card, anyway! What do you think?' said Koroviev, turning to ~ Mikhail Bulgakov

Incidentally her head ached and her shoulders ached and her lungs ached and the ankle-bones of both feet ached quite excruciatingly. But nothing of her felt permanently incapacitated except her noble expression. Like a strip of lip-colored lead suspended from her poor little nose by two tugging wire-gray wrinkles her persistently conscientious sickroom smile seemed to be whanging aimlessly against her front teeth. The sensation certainly was very unpleasant. ~ Eleanor Hallowell Abbott

A snake bites your ankle.
Recoiling, you scream.
Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream ...
... where a man bites your ankle.
Expecting no guile,
'Again' softly falls from your lips with a smile.
Yet the man and the snake are the same.
Your perception is only to blame. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

At the base of her ankle is a deep, ugly scar she got when a car ran over her foot when she was six years old. That was in a small town in Bangladesh. Thus, even today, she hesitates superstitiously before crossing the road, and is painfully shy of walking distances. Her fears make her laughable. The scar is printed on her skin like a radiant star. ~ Amit Chaudhuri

[ ... ] The alpha-wolf has hurt himself [ ... ]."
"What happened to the alpha-wolf?"
"LEGOs."
"Legos?" It sounded Greek but I couldn't recall anything mythological with that name. Wasnt it an island?
"He was carrying a load of laundry into the basement and tripped on the old set of LEGOs his kids left on the stairs. Broke two ribs and an ankle. He'll be out of comission for two weeks." Curran shook his head. ~ Ilona Andrews

Most ankle strap shoes are seriously unattractive, cutting the line of the leg as well as cutting off the circulation! Try dancing in them - your feet will look like a pair of overdone hotdogs afterwards. ~ Joan Collins

An ax came through the door. Then two firefighters. They looked down at and assistant mall manager crying and wearing a melted toupee, sitting cross-legged next to a mall cop with a bleeding ankle and a mouth full of paper.
One of the firefighters look at the other. Not again. ~ Tim Dorsey

Dear Jem,
I finally have time for a real letter! I'm sorry about your ankle. If I invent a time machine, I will go back and trip whoever invented high heels for you. ~ Kate Willis

She hated colds. There was nothing romantic about them. Fainting spells were dramatic, life-threatening illnesses were interesting, and a handsome prince could always rescue you in the case of a twisted ankle, but all colds produced were puffy eyes and a red nose. ~ Hayden Wand

Finally, I will never forget stopping near a lovely young girl still strapped to her seat, breathing slightly. Her blouse was white, her slacks were blue. At the end of the trousers were two snow-white ankle bones where her feet used to be. I had never seen the whiteness of bones that are freshly exposed like that. ~ Laurence Gonzales

She had several books she'd been wanting to read, but instead she sprawled out on the couch surrounded by pillows and blankets, and spent the hours flipping channels between Judge Judy, The People's Court, Maury, and Jerry Springer, and rounded out her afternoon with Dr. Phil and Oprah. All in all, it was a complete waste of a day. At least until school got out.
Jay showed up after school with a bouquet of flowers and an armful of DVDs, although Violet couldn't have card less about either...he was all she wanted. She couldn't help the electric thrill of excitement she felt when he came strolling in, grinning at her foolishly as if he hadn't seen her in weeks rather than hours. He scooped her up from the couch and dropped her onto his lap as he sat down where she had been just a moment before. He was careful to arrange her ankle on a neatly stacked pile of pillows beside him.
He stubbornly refused to hide his affection for her, and if Violet hadn't known better she would have sworn that he was going out of his way to make her self-conscious in her own home. Fortunately her parents were giving them some space for the time being, and they were left by themselves most of the time.
"Did you miss me?" he asked arrogantly as he gently brushed his lips over hers, not bothering to wait for an answer.
She smiled while she kissed him back, loving the topsy-turvy feeling that her stomach always got when he was so close to her. She wound her arms around his neck, forge ~ Kimberly Derting

Page 112 The Honorable Schoolboy
He was attended this morning by his wife, a former Bible School teacher from Borneo, a dried- out shrew in bobbed hair and ankle socks who could spot a sin before it was committed. ~ John Le Carre

And now he learned how men can consider other men as beasts and that the easiest way to get along with such men was to be a beast. A clean face, an open face, an eye raised to meet an eye - these drew attention and attention drawn brought punishment. Adam thought how a man doing an ugly or a brutal thing has hurt himself and must punish someone for the hurt. To be guarded at work by men with shotguns, to be shackled by the ankle at night to a chain, were simple matters of precaution, but the savage whippings for the least stir of will, for the smallest shred of dignity or resistance, these seemed to indicate that guards were afraid of prisoners, and Adam knew from his years in the army that a man afraid is a dangerous animal. And Adam, like anyone in the world, feared what whipping would do to his body and his spirit. He drew a curtain around himself. He removed expression from his face, light from his eyes, and silenced his speech. Later he was not so much astonished that it had happened to him but that he had been able to take it and with a minimum of pain. It was much more horrible afterward than when it was happening. It is a triumph of self-control to see a man whipped until the muscles of his back show white and glistening through the cuts and to give no sign of pity or anger or interest. And Adam learned this. ~ John Steinbeck

Kate! Get some ice on that ankle or it's going to swell to the size of Luke's head. Then neither of you will be able to get through the front door. ~ Violet Cross

He let go of her hand, and she got up to grab her phone. He watched her every move, cataloging the way she still favored her right ankle and the way her ass wiggled in her jeans.


A smile teased the corner of his mouth. He'd spent many hours rebuilding the theater, and the times she'd been there, he'd never noticed her hips having such a sexy sway. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was toying with him.


She came back to him with her phone in hand. "Ready?"


Oh hell yeah, he was ready. ~ Lisa Kessler

Shit," the word was breathed in awe.

I frowned, waiting for her to complete the sentence, then realized I was the pathetic motherfucker who'd uttered it.

She crossed her legs at the ankle, looking at me funny.

"You may pick up your jaw at any time, Spencer. ~ L.J. Shen

Last name ever first name greatest like a sprained ankle boy I ain't nothin to play with ~ Drake

Taro knelt and tightened the leather laces of his prosthetic leg. Buckles and straps kept the wood attached to his ankle. ~ C.M. Hayden

Tell me, where do I stand compared to Neil and the ankle biter over there? He's kind of hot, in a Howard the Duck kind of way ~ H.M. Ward

On the way over, however, it slid off the shovel and onto Henry's shoes.
Pity, that.
She whirled around. He waited for her to burst out with, "You did that on purpose!" but she kept silent, motionless except for a slight narrowing of her eyes. Then, with a flick of her ankle, the slop spattered onto his trousers.
She smirked, waiting for him to say, "You did that on purpose!" but he also remained silent. Then he smiled at her, and she knew she was in trouble. ~ Julia Quinn

Is this true?" Suzette asked, sounding like a suspicious nanny. It was a tone Daniel had heard often as a child, though from his mother, not a nanny. They hadn't been able to afford a nanny. Oddly enough, he suddenly found himself imagining Suzette as that nonexistent nanny, though really the gown he pictured her in as that nanny was nothing a respectable nanny would wear and covered less than it revealed as she approached him in his mind with a naughty smile and a spanking paddle in hand.
"Spank me," he breathed on a sigh, and then muttered, "Better yet,let me spank you." A vision immediately rose in his mind of her turning and slowly pulling up her scandalously short, ankle-revealing skirt to present him with a view of her very fine bottom.
That vision died an abrupt death when Richard's voice intruded, soaked with melodrama as he said, "Guilt can lead a man to act like an ass and do the most foolish of things."
Daniel almost snorted at that. He was standing there in a dark room all but dancing with a dead man while having the most ridiculous sexual fantasies about Suzette. All this wile waiting to be able to slip out of the house undiscovered. Oh yes, guilt-and many other emotions-made a man do foolish things. ~ Lynsay Sands

Do you mind?" I looked at him from my upside-down position. The rope tight around my ankle, hands fought a losing battle with gravity over my t-shirt.
"What are you doing here?" He kneeled, hand rested on the crossbow while he dug his mismatched eyes into me.
"Oh, you know... just hanging. ~ Isabelle Crusoe

He's got one leg hooked up over Lindsay's shoulder, one braced against the dashboard. He's still got his socks on, red with a little Christmas tree on each ankle. Well sexy. ~ Richard Rider

Some tell me I'll break my ankle on my high heels - but I live in them. I'm known for doing speed dashes and leaps and bounds in heels. No problem. ~ Kylie Bax

You could let me go, Joshua," I plead for the millionth time.
"If you truly knew me, Toy, you would understand that I can't." I think his smile is tinged with sadness. At least, if it were anyone else, that would be a sad smile. "I simply can't."
How can anyone truly know someone as fucked up as you, Joshua?
I step back out of his arms, as far as I can go with my ankle still chained to the chair, and my body cries out at the loss of his warmth.
He bends down and uncuffs my ankle.
But he doesn't set me free ~ Ginger Talbot

A second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped The Monster Book of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Ron's ankle.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Ron's leg and retied it shut.
"What are you doing with all those books anyway?" Ron asked, limping back to his bed.
"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Hermione. "When we're looking for the Horcruxes."
"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."
"Ha ha," said Hermione, looking down at Spellman's Syllabary. ~ J.K. Rowling

50 Cent is a hero to me because he's overcome so many things. He's been shot nine times and lived. I had a cousin got shot once in the ankle. Dead. I had to go to the funeral. I was mad. Man, you ain't hard! You ain't hard! ~ Bill Bellamy

When he bent down and swept her up in his arms and carried her to the divan, she did not protest. She
fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, eager to touch his flesh and feel his heart beat against her hand.
He moved over her and looked down at her with eyes dark with passion. "I have missed you," he said.
"God, how I have missed you."
"Show me," she said, and sighed with happiness when he put his hand on her ankle and began to slide it
up her leg. ~ Julia London

So you wish to conquer in the Olympic Games, my friend? And I, too ... But first mark the conditions and the consequences. You will have to put yourself under discipline; to eat by rule, to avoid cakes and sweetmeats; to take exercise at the appointed hour whether you like it or not, in cold and heat; to abstain from cold drinks and wine at your will. Then, in the conflict itself you are likely enough to dislocate your wrist or twist your ankle, to swallow a great deal of dust, to be severely thrashed, and after all of these things, to be defeated. ~ Epictetus

Lily had lived with the same pain for so long it felt like a part of her. The worst days, though, were when the pain was different. When it came faster, or harsher, or fiercer than she was used to. When it prickled instead of throbbed. When it attacked her right ankle instead of her left knee. When it woke her up at night instead of aching dully first thing in the morning. On those days, her standard-issue pain was replaced by something different and frightening, something that took over her body and left her without the slightest clue of when, or even if, it would release her.

Those times, her pain wasn't a part of her anymore. Those times, she was a part of it. ~ Robin Talley

She ran because she had no other choice. She feared what would happen if she dared to stop. There was no time to think. There was barely any time for her to breathe. On her broken ankle, she ran. With her bruised arms, she ran. With her bleeding sides, she ran because she knew today was the day she was meant to die. ~ Judyann McCole

Steele yanked on the pistol, but the front sight got snagged on the Frenchman's belt. Jean-Luc's right arm hit him in the
wrist, a painful bone-on-bone collision that wrenched the Five-seven out of his grip. Steele could make out Burrows's bodyguard
posted up ahead, faithfully guarding his boss's booth.


Jean-Luc shouted a warning while trying to dodge the server who seemed to appear out of nowhere. The bodyguard turned to his
left, reached into his jacket, and squared up to the threat. Steele's instincts told him that he was too far behind the eight-ball
to get the MP9 into action fast, so he improvised.


He launched a kick at Jean-Luc's ankle that would have made an NFL punter proud. His leg muscles pistoned his foot toward
its target like a hot rod on a quarter-mile track. The impact snapped the fleeing Frenchman's puny ankle, causing him to tumble
into the server.


Now. ~ Sean Parnell

Smiling, Simon stared into the depths of his brandy.
"What a difficult evening you've had," he heard Westcliff remark sardonically. "First you were compelled to carry Miss Peyton's nubile young body all the way to her bedroom …then you had to examine her injured leg. How terribly inconvenient for you."
Simon's smile faded. "I didn't say that I had examined her leg."
The earl regarded him shrewdly. "You didn't have to. I know you too well to presume that you would overlook such an opportunity."
"I'll admit that I looked at her ankle. And I also cut her corset strings when it became apparent that she couldn't breathe." Simon's gaze dared the earl to object.
"Helpful lad," Westcliff murmured.
Simon scowled. "Difficult as it may be for you to believe, I receive no lascivious pleasure from the sight of a woman in pain."
Leaning back in his chair, Westcliff regarded him with a cool speculation that raised Simon's hackles. "I hope you're not fool enough to fall in love with such a creature. You know my opinion of Miss Peyton - "
"Yes, you've aired it repeatedly."
"And furthermore," the earl continued, "I would hate to see one of the few men of good sense I know to turn into one of those prattling fools who run about pollenating the atmosphere with maudlin sentiment - "
"I'm not in love."
"You're in something," Westcliff insisted. "In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you look so mawkish as you did outside ~ Lisa Kleypas

At first glance, the painting on the fortune-telling tent seemed to depict
an eye, like the decoration on Madame Lulu's caravan and the tattoo on Count Olaf's ankle.
The three children had seen similar eyes wherever they went, from a building in the shape of
an eye when they were working in a lumbermill, to an eye on Esmé Squalor's purse when
they were hiding in a hospital, to a huge swarm of eyes that surrounded them in their most
frightening nightmares, and although the siblings never understood quite what these eyes
meant, they were so weary of gazing at them that they would never pause to look at one
again. But there are many things in life that become different if you take a long look at them, and as the children paused in front of the fortune-telling tent, the painting seemed to change
before their very eyes, until it did not seem like a painting at all, but an insignia. ~ Lemony Snicket

This is the most I have ever been in the sewers in one place. If someone had said to me a month ago, 'Hey, Jackal, guess where you'll be spending most of your time in New Covington? Ankle-deep in shit!' I would've ripped their lips off. ~ Julie Kagawa

Day and night gifts keep pelting down on us. If we were aware of this, gratefulness would overwhelm us. But we go through life in a daze. A power failure makes us aware of what a gift electricity is; a sprained ankle lets us appreciate walking as a gift, a sleepless night, sleep. How much we are missing in life by noticing gifts only when we are suddenly deprived of them. ~ David Steindl-Rast

When I looked at the painting I felt the same convergence on a single point: a glancing sun-struck instance that existed now and forever. Only occasionally did I notice the chain on the finch's ankle, or think what a cruel life for a little living creature
fluttering briefly, forced always to land in the same hopeless place. ~ Donna Tartt

I wanted to tell him then how loneliness can become a tangible thing, after a while. It's something that you carry with you on your shoulder, hold up like a friend with a twisted ankle. It sits with you and walks the streets with you. It's a selfish thing and it refuses to let go or even split its attention. Of course, like a particularly annoying itch, you can convince yourself for a while that it's not there. You can go to libraries and sit with friends and drink more coffee than your body can handle and you can feel surrounded and happy. But eventually you have to scratch it. Loneliness steals you away from the world, as if you've been cut loose and you're lost, untethered, somewhere far above everyone else. Just you and this feeling that you just need someone to put a hand on your shoulder and turn you around, to look at you and tell you the three words that matter most: You're not alone. Don't be scared. I am here. It's not about love or lust or any other inadequate word; it's about being touched and realising that you are no longer by yourself. ~ Chloe Rattray

She glowered at him. 'For your information, in the past week, I have been, oh let's see, nearly raped,
kidnapped, tied to a bedpost, forced to cough my voice into nothingness-"
"That was your own fault."
"Not to mention the fact that I embarked upon a life of crime by breaking and entering into my former
home, was nearly trapped by my odious guardian-"
"Don't forget your sprained ankle," he supplied.
"Ooooohhhh! I could kill you!" Another bar of soap flew by his head, grazing his ear.
"Madam, you are certainly doing an able job of trying."
"And now!" she fairly yelled. "And now, as if all of that weren't undignified enough, I am forced to live
for a week in a bloody bathroom! ~ Julia Quinn

When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too.

"He's miffed."

"Yep."

We get out of the car and she turns so fast there's a breeze. "I should go find Penny. 'Bye."

I call after her. "Chicken!"

She just waves her hand over her shoulder.

Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering.

It's a Mega Pounder with cheese.

"I got you a burger."

James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn't throw it away.

He turns to one of the men behind him. "Mick, bring it here."

Mick - a big, truck-size bloke - brings him a brown paper bag. And James's cold blue eyes turn back to me.

"After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a children's leash - the type you see on ankle-biters at amusement parks, with a deranged-looking monkey sticking its head out of a backpack, his mouth wide and gaping, like he's about to eat whoever's wearin ~ Emma Chase

Anyway, that guy. This is all his damned fault. It's his fault I'm bent over the edge of the bed with my red satin panties hanging from my one ankle. It's his fault I've got a little hot, gooey cum dripping from my chin. It's his fault my heart is still pounding from my first non-DIY orgasm. My first thundering, shuddering orgasm that I didn't tease out with my wet, dripping fingers, the corner of the dryer or 'Jumbo', the 7-inch ribbed black dildo I keep as my shameful little secret, tucked in the gap between my mattress and the headboard.

...

Fuck you, Michael Cera. Fuck you hard.

Sincerely,

Jill Travers ~ Aya Fukunishi

You can be careful as far as you can, but you never know when you're going to fall over and break your ankle. It's like when you drive a car, you don't think about crashing, do you? ~ Andy Murray

The past will always drag around your ankle, a snapped shackle time cannot pry loose. ~ Brooke Bolander

Raising people is not some lark. It's serious work with serious repercussions. It's air-traffic control. You can't step out for a minute; you can barely pause to scratch your ankle. ~ Kelly Corrigan

No man can put a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck. ~ Frederick Douglass

I had to think about ankle torsion, where the screws are on the ski, how that affects the forces going into the ski and how the ski bends, your leverage points. It was a challenge. I was having the greatest time, making the mistakes, crashing. ~ Bode Miller

It's surely one of the strange phenomena of this decade that the most thoughtful gift you can bring a date is not flowers, chocolates, or ankle-length pearls, but a note from your doctor. ~ Linda Sunshine

If there comes a little thaw, Still the air is chill and raw, Here and there a patch of snow, Dirtier than the ground below, Dribbles down a marshy flood; Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows while you sing, This is Spring. ~ Christopher Pearse Cranch

The only difference I ever found between the Democratic leadership and the Republican leadership is that one of them is skinning you from the ankle up and the other, from the ear down. ~ Huey Long

Reth had the nerve to laugh, the silver bell sound disappearing into the voice around us. "Fortunately for me you have never excelled at observation."
"Yeah? Observe this." I snaked my foot out in front of his and caught it around his ankle. He stumbled and nearly fell, and I cackled with laughter. Sure, it was immature, but when trying to get revenge on faeries you couldn't kill, the little things made all the difference. ~ Kiersten White

Then set out after repeated warning the grizzly
Afghan Duryodhan
in blazing sun
removed sandal-wood blooded stone-attired guards
spearing gloom brought out a substitute of dawn
crude hell's profuse experience
Huh
a night-waken drug addict beside head of feeble earth
from the cruciform The Clapper could not descend due to lockdown
wet-eyed babies were smiling
.
in a bouquet of darkness in forced dreams
The Clapper wept when learnt about red-linen boat's drowned passengers
in famished yellow winter
white lilies bloomed in hot coal tar
when in chiseled breeze
nickel glazed seed-kernel
moss layered skull which had moon on its shoulder scolded whole night
non-weeping male praying mantis in grass
bronze muscled he-men of Barbadoz
pressed their fevered forehead on her furry navel
.
in comb-flowing rain
floated on frowning waves
diesel sheet shadow whipped oceans
all wings had been removed from the sky
funeral procession of newspaperman's freshly printed dawn
lifelong jailed convict's eye in the keyhole
outside
in autumnal rice pounding pink ankle
Lalung ladies ~ Malay Roychoudhury

What happened to the alpha-wolf?"
"LEGOs."
"Legos?" It sounded Greek but I couldn't recall anything mythological with that name. Wasn't it an island?
"He was carrying a load of laundry into the basement and tripped on the old set of LEGOs his kids left on the stairs. Broke two ribs and an ankle. ~ Ilona Andrews

You don't have a monopoly on suffering, okay?" I say, my voice rising. "Other people get to be mad about their lives. Your broken leg doesn't make my sprained ankle hurt any less. ~ Katie Henry

As we gossiped over grilled cheese, I rubbed my bare ankle against hers. Not to be provocative or possessive. Just because it felt good to have that spot on me touch that spot on her. ~ David Levithan

When Jack Swagger copies my Ankle Lock and Randy Orton does my Angle Slam, it's disrespectful. I didn't come up with the Ankle Lock; Ken Shamrock came up with the Ankle Lock, but I waited until he retired to do the Ankle Lock. ~ Kurt Angle

A djinn I am.
My fetters may be broke but
still they wrap round wrist and
ankle:
every djinn's possessed.

The comet they speak of and know
not where it falls,
the love that glows like a lantern
down a road which
means nothing to the fearful:
Those passing see it as a mount,
which keeps you clear of sword
and spike
but holds you up to arrows;
I pass, my shade lashed to my foot,
love eating my soul like an acid;
The dunes change places in the
night without my leave;
The walls around me and their
guards in watches
cannot halt the full moon's com-
ing to my heart
before it's even risen and I've seen
it and
its silver floods my soul.
Here it is with a mattock, shatter-
ing everything inside me.

Translated by Robin Moger ~ Hermes

With great care, Amy opened the cellar door.
With ladylike demeanor, she descended the stairs. And as her reward, she had the satisfaction of catching His Mighty Lordship sitting on the cot, his knee crooked sideways and his ankle pulled toward him, cursing at the manacle.
"I got it out of your own castle," she said.
Northcliff jumped like a lad caught at a mischief. "My . . . castle?" At once he realized what she meant. "Here on the island, you mean. The old ancestral pile."
"Yes." She strolled farther into the room. "I went down into the dungeons, crawled around in among the spider webs and the skeleton of your family's enemies - "
"Oh, come on." He straightened his leg. "There aren't any skeletons."
"No," she admitted.
"We had them removed years ago."
For one instant, she was shocked. So his family had been ruthless murderers! Then she realized he was smirking. The big, pompous jackass was making a jest of her labors. "If I could have found manacles that were in good shape I'd have locked both your legs to the wall."
"Why stop there? Why not my hands, too?" He moved his leg to make the chain clink loudly. "Think of your satisfaction at the image of my starving, naked body chained to the cold stone - "
"Starving?" She cast a knowledgeable eye at the empty breakfast tray, then allowed her lips to curve into a sarcastic smile.
"You'd love a look at my naked body, though, wouldn't you?" He fixed his gaze on her, and for on ~ Christina Dodd

I watch Mustang slink toward me along the rampart. She limps ever so slightly from a sprained ankle, yet she's all grace. Her hair is a nest of twigs; circles ring her eyes. She smiles at me. She is beautiful. Like Eo. From ~ Pierce Brown

Maggots are freaky hideous,' I say, getting up. I try to salvage some dignity, but I can't help but shiver and shake my hands in the air. It's an instinctive impulse, one I'm not up for resisting right now.
'You've fought off a gang of men twice your size, killed an angel warrior, stood up to an archangel, and wielded an angel sword.' Raffe cocks his head. 'But you scream like a little girl when you see a maggot?'
'It's not just a maggot,' I say. 'A hand burst out of the ground and grabbed my ankle. And maggots crawled out of it and tried to burrow into me. You would scream like a little girl too if that happened to you.'
'They didn't try to burrow into you. They were just crawling. It's what maggots do. They crawl.'
'You don't know anything. ~ Susan Ee

about to knock again when the inside door is pulled open to reveal a sinewy woman dressed in what appears to be layers of old sweaters and an ankle-length denim skirt. Her long hair held back in an elastic that leaves the ends bunched and brittle as the head of a broom. Brown eyes wide and alive, ~ Andrew Pyper

How tranquil it was, wading ankle-deep in flowers, pink snow, cascading, tumbling down, tingeing the earthen pathways ~ Suzy Davies

shoulder again and she was laughing. "You can rot in hell, Dillon." Dillon said, "For God's sake, no," and half-slipped to the floor. "Now don't be silly, old friend, make it easy on yourself. Just get up." Which Dillon did, at the same time he was drawing the Colt from the ankle holster, ramming the muzzle into the side of Rupert Dauncey's head, and pulling the trigger. There was an explosion of bone fragments and blood, the hollow point cartridge doing its work, and Dauncey dropped the Walther and fell back against the side of the door. Dillon pushed and sent him out into space. He grabbed at the Airstair door and closed it. He turned and found that Kate Rashid had put the Eagle on automatic and was reaching for her purse. She took out a small pistol, but he lunged, wrestled it from her, and tossed it to the back of the plane. She was hysterical with rage and ~ Jack Higgins