Brushing Quotes

One of the odder services the Villa Candessa provided for its long-term guests was its "likeness cakes" - little frosted simulacra fashioned after the guests by the inn's Camorr-trained pastry sculptor. On a silver tray beside the looking glass, a little sweetbread Locke (with raisin eyes and almond-butter blond hair) sat beside a rounder Jean with dark chocolate hair and beard. The baked Jean's legs were already missing. A few moments later, Jean was brushing the last buttery crumbs from the front of his coat. "Alas, poor Locke and Jean." "They died of consumption," said Locke. ~ Scott Lynch

You don't have to call me that, you know," she said, brushing her hair back from her shoulders. "There was a time when you called me Winter."

He leaned his elbows on the enclosure wall. "There was also a time when I could come visit you without feeling like I was supposed to toss bread crumbs to earn your favor."

"Bread crumbs? Do I look like a goose?"

He tilted his head to the side. "You don't look like an arctic wolf, either, but that's what the plaque tells me I'm looking at."

Winter leaned back on her hands. "I will not play fetch," she said, "but I might howl if you ask nicely."

He grinned. "I've heard your howl. It's not very wolf-like, either."

"I've been practicing."

"You won't bite me if I come in there, will you?"

"I make no guarantees."

Jacin hopped over the rail and came to sit beside her. She raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like an arctic wolf, either."

"I also don't howl." He considered. "Though I might play fetch, depending on the prize."

"The prize is another game of fetch."

"You drive a hard bargain. ~ Marissa Meyer

He was part of the night, the creatures known to him, the restless, untamed land matching his hungry soul. Beau watched him,observing the utter stillness marking the dangerous predator, the merciless eyes moving constantly,missing nothing.The powerful, well-muscled body was deceptively relaxed but ready for anything. The face,harshy sensual, beautifully cruel, was etched with hardship and knowledge,rish and peril. Gregori stayed in the shadows,but the silver menace of his gaze glowed with a strange iridescent light in the dark of the night.
Beau took the opportunity to study Savannah. She was everything up close that she had been on the stage, even more. Ethereal, mysterious, sexy. They very stuff of men's fantasies. Her face was flawless, lit up with joy, her eyes clear,like beautiful blue star sapphires. Her laughter was musical and infectious. She was small and innocent beside the predator in his boat. She would touch Gregori's arm, point to something on the embankment, her body brushing his lightly,and each time it happened,those pale eyes would warm to molten mercury and caress fer face intimately,hungrily. ~ Christine Feehan

Amity was the cold, steady gaze of a double-barreled shotgun, bearing down. She was the glint of pinprick pupils gleaming through a night-lit window, the rythmic blast of a door left banging in a gale wind. The slither of a flesh-flayed limb beneath a bed skirt, a welcome note etched in blood. Amity's forever was reflected in the glimmering edge of an ax, in the rushing footprints, the twitching tail, the brushing fingertips of a zephyr, a cipher, a wordless, formless shape. ~ Micol Ostow

But later that night, as I brush my teeth in the bathroom, I overhear Baba and Thaya Jaan talking in the guest room next door. "

All this music all the time. You shouldn't let Amina do so much singing and piano," Thaya Jaan says.

I stop brushing and strain to hear every word, trying to follow.

"But, Bhai Jaan, she is so talented. Her music teachers say she is really quite gifted."

"Yes, but music is forbidden in Islam. It's a waste of time and has no benefit. Instead of filling her head with music, she should focus on memorizing Quran."

The toothpaste suddenly tastes bitter. I spit it out and wait to hear what Baba will say. Surely he'll say the things he's always told me, like how music makes him feel closer to God and that my talent is a gift from Allah.

But all Baba says is, "Yes, Bhai Jaan," and then he stays quiet.

I am numb. Is Thaya Jaan right? Am I doing something wrong? ~ Hena Khan

He squinted up at the sky and quickly rose to his feet, sheathing his knife. "Rosie," he beckoned to her but kept his eyes on the shadows that hung low brushing the top of the keep. "Rosie, come inside. There's a storm almost ready to hit."
She skipped over to him and slumped her shoulders, but he teased a grin out of her the next moment. "I'll fill your bucket for you if you set up the blanket house with Maire."
She shoved the bucket into his hands and entered the house, sing-songing for her sister. ~ Kate Willis

Time is precious and should be spent doing things that make you happy, not brushing those very moments aside. That's when you really die, and I plan on living. ~ Katelin LaMontagne

Holly died without a friend to hold her hand. Artemis felt her go, another gift of the magic. He kept on counting, brushing away the tears on his cheeks. ~ Eoin Colfer

He makes a face and tosses the flower at me. It lands on my cheek, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. I could lie out here all day, not moving an inch, feeling the sun above and the grass below. With a contented sigh, I stretch my arms wide, raking the grass with my fingers - and find myself brushing Aladdin's hand with my own. I pull it away quickly, my cheeks warming. He laughs a little.
"Sometimes," he says, "I forget you're supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen."
"I do not!" I sit up and glare at him.
He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment's hesitation, I reach over and flick them away.
Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze. ~ Jessica Khoury

Brushing up on your short game at the practice area is fine and good, but taking it with you to the golf course - when your score is really on the line - is another story. ~ Ernie Els

Maybe I'm being selfish, but I choose you." He leaned over, lips brushing mine as he whispered, "I always choose you. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Laurel lifted his chin until their faces were even. Tamani closed his eyes and she could feel his jaw trembling under her hands. She brushed her lips over his, reveling in the velvety softness of his mouth against hers. When he didn't pull away, she pressed more firmly, knowing, somehow, that she had to move slowly, convince his tattered soul so carefully that she meant every word.
'I love you. And I'm asking you...' She opened her mouth slightly and gently scraped her teeth along his bottom lip, feeling his whole body shudder. 'No,' she amended, 'I'm begging you, to come be with me.' And she pressed her mouth against his and murmured, 'Forever.'
For a few seconds he didn't respond.
Then a groan escaped his throat and he thrust his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth to his with a fierce hunger.
'Kiss me,' she whispered. 'And don't stop.'
His mouth enveloped hers again and their shared sweetness tasted like ambrosia as he caressed her eyelids, her ears her neck, and Laurel marveled at the strangeness of the world. She had loved him, had always loved him. She had even known it, somehow.
'Are you sure?' Tamani murmured, his lips softly grazing her ears.
'I am so sure,' Laurel said, her hands clutching the front of his shirt.
'What changed?' He pushed her hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her temples, just brushing her eyelashes.
Laurel sobered. 'When I brought you the potion, I thought I was too late. And I had ~ Aprilynne Pike

Jake shuts the van's back doors and lies down next to me. He's really close, so close I can feel him breathing on the nape of my neck. I could put more space between us, but instead I scoot backward, leaning into him, my back pressed into the pleasant warmth of his front. Jake holds his breath for a moment, but he doesn't say anything. And he doesn't move away ... He moves so his mouth is right under my ear, brushing the skin there, and one of his hands slides up, resting on my rib cage. My whole body tingles as he starts to sing softly into my ear. ~ Hannah Harrington

There, there, sweetin'," he murmured into her hair.

"He loved me, he truly did," she gasped.

"I know he did," Michael said.

"And I loved him."

"Mm-hmm."

She raised her head, glaring angrily. "You don't even believe in love. Why are you agreeing with me?"

He laughed.

"Because" - he leaned down and licked at the tears on her cheeks, his lips brushing softly against her sensitive skin as he spoke, "ye've bewitched and bespelled me, my sweet Silence, didn't ye know? I'll agree that the sky is pink, that the moon is made o' marzipan and sugared raisins, and that mermaids swim the muddy waters o' the Thames, if ye'll only stop weepin'. Me chest breaks apart and gapes wide open when I see tears in yer pretty eyes. Me lungs, me liver, and me heart cannot stand to be thus exposed."

She stopped breathing. She simply inhaled and stopped, looking at him in wonder. His lips were quirked in a mocking smile, but his eyes - his fathomless black eyes - seemed to hold a great pain as if his strong chest really had been split open. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt

Are you all right, he whispered, his lips brushing the tips of my spiky hair. Granted, I knew he was only being discreet so as to save poor Hillary from being reamed again, but my knees didn't know the difference. They betrayed me, buckling under his hot breath on my ear and the deep whisper that tickled my senses. ~ Gwenn Wright

You held me down, but I got up
Hey!
Alrighty brushing off the dust
You hear my voice
You hear that sound
Like thunder gonna shake the ground
-Roar ~ Katy Perry

I thought you were going to stay away from me," she said.
He looked at her, this princess who seemed so dangerously sharp that he might cut himself just brushing against her shadow.
"I don't know how."
"Then don't. ~ Roshani Chokshi

Excellent," said Cinder, standing up and brushing off her hands. "I was beginning to worry we wouldn't have a pilot for when it's time to take Kai back to Earth. Now I just have to worry about not having a competent one. ~ Marissa Meyer

Do you know how beautiful you are? And not just this." He traced his finger along my jawline, the tip of his thumb brushing my bottom lip. "You've got this old soul, and it's serene and hushed and reminds me of the smell when it's storming outside."
"Mallory."
Because that was all the world was to me from that point on.
Mallory. ~ Nash Summers

Is - is any of this real?" she asked. "Are you real?"
He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing her jaw.
"Even if this is a dream," he whispered, "I'm not."
Isobel's eyes widened, recognizing those words as her own, the same ones she had once uttered to him. She reached for him, her arms twining around his neck, drawing him closer so his scent poured over her, that combination of incense, citrus, and dried leaves overriding the funeral funeral smell of the crowding flowers.
"Don't leave," she breathed.
"I'm here," he whispered. "Right here. Waiting. ~ Kelly Creagh

I closed my eyes and he kissed my eyelids, barely brushing them with his lips. I felt safe, at home. I felt as if here, against his body, was the only place in which I belonged. The only place I had ever wanted to be. We lay in silence for a while, holding each other, our skin merging, our breathing synchronized. I felt as if silence might allow the moment to last for ever, which would still not be enough. ~ S.J. Watson

Fear and excitement are chemically the same. Sadness is a hair away from melancholy. Melancholy is almost pleasure, brushing against happiness. It's all the fucking same. ~ Catherine Hanrahan

And so, Navani painted a prayer onto the stones themselves, sending her attendants for more ink. She paced off the size of the glyph as she continued its border, making it enormous, spreading her ink onto the tan rocks.
Soldiers gathered around, Sadeas stepping from his canopy, watching her paint, her back to the sun as she crawled on the ground and furiously dipped her brushpen into the ink jars. What was a prayer, if not creation? Making something where nothing existed. Creating a wish out of despair, a plea out of anguish. Bowing one's back before the Almighty, and forming humility from the empty pride of a human life.
Something from nothing. True creation.
Her tears mixed with the the ink. She went through four jars. She crawled, holding her safehand to the ground, brushing the stones and smearing ink on her cheeks when she wiped the tears. When she finally finished, she knelt back before a glyph twenty paces long, emblazoned as if in blood. The wet ink reflected sunlight, and she fired it with a candle; the ink was made to burn whether wet or dry. The flames burned across the length of the prayer, killing it and sending its soul to the Almighty. ~ Brandon Sanderson

Sorry, he said, kissing me lightly once more and brushing my hair from my face. I'd never seen a less sorry person in my life. ~ Annabel Monaghan

I have told people that writing this book has been like brushing away dirt from a fossil. What a load of shit. It has been like hacking away at a freezer with a screwdriver. ~ Amy Poehler

What are these?" Maxon asked, brushing across the tips of my fingers as we walked.
"Calluses. They're from pressing down on violin strings four hours a day."
"I've never noticed them before."
"Do they bother you?" I was the lowest caste of the six girls left, and I doubted any of them had hands like mine.
Maxon stopped moving and lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing the tiny, worn tips.
"On the contrary. I find them rather beautiful." I felt myself blush. "I've seen the world – admittedly mostly through bulletproof glass or from the tower of some ancient castle – but I've seen it. And I have access to the answers of a thousand questions at my disposal. But this small hand here?" He looked deeply into my eyes. "This hand makes sounds incomparable to anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I think I only dreamed that I heard you play the violin, it was so beautiful. These calluses are proof that it was real. ~ Kiera Cass

And you're about to pay for that, baby." Furi spun Syn around and pushed his chest against the door. "Furious," Syn groaned when he felt his sweater being roughly yanked over his head. Furi's hand pressed hard into the center of his back, keeping him pinned against the front door. "Yes, punish me." Syn froze when Furi's assault on his body stopped immediately after he said that. Oh no. Furi's hair was brushing against Syn's face as he leaned in to whisper in his ear, "You ever been handcuffed, Sergeant? Restrained." Syn shivered, his cock leaking in his tight jeans. "Oh fuck." "Don't ~ A.E. Via

I was looking at the sensoriums of heroes. I was sensing through the eyes and nose of Shelley and John Webster, and using the hearing and touch of Ginsberg and Duncan and Kerouac–– and the jazz lucidity of Creeley, and the Doug fir of Snyder, and the almost mystical, physical perceptions of D.H. Lawrence and of Olson himself. I was convinced that poetry was about, by, and from, the meat, that poetry was the product of flesh brushing itself against experience. We are seekers moving in the Tathagata brushing ourselves against the universe of the real, solid illusions. It is by our touches that we become ourselves –– as our ancestors became us and as we became our maturing, sharpening, brightening selves. ~ Michael McClure

Everyone in this town is afraid of me. Do I scare you, Elizabeth?" he whispered, his breaths brushing against my lips.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I see you."
The coldness in his stare softened for a split second, almost as if he was confused by those four words. But I did see him. I saw past the hate in his stare and noticed the hurt in his frown. I saw the broken parts that somehow matched my own. ~ Brittainy C. Cherry

Umm," he moaned, as he started his rhythmic movements underneath me; raising me up and down with his hands at the speed and tempo he wanted. I leaned forward a bit so that my breasts were brushing against his chest; my hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of our lovemaking increased. He raised me up and down; up and down; my hips gyrated in a circular motion making sure the head of his beautiful cock was hitting my magic spot over and over again. My whimpers of pleasure were getting louder; his breathing was coming faster… ~ Andrea Smith

The night was alive. So thickly was the snow falling that, brushing against a human face in its descent, it resembled the fur of a great beast. The fur was less cold than suffocating: it occupied space normally taken up by air and sound. But when the sledge stopped, the staid brazen tongue of a bell could be distantly heard. ~ Brian W. Aldiss

She lay over him, her lips brushing his as she whispered, "I can't get close enough… love. ~ Lisa Kessler

Generals were early to bed, early to rise, always brushing their teeth after every meal, never skipping a morning shave. All they had to do was sit back in Nagano drawing up their battle plans. One order from them and us mortals on the front lines would move like pawns across a chessboard to our grisly fates. I'd like to see just one of them here with us in the mud. We had our own rules down here. Which is probably why they stayed away. If one of them showed, I'd see to it a stray bullet put them on the Killed In Action list. ~ Hiroshi Sakurazaka

You really are a know-it-all pain in the ass," I announced snarkily, brushing by him rudely. I stopped quickly at Ellie and Adam to say, "I'm happy for you." And then I hurried by them down the hall to the bathroom to get away from Braden and his perceptive, growly, inflexible ass. ~ Samantha Young

Fly high... Where the only chill that cuts through you is the wind. Where your heart pounds from exhilaration not disappointment and after ascending through cloudy wisps, brushing your wings, there is only the clear blue horizon beckoning you forth.... ~ Virginia Alison

Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Micha was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, 'We're staying, we're staying, we're staying overnight! We're drying! We're drying! We're drying on the line! ~ Antonia Michaelis

Would we get on well together, do you think?" she asked dubiously, daring to play with the knot of his necktie, loosening the gray watered-silk fabric with her fingertips. "We're opposites in nearly every regard."
Inclining his head, Marcus nuzzled the tender inside of her wrist, his lips brushing the blue-tinted veins that lay like fine lacework beneath the skin. "I am coming to believe that taking a wife who is exactly like myself would be the worst conceivable decision I could make."
"Perhaps you're right," Lillian mused, letting her fingertips curl into the gleaming close-cut hair at the side of his head. "You need a wife who won't let you have your way all the time. One who…" She paused with a little shiver as his tongue touched a delicate spot near her inner elbow. "Who," she continued, struggling to gather her thoughts, "would be willing to take you down a notch when you become too pompous…"
"I am never pompous," Marcus said, drawing the edge of her gown away from the vulnerable curve of her throat.
Her breath hitched as he began to kiss the wing of her collarbone. "What would you call it when you carry on as if you always know best, and anyone who disagrees with you is an idiot?"
"Most of the time, the people who disagree with me do happen to be idiots. I can't help that. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Emil on top of me, his breath heavy on my neck. As our eyes met and held, the playfulness turned into something else entirely, something with a lot more heat. Emil leaned in, barely brushing his lips against my own he whispered, "We were good at this then too."
As his soft lips met mine, my entire body felt molten - liquid and hot, moving seamlessly with his. ~ Angela Corbett

Yes," said Jalem as he returned to his brushing. "You've obviously done a superb job so far. Tell me, do I need to make an appointment to try and kill Drothe, or is it simply on a first-come, first-served basis? I can never keep kin etiquette straight. ~ Douglas Hulick

So pink and swollen,Jean-Baptiste whispered,his fingers easing her lips apart,one brushing over the sensitive bud of her clit. ~ Laura Wright

Your stomach isn't the boss of you,' Mel says evenly.
'Oh,' Jared says, realizing. 'Sorry-'
Mel shakes her head, brushing it off. 'Not what I meant. Your heart isn't the boss of you other. Thinks it is. Isn't. You can always choose. Always.'
'You can't choose not to feel,' Henna says.
'But you can choose how to act. ~ Patrick Ness

A jacketless Murdoch resumes his quiz, brushing off the assault as 'an overexcited autograph-hunter wanting to have his shaving foam signed. ~ Andy Zaltzman

Your mother stands against everything my parents believe in," I say. "But I'm not my parents."
"Aria," Hunter whispers into my ear.
"Yes?"
"Just kiss me."
We press our lips together gentle, and it's like I am alive, on fire, like I can do anything in the world. I know this because he's a mystic, but there's something more familiar, something safe and sexy and irresistible about the way his lips feel, his tongue brushing lightly against mine. Our passion is like what's described in my love letters: it's like coming home, finally, when I never even knew I'd been away. ~ Theo Lawrence

NOURISH YOUR HAIR:
1. There are a number of 'kitchen recipes' for feeding hair. It needs the contents of your refrigerator just as much as your skin does. Right back to mayonnaise! Olive oil, eggs, and lemon juice. Massage the mixture into your hair, let it stay on for ten or fifteen minutes, then rinse it off with cool water. Cool - or you'll have scrambled eggs on your head.
2. For years I washed my daughter' hair with raw eggs, never soap or shampoo. I wet their hair fist and then rubbed in six whole eggs, one by one - a trick I learned from Katherine. Hepburn. (Four eggs will do for short hair, but theirs was long.) Some people use eggs beaten up with a jigger of rum; others mix an egg with red wine.
3. Hot oils is good for dry hair. Apply it with the fingertips and then wrap your head in a warm towel. Keep changing the oil for an hour, to keep it hot and penetrating. Then shampoo.
4. I believe in brushing. I made my girls give their hair the old-fashioned hundred strokes every night, using two brushes, and bending forward from the waist. It stimulates hair grows, and the rush of blood to the face is an added benefit. I pull my hair gently to encourage growth too. ~ Joan Crawford

Sometimes on late summer nights, when the sky is perfect and our parents are in a good enough mood to let us, we meet up to take a midnight walk through the field beyond our houses. It's always peaceful and quiet, a perfect time to stargaze into the velvety black sky dotted with millions of crystals that make up the Milky Way. The warm summer night's breeze ripples the tall grass and makes a small brushing sound that echoes throughout the valley. In the distance, the Appalachian Mountains loom like giant gray ghosts cast in the silvery glow of the midnight Moon. They wrap around our little valley like a scarf, and the hollers that seem close in the daytime seem like a lifetime away in the dark. We become engulfed by the thousands of fireflies that dance around in the steamy mist that radiates off of the ground because of the humidity. Those are the beautiful midsummer nights in Valia Springs that I will never forget. ~ Jacquelyn Eubanks

His warm breath, smelling of clean spice, stroked her cheek and ear. A thrilling shiver coursed over her, the wound on her arm only a minor sting. Then his lips - those full, sensuous lips - grazed her jaw and the soft spot behind her ear, the hairs of his beard brushing her sensitive skin. Her shivers locked her muscles tight. A bolt of tantalizing heat shot down her center.
He leveraged closer, all that warrior brawn pressing hard against her side, linen rasping over skin, an exquisite feeling.
Yes. This. ~ Angela Quarles

Wanting his mind on other matters, she deliiberately challenged his statement. "You don't know so much about me. There was a man once. He was crazy about me." She tried to look wordly. "Absolutely crazy for me."
His answering laughter was warm against her neck, her throat. His lips touched the skin over her pulse and skimmed lightly up to her ear. "Are you, by any chance, referring to that foppish boy with the orange hair and spiked collar? Dragon something?"
Savannah gasped and pulled away to glare at im. "How could you possibly know about him? I dated him last year."
Gregori nuzzled her neck, inhaling her fragrance, his hand sliding over her shoulder, moving gently over her satin skin to take possession of her breast. "He wore boots and rode a Harley." His breath came out in a rush as his palm cupped the soft weight, his thumb brushing her nipple into a hard peak.
The feel of his large hand-so strong, so warm and possessive on her-sent heat curling through her body. Desire rose sharply. He was seducing her with tenderness. Savannah didn't want it to happen. Her body felt better, but the soreness was there to remind her where this could all lead. Her hand caught at his wrist. "How did you find out about Dragon?" she asked, desperate to distract him, to distract herself. How could he make her body burn for his when she was so afraid of him, of having sex with him?
"Making love," he corrected, his voice husky, caressing, betraying the ease with which h ~ Christine Feehan

I was tired enough to sleep, but I fought against the weariness. I wasn't going to miss a second of the time I had with him. Now and then, as he talked with Alice, he would lean down suddenly and kiss me―his glass-smooth lips brushing against my hair, my forehead, the tip of my nose. Each time it was like an electric shock to my long dormant heart. The sound of its beating seemed to fill the entire room.
It was heaven―right smack in the middle of hell. ~ Stephenie Meyer

You shouldn't pull out the chair for me, or even open doors for me," she told him.
He pulled back slightly to look at her, his face only inches from hers. Even in the dim light, she could see that his eyes were brown and only brown. There were no flecks of gold or green, just one single, deep shade of chocolate.
He studied her intensely then leaned toward her again, his breath warm against her neck as he spoke. "You don't think Alice Plotkin deserves that kind of respect?"
"She's supposed to be invisible."
"She's not invisible to me."
Again, he pulled back, and the warmth in his eyes seemed to heat her from within. His gaze flicked down to her mouth, and Alessandra knew with complete certainty that he was going to kiss her. In just a moment, he was going to pull her toward him and kiss her. She couldn't think of anything she wanted more.
Cutting his hair had been torture. He'd sat there, without a shirt on, Ace bandage around his ribs, obliviously sexy. She'd touched the hard muscles on his shoulders and back more than once, using the lame excuse of brushing cut hair off him.
Sometimes - okay, more than sometimes - the hair had been imaginary.
Touching Harry was like touching electricity. She hadn't wanted to stop. His hair was so soft and thick, his skin silk over steel. ~ Suzanne Brockmann

I just got around to brushing my teeth today, and now my asshole smells minty fresh. ~ Jarod Kintz

I avoided my eyes while brushing my teeth, then climbed into bed with a copy of _The Blind Assassin_, because if you're not with the book you want, you might as well want the book you're with.
--Melissa Albert, _The Hazel Wood_ ~ Melissa Albert

Mikhail, I don't know what you want." She didn't know what she wanted either.
He stood up then, power and grace combined. His shadow reached her before he did. His strength was enormous, but his touch was gentle as he pulled her to her feet. His hands slid up her arms, rested lightly on her shoulders, thumbs stroking the pulse in her neck. His touch sent warmth curling in her abdomen.
She was so small beside him, so fragile and vulnerable. "Do not try to leave me, little one. We need one another." His dark head bent lower, his mouth brushing her eyelids, sending little darts of fire licking along her skin. "You make me remember what living is," he whispered in his mesmerizing voice. His mouth found the corner of hers, and a jolt of electricity sizzled through her body.
Raven reached up to touch the shadowed line of his jaw, to place a hand on the heavy muscles of his chest in an attempt to put space between them. "Listen to me, Mikhail." Her voice was husky. "We both know what loneliness is, what real isolation can do to a person. It's beyond my imagination that I can be this close to you, physically touch you, and not be swamped with unwanted burdens. But we can't do this."
Amusement crept into the dark fire of his eyes, a hint of tenderness. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. "Oh, I think we can." His black velvet voice was pure seduction, his smile frankly sensual. ~ Christine Feehan

Reading Chaucer is like brushing through the dewy grass at sunrise. ~ James Russell Lowell

He looks at me, the circle, then me again. "It's really you, right? I didn't create some simulacrum that was inhabited by a demon? Prove it's you. Say something only Spencer would say."
"Like what?"
"Say something annoying."
I think about it. "Well, you claim to be British, there's really only one thing I can think of."
"That being?"
I lean in close, my lips gently brushing his ear. "Soccer."
He shoves me away. "Fuck. You. It's foot ... Yeah, it's you. ~ Vaughn R. Demont

I stood and went to her side. Taking her hands, I tugged her onto her feet and wrapped my arms around her waist. I lowered my head, brushing my lips across her cheek. "I'm serious about you, Avery. If you want me for real, you have me."
Shortcake pressed her palms to my chest. "I want you for real."
"Good to know." I slanted my lips over hers. "Because, if not, this would get a whole lot awkward. ~ J. Lynn

There's always a choice," Lucian reassured her. "Always." He kissed her
forehead softly. "I love you," he said. He lips trailed down her face, brushing slowly over her nose, across her eyelids. "I would stay with you forever, until the end of
Time. ~ Anna White

Outside in the yard, Arsinoe follows Jules past the chicken coops as she and Camden stretch their sore limbs in the sun. Then she darts off into the woodpile.

"What are you digging for?" Jules asks.

"Nothing." But Arsinoe returns with a book, brushing bits of bark off the soft green cover. She holds it up and Jules frowns. It is a book of poison plants, lifted discreetly from one of the shelves in Luke's bookshop.

"You shouldn't be messing about with that," Jules says. "And what if someone sees you with it?"

"Then they'll think I'm trying to get revenge, for what was done to you."

"That won't work. Reading a book to out-poison the poisoners? You can't even poison a poisoner, can you?"

"Say 'poison' one more time, Jules. ~ Kendare Blake

Ingrid released a pent-up breath against Luc's shoulder, her nose brushing against him. He let go of her wrist, feeling absurd that he'd been so worried about Vincent's presence. The Notre Dame gargoyle was a rotten crab apple with antihuman sentiments, and just like a rotten crab apple, he could be taken care of with one solid boot stomping. ~ Page Morgan

It's the centuries, Scarlett darling. All the life lived there, all the joy and all the sorrow, all the feasts and battles, they're in the air around and the land beneath you. It's time, years beyond our counting weighing without weight on the earth. You cannot see it or smell it or hear it or touch it, but you feel it brushing your skin and speaking without sound. Time. And mystery. ~ Alexandra Ripley

He concluded the speech with an irritated motion of his hands.
Unfortunately, Evie had been conditioned by too many encounters with Uncle Peregrine to discern between angry gestures and the beginnings of a physical attack. She flinched instinctively, her own arms flying up to shield her head. When the expected pain of a blow did not come, she let out a breath and tentatively lowered her arms to find Sebastian staring at her with blank astonishment.
Then his face went dark.
"Evie," he said, his voice containing a bladelike ferocity that frightened her. "Did you think I was about to…Christ. Someone hit you. Someone hit you in the past - who the hell was it?" He reached for her suddenly - too suddenly - and she stumbled backward, coming up hard against the wall. Sebastian went very still. "Goddamn," he whispered. Appearing to struggle with some powerful emotion, he stared at her intently. After a long moment, he spoke softly. "I would never strike a woman. I would never harm you. You know that, don't you?"
Transfixed by the light, glittering eyes that held hers with such intensity, Evie couldn't move or make a sound. She started as he approached her slowly. "It's all right," he murmured. "Let me come to you. It's all right. Easy." One of his arms slid around her, while he used his free hand to smooth her hair, and then she was breathing, sighing, as relief flowed through her. Sebastian brought her closer against him, his mouth brushing her temple. "Who was it ~ Lisa Kleypas

As I descend the stairs, I can't help brushing my fingers along the unblemished white marble walls. So cold and beautiful. Even in the Capitol, there's nothing to match the magnificence of this old building. But there is no give to the surface - only my flesh yields, my warmth taken. Stone conquers people every time. ~ Suzanne Collins

Sweet baby Jesus, Blue Eyes was ...
He was gorgeous in all the ways that made girls do stupid things. He was tall, a good head or two taller than me and broad at the shoulders, but tapered at the waist. An athlete's body - like a swimmer's. Wavy black hair toppled over his forehead, brushing matching eyebrows. Broad cheekbones and wide, expressive lips completed the package created for girls to drool over. And with those sapphire-colored eyes, holy moley ... ~ J. Lynn

When you hear music so beautiful it gives you chills, those are angel wings brushing against you. ~ Tiffany Reisz

That's why I need a ride, Molly," his lip ring brushing the shell of her ear. "I don't know where you live. ~ Nalini Singh

Mara, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. And when you're ready for me to show you," he said, brushing my hair to the side, "I'm going to kiss you." His thumb grazed my ear and his hand curved around my neck. He leaned me backward and my eyes fluttered closed. I breathed in the scent of him as he leaned in and kissed the hollow under my ear. My pulse raced under his lips.
"And I won't settle for anything less. ~ Michelle Hodkin

I can't marry Tove!"
"Why ever not?" She batted her dark lashes at me.
"Because I don't love him!"
"Love is a fairy tale that manks tell their children so they'll have grandchildren," Elora said, brushing me off. ~ Amanda Hocking

It's a physical sickness. Etienne. How much I love him.
I love Etienne.
I love it when he cocks an eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing. I love listening to his boots clomp across my bedroom ceiling. I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent.
I love that.
I love sitting beside him in physics. Brushing against him during lands. His messy handwriting on our worksheets. I love handing him his backpack when class is over,because then my fingers smell like him for the next ten minutes. And when Amanda says something lame, and he seeks me out to exchange an eye roll-I love that,too. I love his boyish laugh and his wrinkled shirts and his ridiculous knitted hat. I love his large brown eyes,and the way he bites his nails,and I love his hair so much I could die.
There's only one thing I don't love about him. Her.
If I didn't like Ellie before,it's nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn't matter that I can count how many times we've met on one hand. It's that first image, that's what I can't shake. Under the streeplamp. Her fingers in his hair. Anytime I'm alone, my mind wanders back to that night. I take it further. She touches his chest. I take it further.His bedroom.He slips off her dress,their lips lock, their bodies press,and-oh my God-my temperature rises,and my stomach is sick.
I fantasize about their breakup. How he could hurt her,and she could hurt him,and ~ Stephanie Perkins

Run," he whispered. "Run."
"No, Rand," I said, brushing the dirt from his face. "I'm tired of running."
"Forgive me, please." He clutched my hand as his eyes beseeched me through tears of pain.
"You're forgiven."
He sighed once, then stopped breathing. The shine in his brown eyes dulled. I pulled his hood over his head. ~ Maria V. Snyder

And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do with me…was this?"
"Among other things," he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek.
"If I had known all this," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm certain I would have asked for additional concessions."
That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she'd realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. "What kind of additional concessions?" he asked, his face carefully expressionless.
She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. "A shorter betrothal," she whispered. "A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony."
A fresh surge of tenderness and profound pride swept through him at her sweetness and her candor, and he wrapped his arms tightly, protectively around her, smiling with joyous contentment. He had realized within minutes of meeting her that she was rare; he had known within hours that she was everything he wanted. Passionate and gentle, intelligent, sensitive, and witty. He loved all of her qualities, but he hadn't discovered the one he particularly admired until much later, and that was her courage. He was so proud of the courage that had enabled he to repeatedly confront adversity and adversaries-even when the adversary was him. ~ Judith McNaught

I decided at that moment that we would find a way to be together. The future was terrifying, but we would face it together ... our pelts brushing,our tails twined. Our hearts in love,forever. -CrowfeatherXLeafpool. Secrets of the Clans pg.122 ~ Erin Hunter

One more item slipped out of the bag. It was the metal identification tag from Maureen's cremation, the one I had burned with her just a few weeks before. These tags say with the body through the whole cremation, and leave stuck in with the ashes, which is how sacks of cremated remains found in old storage lockers and attics can still be identified years later. The tag I found was identical (except for the ID number) to the one I was putting in with Matthew now. I imagined his hands sinking into the grey mulch of Maureen's bones and finding the tag. I imagined him pulling the tag out and brushing the dusty metal against his cheek. It was a bizarre honor to have been a part of their last private moment together, the last act of their love story.
I cried (sobbed, if we're being honest) standing over Matthew's body, moments before it was loaded into the chamber. Even if all we love will die, I still ached for a love like theirs, to be adored so completely. Had not Disney guaranteed all of us such an ending? ~ Caitlin Doughty

Oscar's breath warmed the back of her head, his lips brushing against her hair, loosened from a braid. He drew a lock away from her neck and kissed the skin just beneath her earlobe, against the throb of her quickening pulse. Like the blackness outside the dome of lamplight, there seemed to be nothing more in the world than his lips, his touch, and the flood of heat consuming her.
With a gentle nudge, Oscar turned her toward him. He looked at her the way he had in the Grampains meadow-as if she was the most fascinating woman he'd ever seen. Under his gaze she felt fascinating, too. Capivating…wanted. He traced her jaw with his lips, kissing the angle of her neck ever so tenderly, as though he weren't certain she wanted him, too. Camille closed the inch of space left between them, her body pressing against his. The muscles in his chest and arms tightened. He was wanted, and she needed to show him how much. No one was there to watch, no one to judge, or tell her the lips caressing her were unworthy of tasting her skin.
With those very thoughts, Oscar's grip loosened. His lips retreated.
"This isn't right," he whispered, catching his breath.
Camille stared at him, her hurt and disappointment plain on her face.
"You're engaged, Camille." He looked around the room. His eyes rested on the bed. "I shouldn't be here."
All of a sudden, Camille completely and fully detested Randall. Good, sweet, well-meaning Randall infuriated her with his mere existence, ~ Angie Frazier

Ren," I whispered. "I want-"
And then I was leaning over him, my cropped hair brushing against his cheeks as I bent to kiss him. Our lips met and I felt like I was diving into oblivion. The kiss grew deep, inmediate and hungry. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, molding my body against his. ~ Andrea Cremer

Izzy, are you - " he began. His eyes flew wide, and he backed up fast enough to smack his head into the wall behind him. "What is he doing here?"
Isabelle tugged her tank top back down and glared at her brother. "You don't knock now?"
"It - It's my bedroom!" Alec spluttered. He seemed to be deliberately trying not to look at Izzy and Simon, who were indeed in a very compromising position. Simon rolled quickly off Isabelle, who sat up, brushing herself off as if for lint. Simon sat up more slowly, trying to hold the torn edges of his shirt together. "Why are all my clothes on the floor?" Alec said.
"I was trying to find something for Simon to wear," Isabelle explained. "Maureen put him in leather pants and a puffy shirt because he was being her romance-novel slave."
"He was being her what?"
"Her romance-novel slave," Isabelle repeated, as if Alec were being particularly dense.
Alec shook his head as if he were having a bad dream. "You know what? Don't explain. Just - put your clothes on, both of you. ~ Cassandra Clare

I'm all sweaty," she said again, even as her hands fisted in his hair.
"That's okay," he said silkily, his mouth brushing her temple. "We're going to get even more so. ~ Jill Shalvis

My poems always begin with a metaphor, but my way into the metaphor may be a word, an image, even a sound. And I rarely know the nature of the metaphor when I begin to write, but there is an attentiveness that a writer develops, a sudden alertness that is much like the feel of a fish brushing against a hook. ~ Stephen Dobyns

Evie," she murmured, reaching down to pull the covers up to her chest. "That's what my father and my friends call me."
"Are we finally ready for first names?" A teasing smile lurked in the corners of his lips. "Sebastian," he said softly.
Evie reached out slowly, as if he were a wild animal that might bolt if startled, and her fingers laced through his front locks with careful lightness. Brushing aside the swath of stray hair, she said in a low voice, "We're truly married now."
"Yes. God help you." He inclined his head, enjoying the stroke of her fingers in his hair. ~ Lisa Kleypas

If you ever try to change my memories again, I will slap you into next spring." I took a breath, knees shaking as I felt small beside him, my white dress brushing against his black trousers. Some women get flowers or poems from their suitors. I get insults and threats. ~ Dawn Cook

Maybe it was that I was broken. Maybe it was just that I was out of my mind. But it occurred to me that I was going to kiss him. The thought just arrived, certain knowledge, delivered from some greater, more knowledgeable place. I was going to kiss him. Stephen would not want to kiss me. He would back up in horror. And yet, I was still going to do it. I reached over, and I put my hand against his chest, then I moved closer. I could feel just the very tips of the gentle stubble on his cheek brushing against my skin.

"Rory," he said. But it was a quiet protest, and it went nowhere.

For the first few seconds, he didn't move - he accepted the kiss like you might accept a spoonful of medicine. Then I heard it, a sigh, like he had finally set down a heavy weight.

"I was pretty sure we were both kind of terrified, but I was completely sure that we were both doing this. We kissed slowly, very deliberately, coming together and then pulling apart and looking at each other. Then each kiss got longer, and then it didn't stop. Stephen put his hand just under the edge of my shirt, holding it on the spot where the scar was. Sometimes the skin around the scar got cold - now it was warm. Now it was alive. ~ Maureen Johnson

Forcing his lids down, he brought Blay's knuckles to his mouth, brushing a kiss against them. Then he gave himself up to sleep, letting himself fall into unconsciousness, knowing that, at least for the next few hours, he was safe in the arms of his one and only. ~ J.R. Ward

You drive me crazy," he growled.
She leaned down, her breasts brushing against his chest. "It's a good look for you. ~ Lisa Kessler

She heard footsteps brushing the grass, and had a consciousnesss that love was encircling her like a perfume. ~ Thomas Hardy

You really shouldn't have come," Lord Blackthorne said, his hand slipping across my face
to cup my jaw, fingers brushing my cheek. I shrieked, shrinking back and kicking at my captor
with stocking-covered feet. "Such a pretty child, in such an ugly place. Tell me, do you think
your dear husband would mind if I stole a kiss from the bride?"
Kicking him in the shin, I spun, making him release me. I climbed off whatever I'd landed
on, aiming my palms out and wishing that I could see what the heck was happening. Flames
from dozens of candles blinked at me as they lit with the power of my mind. Lord Blackthorne
touched my shoulder, his other hand curving around the bodice of my gown, toying with the
beading along the neckline. ~ Cyrese Covelli

All right." Shimmering droplets on her eyelashes, stars caught in transition. "But will you replace it with something for me?"
"Anything." His body was hers.
Brushing her fingers over his lips, she said, "You gave me an eagle. I want to give you one, too." A tender kiss pressed to the scar. "I want us to fly together. ~ Nalini Singh

I choose not to believe in superstitions. On race day, I have plans that I follow. I don't necessarily think about brushing my hair a certain way or doing certain things that make no sense as it relates to my performance. ~ Mark De Jonge

Leaning back, she studied me, knuckles brushing along my jaw. "You've turned into a man overnight, it seems. Just yesterday, this face was three years old with a samurai turtle Band-Aid on your cheek."
"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Mom. Way more awesome than samurais."
"You're right. Ninjas have masks and nut chucks."
Any other time I would have laughed. "Nunchakus."
"I know, but you definitely did some damage to your nuts that I think you should get checked out before you have children. I meant to tell you years ago. ~ Ashlan Thomas

I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. It is good to brush your teeth when you are angry, because you brush harder and do a better job. ~ Lemony Snicket

Wait," he said, and he had his hand outstretched toward me, fingertips just brushing the sleeve of my sweatshirt, gently rooting me to the spot. I wanted to shrug him off, but at the same time, I wanted to fall against him and bury my face in his shoulder. I wanted to commiserate about what had just happened, and make sure he was okay, and discuss how Stanton really is psychotic. I did none of the above. ~ Emma Mills

A great lookout, my brother told me. One of the best in the neighbourhood, but step badly on a line, touch your hand to the wrong metal part while you're brushing up against another, and you'd burn, ~ David Chariandy

Sometimes when you feel like a piece of garbage, or an alien from another planet, or more like a weapon than a real person, you have to be nice to yourself to remember how to feel human again. It's like taking care of a pet. You like cats, right? If you had a cat I know you would be buying it catnip and cat toys and fancy all-meat cat food and some kind of crazy deluxe cat bed. You'd be petting it all the time, and brushing its fur out every day so it was all fluffy and everything, right? Even if you were feeling like shit you'd take care of the cat, because that's just what you have to do when you have responsibility for an innocent animal that can't take care of itself."

"I'm the c-cat?"

"Yeah, you're the cat. ~ Spitandvinegar

I can remember one time a guy told me, a guy that preached, he claimed to be a preacher, he claimed to be called of God-I asked him about his prayer life one day. He said, 'Yeah, I pray; I pray when I'm brushing my teeth.' I knew immediately that man was not called of God to stand in a pulpit. Every church he's tried to plant has been a failure. He is not a God-called man. ~ Tim Conway

Mondays are for baklava, which she learned to make by watching her parents. Her mother said that a baklava-maker should have sensitive, supple hands, so she was in charge of opening and unpeeling the paper-thin layers of dough and placing them in a stack in the tray. Her father was in charge of pastry-brushing each layer of dough with a coat of drawn butter. It was systematic yet graceful: her mother carefully unpeeling each layer and placing them in the tray where Sirine's father painted them. It was important to move quickly so that the unbuttered layers didn't dry out and start to fall apart. This was one of the ways that Sirine learned how her parents loved each other- their concerted movements like a dance; they swam together through the round arcs of her mother's arms and her father's tender strokes. Sirine was proud when they let her paint a layer, prouder when she was able to pick up one of the translucent sheets and transport it to the tray- light as raw silk, fragile as a veil.
On Tuesday morning, however, Sirine has overslept. She's late to work and won't have enough time to finish preparing the baklava before starting breakfast. She could skip a day of the desserts and serve the customers ice cream and figs or coconut cookies and butter cake from the Iranian Shusha Bakery two doors down. But the baklava is important- it cheers the students up. They close their eyes when they bite into its crackling layers, all lightness and scent of orange blossoms.
And ~ Diana Abu-Jaber

And you might also remember you are the greatest healer among us. That is unchallenged by anyone."
"I am the greatest killer, also unchallenged." He tried to give her truth again.
She touched his hard mouth. "I will hunt with you then,lifemate."
His heart slammed against his ribs. Her smile was mysterious, scretive, and so beautiful,it broke his heart. "What is behind this smile,bebe." His hand caught and spanned her throat, his thumb brushing her lips in a gentle caress. "What do you know that I do not?" His mind slipped into hers, a sensuous thrust, the ultimate intimacy, not unlike the way his tongue sometimes dueled with her-or his body took possession of hers.
She was familiar with his touch in her mind. She knew he tried to keep its invasiveness to a minimum. He allowed her to set the bounderies and never pushed beyond any barrier she erected, even though he could do so easily. Both of them needed the intimate union of their minds merging, Savannah as much as Gregori. And her newfound knowledge of him was secure behind a miniature barricade she had hastily erected. Wide-eyed and innocent, she looked at him.
His thumb pressed into her lower lip, half mesmerized by the satin perfection of it. "You will never hunt vampires, ma cherie, not ever.And if I were ever to catch you attempting such a thing,there would be hell to pay."
She didn't look scared. Rather, amusement crept into the deep blue of her eyes. "Surely you aren't threatening me,Dark ~ Christine Feehan

As a wave caught her, splashing her legs, she gasped and whirled around with a laugh. Shiro watched her from a few paces away and she paused, uncertain and self-consious. He crossed the sand to join her, and as she blinked up at him, he raised a hand, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "Don't stop smiling", he murmured. ~ Annette Marie

Something was moving; there was a kind of breathing brightness in the air, the wind of God brushing by, invisible in sunlight. ~ Mary Stewart

Intimacy doesn't have all that much to do with backseats of cars. Real intimacy is brushing your teeth together. ~ Gabrielle Zevin

There are tiny choices that everyone can make that profoundly affect our collective water use. Like not having the tap on while brushing your teeth, not starting your shower ten minutes in advance, not doing laundry until you have a full load. In this particular issue, education really is power. ~ Kristen Bell

She was the baby and the sister most likely being lectured when their mother assessed all four of them and scrunched her face. "Meg, honestly, did you even try brushing that rat's nest? ~ Tracy Ewens

I wanted to tell Sam this. I wanted to tell him all of it, in beautiful handwritten letters or at least in long, rambling emails that we would later save and print out and that would be found in the attic of our house when we had been married fifty years for our grandchildren to coo over. But I was so tired those first few weeks that all I did was email him about how tired I was.

I'm so tired. I miss you.
Me too.
No, like really, really tired. Like cry at TV advertisements and fall asleep while brushing my teeth and end up with toothpaste all over my chest tired.
Okay, now you got me.

I tried not to mind how little he emailed me. I tried to remind myself that he was doing a real, hard job, saving lives and making a difference, while I was sitting outside manicurists' studios and running around Central Park.

His supervisor had changed the rota. He was working four nights on the trot and still waiting to be assigned a new permanent partner. That should have made it easier for us to talk but somehow it didn't. I would check in on my phone in the minutes I had free every evening but that was usually the time he was heading off to begin his shift.

Sometimes I felt curiously disjointed, as if I had simply dreamt him up.

One week, he reassured me. One more week.

How hard could it be? ~ Jojo Moyes

Oak, granite,
Lilies by the road,
Remember me?
I remember you.
Clouds brushing
Clover hills,
Remember me?
Sister, child,
Grown tall,
Remember me?
I remember you. ~ Gail Carson Levine