Cichowicz Long Tones Quotes

Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my own tongue, until as our tones shifted, and our consonants spun and squealed, rattled faster, hesitated, raced harder, syllables soon melting with groans, or moans finding purchase in new words, or old words, or made-up words, until we gathered up our heat and refused to release it, enjoying too much the dark language we had suddenly stumbled upon, craved to, carved to, not a communication really but a channeling of our rumored desires, hers for all I know gone to Black Forests and wolves, mine banging back to a familiar form, that great revenant mystery I still could only hear the shape of, which in spite of our separate lusts and individual cries still continued to drive us deeper into stranger tones, our mutual desire to keep gripping the burn fueled by sound, hers screeching, mine – I didn't hear mine – only hears, probably counter-pointing mine, a high-pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly to practically a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense any more, and suddenly no more curves either, just the straight away, some line crossed, where every fractured sound already spoken finally compacts into one long agonizing word, easily exceeding a hundred letters, even thunder, anticipating the inevitable letting go, when the heat is ultimately too much to bear, threatening to burn, scar, tea ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

Watch," he rasped, fluttering his mouth along her neck.
"Watch what?"
"Us. In the mirror."
Julia opened her eyes and saw the mirror mounted on the wall on the other side of the room. Somehow, it was perfectly positioned to reflect her husband's magnificent and naked back and the dark-haired woman who was hidden by his body. ( ... ) She'd never seen what they looked like together. His body long and lean, hers smaller and softer. Their skin had different tones - he was darker while she was fair. ~ Sylvain Reynard

The effect is captivating as all of the tones mix, like a watercolor with hues swirled together, and lovely carrying notes long after the fingers are lifted from the keys. ~ Thad Carhart

The driver and conductor on top were still, too, or only spoke at long intervals, in low tones, as is the way of men in the midst of invisible dangers. We listened to rain-drops pattering on the roof; and the grinding of the wheels through the muddy gravel; and the low wailing of the wind; and all the time we had that absurd sense upon us, inseparable from travel at night in a close-curtained vehicle, the sense of remaining perfectly still in one place, notwithstanding the jolting and swaying of the vehicle, the trampling of the horses, and the grinding of the wheels. ~ Mark Twain

It throbbed and pulsed, channeled by elemental forces of fear, love, hope, and sadness. The bow stabbed and flitted across the strings in a violent whorl of creation; its hairs tore and split until it seemed the last strands would sever in a scrape of dissonance. Those who saw the last fragile remnants held their breath against the breaking. The music rippled across the ship like a spirit, like a thing alive and eldritch and pregnant with mystery. The song held. More than held, it deepened. It groaned. It resounded in the hollows of those who heard. Then it softened into tones long, slow, and patient and reminded men of the faintest stars trembling dimly in defiance of a ravening dark. At the last, when the golden hairs of the bow had given all the sound they knew, the music fled in a whisper. Fin was both emptied and filled, and the song sighed away on the wind. ~ A.S. Peterson

He saw a square room furnished as a library. The entire section of the walls which he could spy was covered from floor to ceiling with books. There were volumes of every size, every shape, every colour. There were long, narrow books that held themselves like grenadiers at stiff attention. There were short, fat books that stood solidly like aldermen who were going to make speeches and were ashamed but not frightened. There were mediocre books bearing themselves with the carelessness of folk who are never looked at and have consequently no shyness. There were solemn books that seemed to be feeling for their spectacles; and there were tattered, important books that had got dirty because they took snuff, and were tattered because they had been crossed in love and had never married afterwards. There were prim, ancient tomes that were certainly ashamed of their heroines and utterly unable to obtain a divorce from the hussies; and there were lean, rakish volumes that leaned carelessly, or perhaps it was with studied elegance, against their neighbours, murmuring in affected tones, "All heroines are charming to us. ~ James Stephens

Seek to make life henceforth a consecrated thing; that so, when the sunset is nearing, with its murky vapors and lowering skies, the very clouds of sorrow may be fringed with golden light. Thus will the song in the house of your pilgrimage be always the truest harmony. It will be composed of no jarring, discordant notes; but with all its varied tones will form one sustained, life-long melody; dropped for a moment in death, only to be resumed with the angels, and blended with the everlasting cadences of your Father's house. ~ John Ross Macduff

To cut a long story short, coaching by Charlotte and Mr. Giordano was even worse than I'd expected. That was mainly because they were trying to teach me everything at the same time. While I was struggling to learn the steps of the minuet (rigged out in a hooped skirt with cherry-red stripes, not very chic worn with my school uniform blouse, which was the color of mashed potato), I was also supposed to be learning how greatly the political opinions of the Whigs and the Tories differed, how to hold a fan, and the difference between "Your Highness," "Your Royal Highness," "Your Serene Highness," and even "Your Illustrious Highness." After only an hour plus seventeen different ways of opening a fan, I had a splitting headache, and I couldn't tell left from right. My attempt to lighten the atmosphere with a little joke - "Couldn't we stop for a rest? I'm totally, serenely, illustriously exhausted" - went down like a lead balloon.
"This is not funny," said Giordano in nasal tones. "Stupid girl. ~ Kerstin Gier

Men listened closer to calm tones than to the loudest shouts, so long as firmness and certainty accompanied the calm. ~ Robert Jordan

Lily studied the rock garden. On a long, low hill that sloped to the stream, someone had set stones into the side and planted wildflowers in the pockets of dirt above them. They made her think of opera boxes filled with ladies in colorful gowns. Tyler's mother must have loved cool tones. Lily admired the blues, purples and pinks of the different flowers... ~ Debra Holland

So what, then"-his voice deepened, softened, the suave tones sliding over her skin-"will it take to convince you that you should-indeed, ought to-marry me?"
He let her look into his eyes, for once didn't keep his mask between them.
Let her see he was in earnest, sincere in wanting to know.
She drew in a long breath, then looked back at the river and let out a long, slow sigh. Wondered why she was bothering. If he truly didn't know...
Perhaps she should tell him.
"Very well. As you're so determined to hear them, these are my reasons." She'd never voiced them before, not all of them, yet if Catriona was right and he might be her hero...it behooved her to try to find the words. "I long ago decided that the one element I would never agree to marry without was true...affection." Recalling Catriona's views, she substituted the less specific, less, for men, frightening word. "An affection strong enough to last the years, powerful enough to guide and inform, deep and broad enough to be the foundation of a shared life. I want passion and laughter, interest and inclusion, a partnership at least on a practical level, and something even deeper on the personal.
"I want...to be wanted, to feel necessary and needed, to know I feel a role that only I can fill." She paused, then forced herself to go on. "But even more that that, I want that depth of affection to be offered to me, Heather Cynster, not because I am Heather Cynster, well-connected heiress and"-she ~ Stephanie Laurens

I find the entrance to the women's washroom ... There's a rest area, gently lit in pinkish tones, with several easy chairs and a sofa, in a lime-green bamboo-shoot print, with a wall clock above it in a gold filigree frame. Here they haven't removed the mirror, there's a long one opposite the sofa. You need to know, here, what you look like. ~ Margaret Atwood

...Women have preserved this `baby look' for as long as possible so as to make the world continue to believe in the darling, sweet little girl she once was, and she relies on the protective instinct in man to make him take care of her.
As with everything a woman undertakes on her own initiative, this whole maneuvre is as incredible as it is stupid. It is amazing, in fact, that it succeeds. It would appear very shortsighted to encourage such an ideal of beauty. For how can any woman hope to maintain it beyond the age of twenty-five? Despite every trick of the cosmetics industry, despite magazine advice against thinking or laughing (both tend to create wrinkles), her actual age will inevitably show'- through in the end. And what on earth is a man to do with a grown-up face when he has been manipulated into considering only helpless, appealing little girls to be creatures of beauty?

What is a men to do with a woman when the smooth curves have become flabby tires of flesh, the skin slack and pallid, when the childish tones have grown shrill and the laughter sounds like neighing? What is to become of this shrew when her face no longer atones for her ceaseless inanities and when the cries of `Ooh' and Ah' begin to drive him out of his mind? This mummified `child' will never fire a man's erotic fantasy again. One might think her power broken at last.

But no, she still manages to get her own way - and for two reasons. The first is obvious: she now has child ~ Esther Vilar

(Speaking of the Cistercian monks) A grim fraternity, passing grim lives in that sweet spot, that God had made so bright! Strange that Nature's voices all around them
the soft singing of the waters, the wisperings of the river grass, the music of the rushing wind
should not have taught them a truer meaning of life than this. They listened there, through the long days, in silence, waiting for a voice from heaven; and all day long and through the solemn night it spoke to them in myriad tones, and they heard it not. ~ Jerome K. Jerome

A paradisiacal lagoon lay below them. The water was an unbelievable, unreal turquoise, its surface so still that every feature of the bottom could be admired in magnified detail: colorful pebbles, bright red kelp, fish as pretty and colorful as the jungle birds. A waterfall on the far side fell softly from a height of at least twenty feet. A triple rainbow graced its frothy bottom. Large boulders stuck out of the water at seemingly random intervals, black and sun-warmed and extremely inviting, like they had been placed there on purpose by some ancient giant.
And on these were the mermaids.
Wendy gasped at their beauty.
Their tails were all colors of the rainbow, somehow managing not to look tawdry or clownish. Deep royal blue, glittery emerald green, coral red, anemone purple. Slick and wet and as beautifully real as the salmon Wendy's father had once caught on holiday in Scotland. Shining and voluptuously alive.
The mermaids were rather scandalously naked except for a few who wore carefully placed shells and starfish, although their hair did afford some measure of decorum as it trailed down their torsos. Their locks were long and thick and sinuous and mostly the same shades as their tails. Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers.
Their "human" skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were a ~ Liz Braswell

I will paint you
With a subtle shade of sadness
Sitting on a blue chair
In a long forgotten room
Surrounded by four walls of regret
And one open door

I will paint you
With another lost opportunity
Disguising broad strokes of desperation
And muted tones of quiet fear
Just below the shallow surface
Of enduring regrets

I will paint you
With a broken piece of me
On an autumn day
Beneath a hundred trees
And except for the sorrowful cries
Of recalling long abandoned places
I will paint you
With no sound of waking life
Or what might have been

I will paint you
With just a single tear
Fallen from this broken heart
For all the things lost on earth ~ Alacazam

Do they always flirt with biblical quotes?" Asil asked Tad.
In long-suffering tones, Tad said, "They can flirt with the periodic table or a restaurant menu. We've learned to live with it. Get a room you guys. ~ Patricia Briggs

I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, a ~ Frederick Douglass

I drove back into town, full of the look of her, full of the impact of her. It was an impact that made the day, the trees, the city, all look more vivid. Her face was special and clear in my mind - the wide mouth, the one crooked tooth, the gray slant of her eyes. Her figure was good, shoulders just a bit too wide, hips just a shade too narrow to be classic. Her legs were long, with clean lines. Her flat back and the inswept lines of her waist were lovely. Her breasts were high and wide spaced, with a flavor of impertinence, almost arrogance. It was the coloring of her though that pleased me most. Dark red of the hair, gray of the eyes, golden skin tones. ~ John D. MacDonald

I can't wait to work with Peter Capaldi as the next 'Doctor.' I know him from old; he's such a lovely man and will be brilliant in the role. As long as he tones down the Malcolm Tucker swearing. ~ Neve McIntosh

By the beginning of March, K Company, 333rd Regiment, had reached the Rhine. The men settled down in the village of Krefeld to await Montgomery's Operation Plunder, the crossing of the river; Monty was planning the operation with as much care as he had put into Operation Overlord, so the pause was a long one. By some miracle, the men found an undamaged high-rise apartment building in which everything worked - electricity, hot water, flush toilets, and telephones with dial tones. The had their first hot baths in four months. They found cigars and bottles go cognac. Pvt. Ray Bocarski, fluent in German, lit up, sat down in an easy chair, got a befuddled German operator on the phone, and talked his way through to a military headquarters in Berlin. He told the German officer he could expect K Company within the week. ~ Stephen E. Ambrose

The Last Words of My English Grandmother

There were some dirty plates
and a glass of milk
beside her on a small table
near the rank, disheveled bed--

Wrinkled and nearly blind
she lay and snored
rousing with anger in her tones
to cry for food,

Gimme something to eat--
They're starving me--
I'm all right--I won't go
to the hospital. No, no, no

Give me something to eat!
Let me take you
to the hospital, I said
and after you are well

you can do as you please.
She smiled, Yes
you do what you please first
then I can do what I please--

Oh, oh, oh! she cried
as the ambulance men lifted
her to the stretcher--
Is this what you call

making me comfortable?
By now her mind was clear--
Oh you think you're smart
you young people,

she said, but I'll tell you
you don't know anything.
Then we started.
On the way

we passed a long row
of elms. She looked at them
awhile out of
the ambulance window and said,

What are all those
fuzzy looking things out there?
Trees? Well, I'm tired
of them and rolled her head away. ~ William Carlos Williams

Besides the fact that you're a scoundrel at the gaming tables," she responded tartly, "I'm beginning to suspect that you're a womanizing rake."
Christopher grinned leisurely as his perusal swept her.
"I've been a long time at sea. However, I doubt that in your case my reaction would vary had I just left the London Court."
Erienne's eyes flared with poorly suppressed ire. The insufferable egotist! Did he dare think he could find a willing wench at the back door of the mayor's cottage?
"I'm sure that Claudia Talbot would welcome your company, sir. Why don't you ride on over to see her? I hear his lordship traveled off to London this morning."
He laughed softly at her sneering tones. "I'd rather be courting you."
"Why?" she scoffed. "Because you want to thwart my father?"
His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. He answered with slow deliberation. "Because you are the prettiest maid I've ever seen, and I'd like to get to know you better. And of course, we should delve into this matter of your accidents more thoroughly, too."
Twin spots of color grew in her cheeks, but the deepening dusk did much to hide her blush. Lifting her nose primly in the air, Erienne turned aside, tossing him a cool glance askance. "How many women have you told that to, Mr. Seton?"
A crooked smile accompanied his reply. "Several, I suppose, but I've never lied. Each had their place in time, and t ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

She had witnessed a conflict between two men who held her liberty in their hands, her very life and that of her child; one had sought to drag her deeper into darkness, the other to restore her to light. The two contestants, in the heightened vision of her terror, had seemed like giants, one speaking with the voice of a demon, the other in the tones of an angel. The angel had won, and what caused her to tremble from head to foot was the fact that this rescuing angel was the man she abhorred, the abominable mayor whom for so long she had regarded as the author of her troubles. He had saved her after she had most outrageously insulted him! ~ Victor Hugo

This is how it should have been that first night down on the sand," he whispered. "This is our beginning Ivy. I want to make it official. I want there to be no doubt, 'cause I'm gonna do stupid shit all the time." I giggled, and his white teeth flashed. "I'm gonna leave the toilet seat up. I'm gonna be overprotective, probably bossy, and my temper is always gonna run hot." "I don't care," I told him, sliding my hands up to rest on his chest. "Tell me you'll be my girl, and I swear I'll love you with everything I got." "I'm always gonna be stubborn. I'm not gonna take your shit. My makeup will be all over the bathroom, and I still don't have a major. Oh, and I want to keep Prada. You have to like her, too." "I already told Rim to get your adoption paperwork ready for that rat." Then in lower tones, he said, "She's grown on me." I smiled. He totally loved Prada. "So what's my answer?" He tightened his arms around my waist. I pretended to think it over. A girl should never sound too eager-even if she was practically peeing herself with glee. "Blondie," Braeden growled. "I'm already yours, B. I have been for a long time. ~ Cambria Hebert

Gays have always been in the military. Alexander the Great was originally Alexander the Fabulous. A gay man invented C-rations. He claims he could never talk anyone into the cilantro garnish. Obviously, gays were not allowed to design the outfits, because we never would have stayed with the earth tones for so long. ~ Kate Clinton

Please go on," I said in the sympathetic, gruff-hearty tones of an inspector at Scotland Yard - all I needed was long underwear, a tweed suit, a walrus mustache, a British accent, a right-hand drive, socialized medicine, and a disarming manner. ~ Henry Kane

You play with great skill," he said.
"Thank you."
"Is that your favorite piece?"
"It's my most difficult," Helen said, "but not my favorite."
"What do you play when there's no one to hear?"
The gentle question, spoken in that accent with vowels as broad as his shoulders, caused Helen's stomach to tighten pleasurably. Perturbed by the sensation, she was slow to reply. "I don't remember the name of it. A piano tutor taught it to me long ago. For years I've tried to find out what it is, but no one has ever recognized the melody."
"Play it for me."
Calling it up from memory, she played the sweetly haunting chords, her hands gentle on the keys. The mournful chords never failed to stir her, making her heart ache for things she couldn't name. At the conclusion, Helen looked up from the keys and found Winterborne staring at her as if transfixed. He masked his expression, but not before she saw a mixture of puzzlement, fascination, and a hint of something hot and unsettling.
"It's Welsh," he said.
Helen shook her head with a laugh of wondering disbelief. "You know it?"
"'A Ei Di'r Deryn Do.' Every Welshman is born knowing it."
"What is it about?"
"A lover who asks a blackbird to carry a message to his sweetheart."
"Why can't he go to her himself?" Helen realized they were both speaking in hushed tones, as if they were exchanging secrets.
"He can't find her. He's too deep in love- it keeps him from seeing clearly."< ~ Lisa Kleypas

I have never met anyone who spent time in daily prayer, and in the study of the Word of God, and was strong in faith, who was ever discouraged for very long. ~ Billy Graham

What did it matter that the Light had been taken away from him? What did it matter that Arienne was gone? If it took a thousand years to find her...if he had to cross boiling seas or raging skies...if it cost him his eyes or his tongue, his hands or his feet, his very soul... He would relinquish it all, if it meant he could keep that promise he'd made so long ago. He had nothing else. Without this, he knew, he would simply wither away. ~ S.K. Michels

I think that variety is the key to our success. It is what makes us [artists] different, and long may that continue. ~ Piers Morgan

I came in on this movie after there had been a director and I came in after Tom Courtenay had talked to Ron Harwood about making a movie. So, you know Tom and Albert Finney had been friends since the beginning of their career as they became stars around the same time - Tom always reminds me that Albert was first with Saturday Night and Sunday Morning and then Tom with The Long Distance Runner. ~ Dustin Hoffman

Can you carry me to bed? Can you last long enough to make me come? Those are the important things. Get me to bed, get me off. If you can manage those things, I'll be impressed. ~ Jasinda Wilder