Haydns Head Quotes

And do you know the story about Haydn's head? They cut it away from the still-warm cadaver so some insane scientist could take apart the brain and pinpoint the location of musical genius. And the Einstein Story? He'd carefully written his will with instructions to cremate him. They followed his orders, but his disciple, ever loyal and devoted, refused to live without the master's gaze on him. Before the cremation, he took the eyes of the cadaver and put them in a bottle of alcohol to keep them watching him until the moment he should die himself. That's why I said that the crematory fire is the only way our bodies can escape them. It's the only absolute death. And I don't want any other. Jean-Marc, I want an absolute death. ~ Milan Kundera

Oh, you can't back out now. I already texted Adam that you'll be there."

His head swung around. "You what?"

"He's looking forward to it. See?" She held up her phone.

A smiley face.

A smiley face? Nick had no idea what that meant. Was that casual happy? Excited happy? An obligatory response that didn't mean anything? It wasn't even a D smiley. It was one of the parenthesis ones.

God, he was trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning of the punctuation in a frigging emoticon.

"You look nervous," said Quinn.

He shrugged. ~ Brigid Kemmerer

I have never yet managed to see the moment of the petals of a bud unfurling. I might dedicate the rest of my life to it and might still never see it. No, not might, I will: I will dedicate the rest of my life, in which I walk forward into this blossoming. When there's no blossom I will dead-head and wait. It'll be back. That's the nature of things.
As it is, I am careful when kissing, or when taking anyone in my arms. I warn them about the thorns. I treat myself with care. I guard against pests and frost-damage. I am careful with my roots. I know they need depth and darkness, and any shit that comes my way I know exactly what to do with. I'm composed when it comes to compost. ~ Ali Smith

When I got back to the kitchen, my heart nearly stopped. Dad was leaning across the stainless worktable, over a pile of shrimp, almost right in Alex's face. He was holding a new knife, this one small and very sharp. "You got that,kid, or should I say it again?" he was demanding.
Alex looked more nervous than I'd ever seen him. But only for a second. Then his face hardened, and he slapped both palms flat on the table. "I've got it," he said. He shoved up his sleeves and reached for the knife. Moments later, he was deveining shrimp with a lot of enthusiasm and a little skill.
Dad turned and caught me gaping. He tilted his head in obvious warning. Raw, icky, slippery: This was the task he'd given the boy I brought into his kitchen, and I was not to interfere.
Poor Alex. He was being tested for a position he didn't even want. ~ Melissa Jensen

What the hell are you doing up there?'
So he slipped, of course, because he was startled, and because fate, having been so kind to him as to award him this ecstasy, retributively was going to kill him now. He lost his footing and grabbed for the chimney but missed. Head over thighs he rolled out like a child's toy, smashed into the poking branches of the damn pear tree, which probably saved his life, breaking his fall. He landed with a thud on a bed of lettuces, and the wind was knocked out of him, mortifyingly so, through all available orifices.
Oh, brilliant,' said the voice. 'The trees are dropping their fruits early this year. ~ Gregory Maguire

Memory keeps nothing unnecessary
or superfluous.
How much of your past
am I still to go through?
Taking dreams for memories
I stroke the sleeper's head.
A secret poll. The future
comes in last. ~ Vera Pavlova

Flash fire."
She turned her head as far as she could, trying to look at him. "I don't know what that means."
He shifted on the branch. "First time I was on a submarine, we had a flash fire. It's a combustion explosion. A flammable mist builds up in the air, then suddenly, bam. Think super high temperatures and a rapidly moving flame front. It kills by asphyxiation. Burns up all the available oxygen. It's devastating. ~ Dana Marton

The hair on your head affects people and is a testament to the world about who you are.
- Bonnie Foreshaw (Tabatha Rowley's story) ~ Wally Lamb

One must occasionally stand the world on
its head in order to put it on its feet. ~ Henning Mankell

If one sits on the head of the Great Buddha and looks across the green valley, framed by the arch of the grotto and dotted with fort-like manors that are almost tiny villages, he has a view and a sensation of rare beauty. ~ Maynard Owen Williams

Lottie tilted her head to one side and looked Maya up and down. You're a little bit of a thing, but I hear you're good at stirring up big trouble. ~ Sara Humphreys

So, based on that, we'd say you're seven weeks one day along."

I mentally pull up my calendar app in my head. "I've kept accurate records. I should be just shy of seven weeks."

"Our measurements might be off, but it's also likely that you ovulated earlier than you thought you did."

I look at Chase. "The patrol car."

"Seriously?" He lowers his voice though the room is small enough the tech can probably hear him anyway. "Neighborhood Hot Cop knocked you up?"

I giggle again at the name of the game we'd played that night. "Yep. Neighborhood Hot Cop knocked me up. ~ Laurelin Paige

All that you see out in front of you is how you feel inside your head. ~ Alan Watts

The lamp tipped over, nailing Kane in the head.
Sabin shook his head. The man was a walking disaster Literally. Whenever Kane stepped into a room, things went to hell pretty quickly. Sabin expected the ceiling to cave in any moment. And yea, it had happened before. ~ Gena Showalter

You have a mouth made for kissing," he murmured, angling her to face him. "Did you know that?"
She shook her head.
"So soft and generous." Leaning in, he tipped her chin with the heel of his hand. "Sweet."
"No man's ever called me sweet."
"Has any other man kissed you?"
Again, she gave a little shake of the head.
"Well, then. That's why." He brushed his lips over hers, just lightly, sending pure sensation frizzing through her veins. He hummed with satisfaction. "You taste of ripe plums."
She couldn't help it. She laughed. "Now that's just absurd."
"Why?"
"Because it's too early in the year for ripe plums."
His husky chuckle shook them both. "You're entirely too logical for your own good. A thorough kissing can mend that."
"I don't want mending."
"Perhaps not. But I think you do want kissing." He nuzzled the curve of her cheek, and his voice dropped to a sensual whisper. "Don't you?"
She did. Oh, she did. ~ Tessa Dare

On this evening, Mme. Padva wears a dress of black silk, hand embroidered with intricate patterns of cherry blossoms, something like a kimono reincarnated as a gown. Her silver hair is piled atop her head and held in place with a small jeweled black cage. A choker of perfectly cut scarlet rubies circles her neck, putting forth a vague impression of her throat having been slit. The overall effect is slightly morbid and incredibly elegant. ~ Erin Morgenstern

Because her laughter spurts through a blowhole in the top of her head and sprays all over the morning. ~ David Mitchell

I hold to fiction as a cure, or partial cure, or cause for hope, or essential distraction from the rain you wake up to, the doubts in your head, the daily desolation that you have not yet said what is most true, you have not yet crafted the story that reveals you. And therefore something waits. Therefore you must wake and you must write and you are not alone.
Your fiction is with you. ~ Beth Kephart

Fen shook his head and soaped up his hands. "You humans are very strange, mate." Fen tipped his head. "I saw this video that showed women being tortured."

Jeff sobered. "What?"

"They were submitting voluntarily too."

Jeff immediately relaxed as Fen's hands ran over his body. "What were they doing?"

"Getting something called a Brazilian... ~ Dana Marie Bell

Simon shook his head. 'I don't want to be a hero. I'd rather abandon the technology altogether, sit on a hill and speak to my neighbours by smoke-signal. ~ A. Ashley Straker

A moment later he was sent sprawling on a hard wood floor. The idiots left him alone – why they thought a simple bash on the head would keep him immobile for long was beyond him. They wouldn't have much of a career if they made mistakes like this. There were times when the incompetence of the enemy was simply an insult. ~ Anne Stuart

Have you ever had a lyric from a really crappy song or advertising jingle get stuck in your head? Something that just won't go away, no matter how much you don't want it to be there?

Imagine if, instead of a silly piece of music, it was an image. Imagine that image was something you found disturbing; say, rivers of rich burgundy blood gushing from slashes in your forearms.

What if, instead of this being a fleeting, irritating image, it took hold in your mind. It would be there on waking, it would push itself into your thoughts while you were watching television, driving, sitting at your desk. What if, gradually, your mind became your own personal continuously screening horror movie, starring yourself.

What would you do? Would you feel compelled to act on these thoughts? Do you think, if you did, it would help? Would you think yourself mad?

Would you tell anyone? ~ Victoria Leatham

Southern women are unique; there is no disputing that. We are women born of conflict, our pasts littered with battles and chaos, self-preservation, and protection. We've run plantations during wars, served Union soldiers tea before watching them burn our homes, hidden slaves from prosecution, and endured centuries of watching and learning from our men's mistakes. It is not easy to survive life in the South. It is even more difficult to do it with a smile on your face. We have held these states together, held our dignity and graciousness, held our head high when it was smeared with blood and soot. We are strong. We are Southern. We have secrets and lives you will never imagine. ~ Alessandra Torre

Fred, George, Harry, and Ron were the only ones who knew that the angel on top of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowered down at them all, the ugliest angel Harry had ever seen, with a large bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet. ~ J.K. Rowling

When I didn't say anything, he came closer, dropping slowly to his haunches so we were at eye level. My eyes searched his gorgeous face and for once, I wished I could break my own damn rules. I had a feeling Braden would be able to make me forget everything for a while.
We gazed at one another for what seemed like forever, not saying a word. I was expecting a lot of questions since it must have been clear to everyone, or at least the adults at the table, that I had had a panic attack. Surely, they were all wondering why, and I really didn't want to go back out there.
"Better?" Braden finally asked softly.
Wait. Was that it? No probing questions?
"Yeah." No, not really.
He must have read my reaction to his question in my face because he cocked his head to the side, his gaze thoughtful. "You don't need to tell me."
I cracked a humorless smile. "I'll just let you think I'm bat-shit crazy."
Braden smiled back at me. "I already know that. ~ Samantha Young

Dear Religion, This week I safely dropped a man from space while you shot a child in the head for wanting to go to school. Yours, Science. ~ Ricky Gervais

Fear envelops bones like new skin,
envelops blood with night's skin,
the earth moves beneath the soles of the feet -
it is not your hair but the terror in your head,
like long hair made of vertical nails,
and what you see are not shattered streets,
but rather, within you, your own crushed walls,
your frustrated infinity, again the city comes
crashing down: in your silence, only water's threat
is heard, and in the water
drowned horses gallop through your death. ~ Pablo Neruda

A Radical is a man with both feet firmly planted
in the air. A Conservative is a man with two perfectly good legs who, however, has never learned to walk forward. A Reactionary is a somnambulist walking backwards. A Liberal is a man who uses his legs and his hands at the behest
at the command
of his head. ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

All through the winter months, Rose kept up the practice of sitting by the fire with Peter and a book telling him stories. The doctor stopped to listen one afternoon out of curiosity, and heard her say, "…then the Mermaid said to the Pirate, 'I would rather perish with the boy than go with you.' And the Pirate said, 'So be it,' and sealed them both up inside the treasure chest. Then the pirate's crew got together to lift the chest up, and with a nod from their captain, they cast the chest overboard into the sea. The chest was so heavy, it sank in the water in spite of the air inside, and in seconds it was gone from view, disappearing into the deep blue depths. If the boy and the mermaid were unable to free themselves, they would surely perish." Peter's eyes were wide with interest. "But- I can't tell you what happened- you'll have to find out next time." She stopped and closed the book. Peter shook his head and put his hand on the book. She laughed and said, "You want to hear more now, do you? ~ Christopher Daniel Mechling

Vhat is your nom?" Preston had a lazy eye, and the alcohol added to the lopsided effect of his gaze.
"Shannon Tinker, and I watch you like you're a TV show." Shannon added a bop to her stance, unconsciously dancing to the beat of the song constantly playing in her head. ~ Debra Anastasia

Tattered. Water or something more foul soaked both knees of the pants. But Thomas took all that in quickly. Most of his attention was drawn to the man's head. Thomas couldn't help but stare, mesmerized. It looked like hair had been ripped from his scalp, leaving bloody scabs in its place. His face was pallid and wet, with scars and sores everywhere. One eye was gone, a gummy red mass where it should have been. He also had no nose, and Thomas could actually see traces of the nasal passages in his skull underneath the terribly mangled skin. And his mouth. Lips drawn back in a snarl, gleaming white teeth exposed, clenched tightly together. His good eye glared, somehow vicious in the way it darted between Brenda and Thomas. Then the man said something in a wet and gurgly voice that made Thomas shiver. He spoke only a few words, but they were so absurd and out of place that it just made the whole thing that much more horrifying. Rose ~ James Dashner

You better not be ready to pass out," I told him. "You're way too big for me to pick up."
He cocked his head to the side and regarded me. "And what would you do, Rimmel?" The way he said my name brushed over me like a fine caress. "If I passed out right here?" He bent at the knees as he spoke so he could get closer to my eye level. I saw the playfulness in his depths. I knew he was probably drunk and wouldn't remember this tomorrow. I told myself beer made people do crazy things.
I lifted my chin and returned his gaze. "Well," I said, wetting my lips with the tip of my tongue. "I'd just have to run over you on my way out."
The whites of his eyes grew bigger when they widened in surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
- Rimmel & Romeo ~ Cambria Hebert

The Orphic Machine is the poem: a severed head with face turned away that sings. ~ Allen Grossman