Meghna Pant Quotes

I have learnt that a good marriage is healing for the soul, something to relish. But a bad marriage is long-suffering, a thing to be endured. The only good thing about marriage is that it's perishable like human life. ~ Meghna Pant

Death has become so predictable that I have neither the youthful reverence of it nor the middle-age fear. ~ Meghna Pant

Of all the roles she'd played – daughter, student, employee, sister and wife – wife was the smallest and in proportion the most difficult, as though it had run out of steam with its own scale. The word 'wife' was too small to accommodate its responsibility. ~ Meghna Pant

Yet, despite their many surgeries and jobs, most of them looked like old girls – girls who had suffered some wasting disease. These same things, breasts and botox, like independence and immodesty, had been powerful and shameful a few short years back, put in the same category as an extra toe or a stutter; they were quaint now. ~ Meghna Pant

Their marriage hadn't died dramatically. There were no adulterous truants or burst spleens or freakish lightning strikes or splattered brains over the highway. Their marriage had died of neglect and errors and abrasiveness. It died under a long protracted illness for which there was a diagnosis but no remedy. The disease had no name. So how could she explain it to others? ~ Meghna Pant

All marriages were a consequence of security, tradition, money and beauty. Love was a chance, a lucky coincidence. Its existence was an after-thought, for more serious matters cemented marriage. ~ Meghna Pant

In India there's no modernism without barbarism. Strip away the young man's face and you'll find an old man's mind. ~ Meghna Pant

I festered with this duality of love and ego, where ego scorns the very love its seeking and then despairs in its absence. ~ Meghna Pant

In Indian society every institution – prayer, education, family, beauty, chastity and career – was a rung of the ladder of life, which had to be climbed to reach the top rung, marriage. ~ Meghna Pant

Death did this to people: making cowards, scapegoats, preachers and mourners of the living; while the dead – ignoble or not – became objects of respect for achieving something before the rest of us. ~ Meghna Pant

You heard me. Come back to the woods." Layla began to pant, a combination of terror and sadness choking her. "How can you be so cruel. I cannot see him dead - " "Then you better get the fuck out here and feed him. We need to get him out of this forest." "What!" "You fucking heard me. Now dematerialize back here before I change my fucking mind." The ~ J.R. Ward

If it doesn't sweat, jiggle, or pant, it's not alive. ~ Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

His mouth comes down on mine, harder now, more demanding, a raw, hungry need in him rising to the surface. "You belong to me," he growls. "Say it."
"Yes. Yes, I belong to you." His mouth finds mine again, demanding, taking, drawing me under his spell.
"Say it again," he demands, nipping my lip, squeezing my breast and nipple, and sending a ripple of pleasure straight to my sex.
"I belong to you," I pant.
He lifts me off the ground with the possessive curve of his hand around my backside, angling my hips to thrust harder, deeper. "Again," he orders, driving into me, his cock hitting the farthest point of me and blasting against sensitive nerve endings.
"Oh … ah … I … I belong to you."
His mouth dips low, his hair tickling my neck, his teeth scraping my shoulders at the same moment he pounds into me and the world spins around me, leaving nothing but pleasure and need and more need.
I am suddenly hot only where he touches, and freezing where I yearn to be touched. Lifting my leg, I shackle his hip, ravenous beyond measure, climbing to the edge of bliss, reaching for it at the same time I'm trying desperately to hold back. Chris is merciless, wickedly wild, grinding and rocking, pumping.
"I love you, Sara," he confesses hoarsely, taking my mouth, swallowing the shallow, hot breath I release, and punishing me with a hard thrust that snaps the last of the lightly held control I possess. Possessing me. A fire explodes low in my belly and spira ~ Lisa Renee Jones

If you get a pant that fits the woman, as all women know, you get a loyal customer for life. ~ Mickey Drexler

Mais c'est renfantillage - this is childishness!' we heard de Grandin pant as we closed in and sought a chance to seize his skeleton-like antagonist. 'He who fights an imp of Satan as if he were human is a fool!'
("The Man In Crescent Terrace") ~ Seabury Quinn

There was scarcely a woman alive, it seemed, who could resist the urge to haul men down onto beds, car seats, kitchen floors, dining-room tables, park grass, parlor sofas, or packing crates, entwine warm thighs around them, and pant in ecstasy. ~ Russell Baker

One upside of the heat. Kind of cool to see a cat pant. ~ Jonah Goldberg

I shake my head, knowing that if it hadn't been for me, Ben wouldn't have been there in the first place. I try to tell him that, but he swats my words away with his hand and says he wants to show me something.
"Sure," I say, wondering if he's really as nervous as he seems.
He clenches his teeth and hesitates a couple of moments; the angles of his face seem to grow sharper. Finally, he motions to the pant leg of his jeans.
There's a tear right over his thigh.
"I know you saw it in the hospital," he says, exposing the chameleon tattoo through the torn fabric. "I felt you . . . looking at it. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did this back home, before I ever came to Freetown. Before I ever met you."
"So it's a coincidence?"
His dark gray eyes swallow mine whole. "Do you honestly believe that?"
"No," I say, listening as he proceeds to tell me that a few months before he got to town, he touched his mother's wedding band - something that reminded him of soul mates - and the image of a chameleon stuck inside his head.
"I couldn't get it out of my mind," he explains. "It was almost like the image was welded to my brain, behind my eyes, haunting me even when I tried to sleep."
"And you got the tattoo because of that?"
"Because I hoped its permanence might help me understand it more - might help me understand what it had to do with my own soul mate."
"And do you understand now?" I ask, swallowing hard.
"Yeah." He smiles. "I ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

This is the supreme anguish of the soul; it realizes itself as itself, as thing separate from that which is not itself, from God. In this spasm there are two ways: if fear and pride are left in the soul, it shuts itself up, like a warlock in a tower, gnashing its teeth with agony. "I am I," it cried, "I will not lose myself," and in that state damned, it is slowly torn by the claws of circumstance disintegrated bitterly, for all its struggles, throughout ages and ages, its rags to be cast piecemeal upon the dungheap without the city. But the soul that has understood the blessedness of that resignation which grasps the universe and devours it, which is without hope or fear, without faith or doubt, without hate or love, dissolves itself ineffable into the abounding bliss of God. It cries with Shelley, as the "chains of lead about its flight of fire" drop molten from its limbs: "I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire," and in that last outbreaking is made one with the primal and final breath, the Holy Spirit of God.
Such must be the climax of any retirement to the Desert on the part of any aspirant of the Mysteries who has the spark of that fire in him. ~ Aleister Crowley

The select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest. ~ George Eliot

WHY THIS WORKS: Trousers and other things fall off your hangers because of two factors - imbalance and slipperiness. When you cross one pant leg over the other, you are solving the imbalance problem with evenness on both sides. Also, the friction between the two pant legs prevents slipperiness, allowing your pants to stay put and hanging. ~ Lisa Katayama

I did not count the days or the weeks or the months. Time is an illusion that only makes us pant. I survived because I forgot even the very notion of time. ~ Yann Martel

Debarred from public worship, David was heartsick. Ease he did not seek, honour he did not covet, but the enjoyment of communion with God was an urgent need of his soul; he viewed it not merely as the sweetest of all luxuries, but as an absolute necessity, like water to a stag. Like the parched traveler in the wilderness, whose skin bottle is empty, and who finds the wells dry, he must drink or die – he must have his God or faint. His soul, his very self, his deepest life, was insatiable for a sense of the divine presence. . . . Give him his God and he is as content as the poor deer which at length slakes its thirst and is perfectly happy; but deny him his Lord, and his heart heaves, his bosom palpitates, his whole frame is convulsed, like one who gasps for breath, or pants with long running. Dear friend, dost thou know what this is, by personally having felt the same? It is a sweet bitterness. The next best thing to living in the light of the Lord's love is to be unhappy till we have it, and to pant hourly after it – hourly, did I say? Thirst is a perpetual appetite, and not to be forgotten, and even thus continually is the heart's longing after God. When it is as natural for us to long for God as for an animal to thirst, it is well with our souls, however painful our feelings ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Don't do it. Don't go to that job you hate. Do something you love today. Ride a roller coaster. Swim in the ocean naked. Go to the airport and get on the next flight to anywhere just for the fun of it. Maybe stop a spinning globe with your finger and then plan a trip to that very spot; even if it's in the middle of the ocean you can go by boat. Eat some type of ethnic food you've never even heard of. Stop a stranger and ask her to explain her greatest fears and her secret hopes and aspirations in detail and then tell her you care because she is a human being. Sit down on the sidewalk and make pictures with colorful chalk. Close your eyes and try to see the world with your nose - allow smells
to be your vision. Catch up on your sleep. Call an old friend you haven't seen in years. Roll up your pant legs and walk into the sea. See a foreign film. Feed squirrels. Do anything! Something! Because you start a revolution one decision at a time, with each breath you take. Just don't go back to that miserable place you go every day. Show me it's possible to be an adult and also be happy. Please. This is a free country. You don't have to keep doing this if you don't want to. You can do anything you want. Be anyone you want. ~ Matthew Quick

Her mother had chosen the Welsh valley of Pant-y-Gyrdl as the ideal site to Return to Nature. (Six months later, sick of the rain, the mosquitoes, the men, the tent-trampling sheep who ate first the whole commune's marijuana crop and then its antique minibus, and by now beginning to glimpse why almost the entire drive of human history has been an attempt to get as far away from Nature as possible, Pepper's mother returned to Pepper's surprised grandparents in Tadfield, bought a bra, and enrolled in a sociology course with a deep sigh of relief.) ~ Terry Pratchett

What people look to me for is a whole look. People come to me for icing on the cake, not a basic stretch pant. ~ Anna Sui

I tell me:
Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful.
I want these words to be actions.
Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night. ~ Markus Zusak

Watching it all, I had a panic attack.
Holy shit! Most of the Thirld World sees America through the actions of backpackers. They're our diplomats in places like this. Our grungy kissingers. These folks must think we're all drawstring pant-wearing, Hacky-Sacking, white Rasta freaks. We're doomed. ~ Franz Wisner

This way," he murmurs and abruptly is inside me once more, but he doesn't start his usual punishing rhythm straight away. He leans over, releases my hands, and pulls me upright so I am practically sitting on him. His hands move up to my breasts, and he palms them both, tugging gently on my nipples. I groan, tossing my head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, biting down, as he flexes his hips, deliciously slowly, filling me again and again.
"Do you know how much you mean to me?" he breathes against my ear.
"No," I gasp.
He smiles against my neck, and his fingers curl around my jaw and throat, holding me fast for a moment. "Yes, you do. I'm not going to let you go." I groan as he picks up speed. "You are mine, Anastasia." "Yes, yours," I pant. "I take care of what's mine," he hisses and bites my ear. ~ E.L. James

I sat down on my bed, trying to catch my breath, as Jenna opened the door. The Vandy stood there, glaring at us, and my heart plummeted. They knew. They'd sensed magic happening in here, and now they'd sent the Vandy to come collect us.
I sat there, trying not to pant in terror, while Jenna openly trembled.
"You were told to report to the greenhouse," the Vandy said, her eyes going back and forth between us. "Now, get your skinny butts down there."
You know when you have the most inappropriate reaction to something ever? I was so happy that we weren't being hauled off to be murdered that I burst out laughing. I mean, big, loud, honking laughter. Jenna shot me a panicked look as the Vandy's scowl got even darker. "What's so funny, Miss Mercer?"
I stood up on wobbly legs and did my best to stop cracking up. "Sorry, it's just, um…"
"You said 'butts,'" Jenna blurted out. "And Sophie's got a really immature sense of humor."
"Right," I said, seizing on that. "Butts. Ha ha!"
I think if the Vandy could have murdered us right then and there, she probably would have. Instead she just thrust one finger toward the staircase and said, "Move it."
We scrambled from the room. ~ Rachel Hawkins

I felt my hand curl into a fist. Felt my elbow draw back. Felt my arm dart forward, my knuckles crack into Cole's jaw. I couldn't stop myself. His head whipped to the side, and blood leaked from a cut in his lip. Behind me, gasps of shock abounded.

"I'm recovered," I said. "Believe me now?"

Those violet eyes slitted when they found me. "Assault and battery is illegal."

"So have me arrested."

He closed what little distance there was between us. Suddenly I could feel his warmth of his breath caressing my skin. "How about I put you over my lap and spank you instead?"

"How about I knee your balls into your throat?"

"If you're going to play with that particular area, I'd rather you use your hands."

"My hands aren't going near that area ever again."

A pause. Then, "I bet I could change your mind," he whispered huskily.

"I bet I could bash yours." I drew back another fist, but he was ready and caught me midswing. His pupils dilated, a sign of arousal. Another sign: he began to pant. He was acting like I'd tried to unbuckle his jeans rather than smack fire out of him.

"Hit me again," he said, still using the same whispered tone, "and I'll take it as an invitation."

I was just as bad. I trembled with longing I couldn't control and struggled to catch my breath. "An invitation to do what?"

His grip loosened, his fingers rubbing my skin. A caress, not a warn ~ Gena Showalter

The next morning, as I picked an Eddie hair off my pant leg, I again considered the possibility of cats controlling the world. "It's possible," I muttered to myself as I dropped the hair into a wastebasket, "that they already do. ~ Laurie Cass

There was something about Ash that made every hormone in her body stand up and pant for more ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

And as the worms pant for your bones,
I would so like to tell you
that this happens to bears and elephants ~ Charles Bukowski

I wear my heart on my sleeve. I wear my liver on my pant leg. ~ Steven Wright

He grabs my hands and lifts them up in the air. I grip the railing on the top of the bed.
"Don't move those hands," he whispers into my nape. I nod and lick my lips. I'm on my tiptoes. My breath is catching and coming out spurts of rough air. His hands run down my arms. I shiver and pant. His lips brush the back of my neck. He sweeps my hair to one side, kissing down my shoulder blade. Heat and nerves battle low in my belly as his hands grip my hips, pulling me back to him.
"Don't let go of that railing, Sarah." His words are growled between kisses and licks. I hear the menacing threat in them. ~ Tara Brown

I meant what I said about sex."
His hand slid all the way up her leg, pushing what little skirt was still covering her out of the way, holding it in a bunch at her belly button. Her nudity was fully exposed to his gaze and he looked his fill, breathing out hard.
"Who said anything about sex?"
He leaned in, his mouth dropping to the pale slice of skin between where his hand held her skirt and the thatch of hair between her legs. She wasn't trimmed as was the fashion among the women he usually took to his bed but Troy was not a fussy guy and here, under the stars, his head filling with the musky scent of her arousal, au naturel seemed fitting.
The ragged pant of her breathing stuttered into the air as he lazily stroked his tongue down.
Down. Down. Down.
She roused. Shifted. Raised herself up on her elbows, her abs tightening, her thighs tensing. "I think you'll find that still counts," she said, obviously throwing one last-ditch effort into denying herself the pleasure she so clearly craved.
He chuckled low, his warm breath fanning her belly, satisfied to feel gooseflesh stippling the soft skin. "If you think this is sex, you need to read some more textbooks, doc. ~ Amy Andrews

What's comfortable to me is familiarity. Comfort has nothing to do with the size of the garment. I do find something quite comfortable and charming in a too-narrow shoulder, a sleeve that's too short or too long, a pant that's too high or too low, hems that are trod on. ~ Marc Jacobs

No delicate breeze brings comfort with icy breath of wind
to the hearts which pant on the flames. ~ Seneca.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in stronds afar remote. ~ William Shakespeare

To him Marx and Rand were the same because he went by pant size ~ Steve Aylett

Last week, our picture window
Produced a half-word,
Heavy and hollow,
Hit by a brown bird.
We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
And pant and labor over every intake.
I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace,
Then thought i ought to take her to a higher place.
Said, dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you,
And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view. ~ Joanna Newsom

My weight and my pant size are the absolute last thing I'm concerned about. People who talk and judge pregnant women's weight need to get a life! ~ Ashlee Simpson

Then just how do you conduct business, Vance? I knew you were hiding something from me. Something told me you were their attorney. You definitely have the look of one. It was just something about the way your pant legs whispered above the shine of your shoes but I didn't want to believe it," she recalled from the day of the chaos on the premises of Stone & Nichols. She thought he looked darn good then as well as today. ~ Lawana Dinkins

Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,
I see thee cast a wishful look,
Where reputations won and lost are
In famous row called Paternoster.
Incensed to find your precious olio
Buried in unexplored port-folio,
You scorn the prudent lock and key,
And pant well bound and gilt to see
Your Volume in the window set
Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.

Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn
Whence never Book can back return:
And when you find, condemned, despised,
Neglected, blamed, and criticised,
Abuse from All who read you fall,
(If haply you be read at all
Sorely will you your folly sigh at,
And wish for me, and home, and quiet.

Assuming now a conjuror's office, I
Thus on your future Fortune prophesy: -
Soon as your novelty is o'er,
And you are young and new no more,
In some dark dirty corner thrown,
Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,
Your leaves shall be the Book-worm's prey;

Or sent to Chandler–Shop away,
And doomed to suffer public scandal,
Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle!

But should you meet with approbation,
And some one find an inclination
To ask, by natural transition
Respecting me and my condition;
That I am one, the enquirer teach,
Nor very poor, nor very rich;
Of passions strong, of hasty nature,
Of graceless form and dwarfish stature;
By few approved, and ~ Matthew Gregory Lewis

Fennel, giving up on Ceony's side of the bed, scampered over to Emery's feet and began tugging at his pant leg.

"Emery," Ceony said, pausing her breakfast, "what was that telegram about yesterday?"

"Hm?" he asked, shaking Fennel free. For a moment, Ceony imagined equipping the paper dog with more substantial teeth - plastic, or perhaps steel. The latter would likely weigh his head down. And what did Ceony need a dog with steel teeth for? ~ Charlie N. Holmberg

What happens when I touch you, Kiera?" His tone, almost a growl, was getting as suggestive as his words [...] He ran a hand down his shirt, as he answered his own question. "Your pulse races, your breath quickens." He bit his lip and started simulating heavy breathing [...] "Your body trembles, your lips part, your eyes burn." He closed his eyes and exhaled with a soft groan, then reopened his eyes and suggestively inhaled through his teeth. [...] "Your body aches...everywhere."
He closed his eyes again and exactly mimicked a low moan that I had made with him on several occasions. He tangled a hand back through his own hair, in a way that I had done time and again, and ran his other hand back up his chest, in a way that was only too familiar with me. [...] He swallowed and made a horribly enticing noise as he let his mouth fall open in a pant. "Oh...God...please..." He mimicked in a low groan, as his hands started running down his body, towards his jeans... ~ S.C. Stephens

Judge sucked harder, starting a fast rhythm. Michaels couldn't help but close his eyes and pant through the exhilaration. As soon as Judge slipped his thick digit deep inside him, Michaels yelled out his bliss, not caring who could hear him. "Judge! Fuck!" That finger shoved in as deep as he could get it and Michaels' come exploded up his shaft, shooting onto his chest. Judge growled, rubbing Michaels' seed into his skin. Aggressively massaging the pearly liquid into his strained pecs. He ~ A.E. Via

If we pant after higher improvement and higher attainments, it is not sufficient to view ourselves as we suppose that we are viewed by others ... Because each by-stander may have his own prejudices, beside the prejudices of his age or country. We should rather endeavor to view ourselves as we suppose that Being views [us]. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft

Forget what you learned about poetry in school. (That it's complex, opaque, a problem to be solved in 1500 words by tomorrow.) Poetry is the last preserve of honest speech and the outspoken heart. It holds the cadence of common life. It has a passion for truth and justice and liberty; it is a buoy to people in ordinary trouble: to a friend whose life has gone skidding into the meridian, who has been struck by bad news, who is frying eggs and hash browns and has whiny child clinging to his pant leg. ~ Garrison Keillor

There was no near sound - no steam-engine at work with beat and pant - no click of machinery, or mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell

Let them howl. Let the wolves pant. You have evolved. You were not fashioned to run in a pack, or to be defined by the opinions of those who wish to limit your creativity. Let them howl. Let the wolves pant. ~ Alfa Holden

CHINA'S AMBIGUOUS ROLE ~ Harsh V. Pant

Fuck me, please." I beg and pant at the same time.
"You must understand," he says as he tries to calm his ragged breathing. "All this… It's not about fucking, it's about control, Amelia."
"Fuck control. Fuck me. ~ Alexandra Iff

Donnelley was lifting his shirt away from the torn flesh in his side. He was cranked around, trying to assess the damage in the muck-spotted mirror. To Vero, he looked like an expressionist painting in which all the objects were the same color of too-vivid red: the shirt, the hands holding the shirt, the belt bassing through pant loops. At the center of it all was the thing that corrupted its surroundings with its own gruesome color - a wound. ~ Robert Liparulo