Muffled Quotes

Hades will be here in twenty minutes," Apollo announced from somewhere way too close to the bed. "Either speed this up or pick it up later, kids."
"Oh my gods," I whispered, horrified.
"Oh, and I hope you two are being responsible," Apollo added.
And then he was gone. There was a muffled, hoarse shout from a room nearby.
"Damn him," Aiden muttered, dropping his head onto my shoulder. He shuddered. "Damn him to the Underworld and back again."
My cheeks burned. "A bell - the first chance we get, we are buying him a bell. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

With their hands still joined, he laid them on her stomach. "I love you," he murmured, "both."
"Caine." And his name was muffled against his mouth. "I have so much to learn in only seven months."
"We have a lot to learn in seven months," he corrected. "Why don't we go upstairs." He buried his face into her hair and drew in her scent. "Expectant mothers should lie down-" he lifted his head to grin at her "-often."
"With expectant fathers," Diana agreed, laughing when he swept her into his arms. ~ Nora Roberts

There was someone in his little attic room. Geralt knew it before he even reached the door, sensing it through the barely perceptible vibration of his medallion. He blew out the oil lamp which had lit his path up the stairs, pulled the dagger from his boot, slipped it into the back of his belt and pressed the door handle. The room was dark. But not for a witcher. He was deliberately slow in crossing the threshold; he closed the door behind him carefully. The next second he dived at the person sitting on his bed, crushed them into the linen, forced his forearm under their chin and reached for his dagger. He didn't pull it out. Something wasn't right. "Not a bad start," she said in a muffled voice, lying motionless beneath him. "I expected something like this, but I didn't think we'd both be in bed so quickly. Take your hand from my throat please." "It's ~ Andrzej Sapkowski

And at night, waking out of a dream, overwhelmed and bewitched by the crowding apparitions, a man perceives with alarm how slight is the support, how thin the boundary that divides him from the darkness. We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out. Then the muffled roar of the battle becomes a ring that encircles us, we creep in upon ourselves, and with big eyes stare into the night. ~ Erich Maria Remarque

She stares at it for several moments before taking it out from underneath the plastic film that covers it. Then she holds it with the affection of a mother for her new-born child, tender and loving; Preeti's eyes soften briefly just for that moment. The lava of hurt makes way into her throat, setting ablaze all that she has held within. As memories meet sentience, the apartment echoes with her muffled cries. The photograph, a silent spectator, drenches in her grief as the tears start their descent. ~ Faraaz Kazi

How can you seem so normal?" she said. "Knowing what we know." Her voice was muffled by her folded arms. "What, that we're caught in a death trap?" Shay glanced up at Marco like he'd bitten her. He decided to holster his usual mode of response. He wanted to talk to this girl. ~ Dayna Lorentz

Nix to Declan:

Begin transcript -
Testing. Hello, hellooo, anybody out there? Check, check, one, two. Soft pee. Puh, puh. Resonance! Sooooooft pee. Alpha bravo disco tango duck.
This is Nïx! I'm the Ever-Knowing One, a goddess incandescent, incomparable, and irresistible. But enough about what you think of me. It's a beautiful day in New Orleans. The wind is out of the east at a steady five knots and clouds look like rabbits … But enough about what you think of me!
Now, down to business -
Squirrel!
Where was I? [Long pause] Why am I in Regin's car? Bertil, you crawl right back out of that bong this minute!
Oh, I remember! I am hereby laying down this track for Magister Declan Chase. If you are a mortal of the recorder peon class, know that Dekko and I go waaaaay back, and he'll go berserk (snicker snicker) if he doesn't receive this transmittal. …
Chase, riddle me this: what's beautiful but monstrous, long of tooth but sharp of tooth and soft of mind, and can never ever tell a lie?
That's right. The Enemy of Old can be very useful to you. So use him already.
P.S. Your middle name's about to be spelled r-e-g-r-e-t.
And with that, I must bid you adieu. Don't worry, we'll catch up very soon. …
[Muffled] Who's mummy's wittle echolocator? That's right - you are!
- End transcript ~ Kresley Cole

By slow but sure degrees, the terrors of that hateful corner swell until they beset him at all times; invade his rest, make his dreams hideous, and his nights dreadful. At first, he took a strange dislike to it; feeling as though it gave birth in his brain to something of corresponding shape, which ought not to be there, and racked his head with pains. Then he began to fear it, then to dream of it, and of men whispering its name and pointing to it. Then he could not bear to look at it, nor yet to turn his back upon it. Now, it is every night the lurking-place of a ghost: a shadow: - a silent something, horrible to see, but whether bird, or beast, or muffled human shape, he cannot tell. ~ Charles Dickens

The magic flooded us again. This time Derek was ready - his face showed no change. Ghastek, on the other hand, halted in midrise halfway off the ground.
I unsheathed Slayer. Derek backed away, giving himself room for a leap. If the vamp went berserk, we'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble.
"Ghastek?" I murmured.
"Just a second." His voice sounded muffled.
"Are you losing your grip on him?"
"What?"
The vampire dropped to the floor, regarding me with blood-drenched eyes. "Whatever led you to that conclusion?"
"You froze."
"If you must know, an apprentice brought me my espresso and I burned my tongue on it."
Derek grimaced, disgust practically dripping off his face. ~ Ilona Andrews

This child was well muffled up in a pair of man's trousers, but he did not get them from his father, and a woman's chemise, but he did not get it from his mother. Some people or other had clothed him in rags out of charity. Still, he had a father and a mother. But his father did not think of him, and his mother did not love him. He was one of those children most deserving of pity, among all, one of those who have father ~ Victor Hugo

Not a breath, not a sound - except at intervals the muffled crackling of stones that the cold was reducing to sand - disturbed the solitude and silence surrounding Janine. After a moment, however, it seemed to her that the sky above her was moving in a sort of slow gyration. In the vast reaches of the dry, cold night, thousands of stars were constantly appearing, and their sparkling icicles, loosened at once, began to slip gradually towards the horizon. Janine could not tear herself away from contemplating those drifting flares. She was turning with them, and the apparently stationary progress little by little identified her with the core of her being, where cold and desire were now vying with each other. Before her the stars were falling one by one and being snuffed out among the stones of the desert, and each time Janine opened a little more to the night. Breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the dead weight of others, the craziness or stuffiness of life, the long anguish of living and dying. After so many years of mad, aimless fleeing from fear, she had come to a stop at last. At the same time, she seemed to recover her roots and the sap again rose in her body, which had ceased trembling. Her whole belly pressed against the parapet as she strained towards the moving sky; she was merely waiting for her fluttering heart to calm down and establish silence within her. The last stars of the constellations dropped their clusters a little lower on the desert horizon and became s ~ Albert Camus

In the lassitude after love Odysseus asks Circe, "What is the way to the land of the dead?"

Circe answers, "You are muffled in folds of heavy fabric. You close your eyes against the rough cloth and though you struggle to free yourself you can barely move. With much thrashing and writhing, you manage to throw off another layer, but find that not only is there another one beyond it, but that the weight bearing you down has scarcely decreased. With dauntless spirit you continue to struggle. By infinitesimal degrees, the load becomes lighter and your confinement less. At last, you push away a piece of coarse, heavy cloth and, relieved, feel that it was the last one. As it falls away, you realize you have been fighting through years. You open your eyes. ~ Zachary Mason

On the bad days, there is no color. I know there are colors. I can see the colors, but the world looks gray. The sounds are muffled by a crackling web of static that sits behind my eyes and buzzes in my ears. ~ Uzodinma Iweala

Then Lyra gave a cry so passionate that even in that muffled, mist-hung world it raised an echo, but of course it wasn't an echo, it was the other part of her crying in turn from the land of the living as Lyra moved away into the land of the dead. "My heart, Will ... " she groaned, and clung to him, her wet face contorted with pain. And thus the prophecy that the Master of Jordan College had made to the Librarian, that Lyra would make a great betrayal and it would hurt her terribly, was fulfilled. ~ Philip Pullman

A child-like man is not a man whose development has been arrested; on the contrary, he is a man who has given himself a chance of continuing to develop long after most adults have muffled themselves in the cocoon of middle-aged habit and convention. ~ Aldous Huxley

Zack stood, and Ace pulled him back to the bed. Zack landed with an oomph. "Sorry." Ace tried to be gentle as he pushed Zack to lie straight, the way he'd suggested. "What the fuck?" Zack's voice was muffled by the pillow Ace shoved under his face. "Just relax and enjoy. I'm not coming on to you, for Christ's sake. I'm just trying to be nice. Accept it," he barked, his glare fading when he felt Zack chuckle. "Ass." Zack sighed and settled into the bed.

-Ace & Zack ~ Marie Harte

torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous. ~ Charles Dickens

Now here is an oddity. A question for the zombie philosophers. What does it mean that my past is a fog but my present is brilliant, bursting with sound and color? Since I became Dead I've recorded new memories with the fidelity of an old cassette deck, faint and muffled and ultimately forgettable. But I can recall every hour of the last few days in vivid detail, and the thought of losing a single one horrifies me. Where am I getting this focus? This clarity? I can trace a solid line from the moment I met Julie all the way to now, lying next to her in this sepulchral bedroom, and despite the millions of past moments I've lost or tossed away like highway trash, I know with a lockjawed certainty I'll remember this one for the rest of my life. ~ Isaac Marion

The days come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party but they say nothing. And if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them ~ Robin S. Sharma

Her punishment was to be made to feel like a fool. She had been given her opportunity to participate in civilization, and she had muffled it. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

I suggest some of this broth that Cook made for Mademoiselle,' came Patrice's muffled voice. 'A little Toulouse sausage, some cheese perhaps...'
Gui wolfed down whatever was put in front of him, hunger a gnawing pit in his stomach. Fresh bread and butter, a savory broth made from chicken, then sausage and a slab of cheese, cake made with pears, milk to drink. ~ Laura Madeleine

For the first stretch of road Olivia's eyes were sealed shut, her breath held hostage in her lungs.
"You might want to open your eyes," Wesley called back knowingly, his muffled voice breaking through both of their helmets. "And don't forget to breathe. ~ Shawn Kirsten Maravel

o here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and wondering who I'm in, what I'm in for. My eyes close nostalgically when I remember how I once drifted in my translucent body bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my thoughts through my private ocean in slow-motion somersaults, colliding gently against the transparent bounds of my confinement, the confiding membrane that vibrated with, even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of space to myself, knees crammed against my belly, my thoughts as well as my head are fully engaged. I've no choice, my ear is pressed all day and night against the bloody walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I'm troubled. I'm hearing pillow talk of deadly intent and I'm terrified by what awaits me, by what might draw me in. ~ Ian McEwan

It was a mistake in the system; perhaps it lay in the precept which until now he had held to be uncontestable, in whose name he had sacrificed others and was himself being sacrificed: in the precept, that the end justifies the means. . . .

Perhaps later, much later, the new movement would arise - with new flags, a new spirit knowing of both: of economic fatality and the "oceanic sense." Perhaps the members of the new party will wear monks' cowls, and preach that only purity of means can justify the ends. Perhaps they will teach that the tenet is wrong which says that a man is the quotient of one million divided by one million, and will introduce a new kind of arithmetic based on multiplication: on the joining of a million individuals to form a new entity which, no longer an amorphous mass, will develop a consciousness and an individuality of its own, with an "oceanic feeling" increased a millionfold, in unlimited yet self-contained space.

Rubashov broke off his pacing and listened. The sound of muffled drumming came down the corridor. ~ Arthur Koestler

There is no knowing beyond that membrane, the meniscus of death. What can be seen from here is distorted, refracted. All we can know are those untrustworthy glimpses
that and rumour. The prattle. The dead gossip: it is the reverberation of that gossip against the surface tension of death that the better mediums hear. It is like listening to whispered secrets through a toilet door. It is a crude and muffled susurrus. ~ China Mieville

His arm slid around my shoulders and drew me to him. It was odd, sitting there under the veil of darkness, watching the neighborhood settle down. Lamps burned in windows. TVs flickered. A few houses down, the rhythmic thud of a basketball on concrete and muffled laughter alerted us to the only other people outside on this glorious fall night.

"This is a perfect date," I said.

He tensed. "You'd call it a date?"

"Sure. You wouldn't?"

He looked down at me, his eyes glittering in the faint light. "I thought American girls liked more formality in a date."

"More money is what you mean." I smiled. "It's a date. Don't argue with me."

"I never do. ~ Elizabeth Langston

A muffled curse comes from the doorway. I jerk my head to find Jeb there, blood drained from his face. His gaze is fierce yet dejected, a deep and gut-twisting wound I haven't seen since his dad was alive and tormenting him. ~ A.G. Howard

Evans turned away, did something with his left eyelid for the benefit of the other two. "It's got him," he smirked. "He's tuned-in from now on."

Time started to slow up and act crazy. Minutes took much longer to pass than they had before. It was hard for him to adjust himself to the new ratio, he got all balled-up. When it seemed like half an hour had gone by, the radio would still be playing only the first chorus of the same selection that had begun a good thirty minutes before. Otherwise, nothing much happened. Vinnie was doing a good deal of muffled giggling over there on the divan. The stranger who had been sitting reading the paper got up, yawned, stretched ponderously, and strolled out into the hall, with a muttered "Happy landing!" by way of leave-taking. He didn't come back again any more.

Turner looked down one time and a quarter of an inch of charred paper was all that was left between his fingers. Then the next time he looked there was a full length cigarette again. ~ Cornell Woolrich

Stacey was holding the throw pillow to her mouth now, and all that was visible were her huge, dark brown eyes. When she spoke, her voice was muffled."Who is that?"
I started to explain, but Cayman bowed in her direction extending his arm with a flourish."Only the most handsome and smartest and downright most charming demon there is."But I know that's a mouthful, so you can call me Cayman."
"Um." Her gaze darted around the room."Okay. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

This is how hatred begins
with a muffled laugh on a hot night and a knock on the door. ~ Teresa R. Funke

I hate you!" Pen's would-be shout was muffled by breathlessness, and not-Triss realized that the younger girl was sobbing with exhaustion and rage. "I hate you! You stupid . . . Why did you have to happen? I never asked for a stupid . . . stupid . . . toothy . . . stupid . . . monster thing. ~ Frances Hardinge

Mama, Ollie taught me how to play 'Let It Go' on guitar," Crista piped up in a muffled voice as she pulled her pajama shirt over her head. Aunt Linda shot me a look that was half sheer terror, half witch hunt. The face of someone at peak Frozen saturation. I didn't, I swear, I mouthed, making chopping motions by my neck. ~ Sophie Gonzales

The silky swirl of his tongue in the hollow of her navel sent fire licking through her veins. Hazily aware of the area his mouth was traversing, she stirred beneath him.
Not seeming to realize just where he was kissing her, Matthew persisted, sliding lower until Daisy let out a muffled yelp and pushed hard at his encroaching head.
"What is it?" he asked, rising to his elbows.
Crimson with mortification, Daisy could hardly bring herself to explain. "You were too close to my…well, you accidentally…"
As her voice faded, understanding dawned in Matthew's eyes. Quickly he bent his head to hide his expression, and a tremor ran through his shoulders. He replied with great care, still looking away from her. "It wasn't accidental. I meant to do that."
Daisy was astonished. "But you were going to kiss me right on my - " She broke off as his gaze met hers, laughter dancing in his blue eyes.
He wasn't embarrassed at all - he was amused.
"You're not shocked, are you?" he asked. "I thought you were well read."
"Well, no one would ever write about something like that."
He shrugged, his eyes glowing. "You're the literary authority."
"You're making fun of me," she said.
"Just a little," he whispered, and kissed her stomach again. Her legs jerked against his restraining hands. ~ Lisa Kleypas

What do you think of when you think of mourning?' Jenny asks.
The question snaps me back to attention. I answer without really thinking. "I guess 'Funeral Blues' by W.H. Auden. I think it was Auden. I suppose that's not very original.'
'I don't know it.'
'It's a poem.'
'I gathered.'
'I'm just clarifying. It's not a blues album.'
Jenny ignores my swipe at her intelligence.
'Does your response need to be original? Isn't that what poetry is for, for the poet to express something so personal that it ultimately is universal?'
I shrug. Who is Jenny, even new Jenny, to say what poetry is for? Who am I for that matter?
'Why do you thin of that poem in particular?'
"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, / Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, / Silence the pianos and with muffled drum / Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.'
I learned the poem in college and it stuck. ~ Steven Rowley

Eventually, two Swedish climbers and a Sherpa called Babu Chiri found Mick. By chance--by God's grace--Babu was carrying a spare canister of oxygen.
Neil and Pasang had also now descended, and met up with Mick and the others. Neil then located an emergency cache of oxygen half-buried in the snow nearby. He gave one to Alan and forced both him and Mick to their feet.
Slow and tired, his mind wandering in and out of consciousness, Mick remembers little about the next few hours. It was just a haze of delirium, fatigue, and cold.
Descending blue sheet ice can be lethal. Much more so than ascending it. Mick staggered on down, the debilitating effects of thin air threatening to overwhelm him.
Somewhere beneath the Balcony Mick suddenly felt the ground surge beneath him. There was a rush of acceleration as the loose topping of snow--covering the blue ice--slid away under him.
He began to hurtle down the sheer face on his back, and then made the all-too-easy error of trying to dig in his crampons to slow the fall. The force catapulted him into a somersault, hurtling him ever faster down the steep ice and snow face.
He resigned himself to the fact that he would die.
He bounced and twisted, over and over, and then slid to a halt on a small ledge. Then he heard voices. They were muffled and strange.
Mick tried to shout to them but nothing came out. The climbers who were now at the col then surrounded him, clipped him in, and held him. He was sha ~ Bear Grylls

The man behind the divan stood up, the machine pistol quivering in his grasp. There was a flash, Abigail thinking he'd pulled the trigger, the walls of the sitting area lighting up, the snow glinting. It went dark again. Muffled thunder rolled through the basin, shook the chandelier, the weakened floor trembling beneath her feet. ~ Blake Crouch

...but that very thought, that she might become his wife, had for some reason entered his head the very first time she sat in his study at a little round table, diligently taking down in shorthand the words he dictated in his muffled voice - and he had been purposely dry and sharp with her that day, so she would not feel the power she had already gained over him, but when, as he dictated to her, he imagined himself kneeling before her beneath the flickering light of a nearly spent candle and kissing her feet, with her unable to leave because she was his wife, and about to blow out the candle so they could plunge into the passionate, exquisite swim, then his voice became hoarse and he shut his eyes to blot out the sight of this little girl, as he purposely tried to picture her to help restrain his imagination, girl students being as untouchable as postulants... ~ Leonid Tsypkin

For the time being, all you need to do is become acquainted with St. Vincent. And if you decide you don't wish to marry him, for any reason, you won't have to."
They both stood. Impulsively, Pandora stepped forward and dove her face against Devon's chest and hugged him, undoubtedly surprising I'm as much as herself. She rarely sought out physical contact with anyone. "Thank you," she said in a muffled voice. "It means a great deal that my feelings matter to you."
"Of course they do, sweetheart." Devon gave her a comforting squeeze before drawing back to look down at her. "Do you know the motto on the Ravenel coat of arms?"
"Loyalté nous lie."
Do you know what that means?"
"'Never make us angry?'" Pandora guessed, and was rewarded by his deep laugh. "Actually, I do know," she said. "It means 'loyalty binds us.'"
"That's right," Devon said. "Whatever happens, we Ravenels will remain loyal to each other. We'll never sacrifice one for the sake of the rest. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I am very sorry, sir, but I cannot give you the Windsor crown," Rita said calmly. "I do not have it, and even if I did, it is not mine to give away."
"I don't know if you heard me correctly," the sergeant repeated, his words falling like bricks. "I said, hand it over."
Rita smiled serenely and stood, holding her thin hands clasped in front of her. Nora glanced up at her, a worried look in her eyes.
"Quite possibly it was you who did not understand my reply. I said, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I cannot give you the crown. But I can offer you a nice cup of tea, and I just baked a batch of cheddar scones."
A muffled snicker went through the room. I could even see Wesley, who stood by the door, trying not to smile. ~ Galaxy Craze

While inside the vaulting of the ribs between his knees the darkly meated heart pumped of who's will and the blood pulsed and the bowels shifted in their massive blue convolutions of who's will and the stout thighbones and knee and cannon and the tendons like flaxen hawsers that drew and flexed and drew and flexed at their articulations of who's will all sheathed and muffled in the flesh and the hooves that stove wells in the morning groundmist and the head turning side to side and the great slavering keyboard of his teeth and the hot globes of his eyes where the world burned. ~ Cormac McCarthy

I've been told that conscience speaks in a small voice at the back of the mind, clear to some, to others muffled and easy to ignore ~ Mark Lawrence

How did we get there?" I asked in a muffled voice. "What are we to do?"
I felt Josef's shoulders lift in a shrug. "What we've always done, I suppose. Survive. ~ S. Jae-Jones

Happiness would come, Harry thought, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps. Most of all he felt the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep. But first he owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth. Painstakingly he recounted what he had seen in the Pensieve and what had happened in the forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement what at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination. ~ J.K. Rowling

I hate to break it to you," he said, "but this time a pair of sunglasses isn't going to cut it. People are probably going to know you've been crying."
"I thought you were dead," she told him, her voice muffled, her face buried in his shirt. "When those bullets hit you, I thought . . . I thought . . ."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said, stroking her hair. His heart was in his throat. Was it possible she really cared that much? "I know you pretty well by now, Al. You thought, 'Oh, fuck, the dumb son of a bitch is dead. Now who are they going to send to annoy the crap out of me? ~ Suzanne Brockmann

She wrapped her arms around his head and hugged him to her abdomen. "Why are you so nice to me?"
His chuckle was muffled against her belly. "I have ulterior motives."
"Such as?"
"Making you mine." Shit. Why had he said that? He was showing his cards much too soon.
She slapped his shoulder. "Don't say it if you don't mean it." He wished he could say he didn't mean it. He didn't particularly want to be so far gone. Ah, what the fuck - he liked her. A lot. She was just going to have to learn to live with it. If he could admit it, surely she could accept it.
"I mean it, Toni." He untangled his head from her grasp so he could look up at her. "I really do like you. And it isn't just lust." For once in his dick-led life. "I can't stop thinking about you. Even when you're not in my bed, you're in my head. It's driving me crazy. I'm not sure how to handle it."
She smiled, and he saw her feelings displayed clearly in her eyes. "You're going to break my heart someday." She released a sigh and stared over his head as she spoke. "I really like you too, Logan. But maybe it's best if we pretend the only thing between us is lust. If I fall for you . . ." She shook her head and closed her eyes.
"You don't trust me with your heart."
"Should I?"
He wanted to say she should, wanted to say that he'd never hurt her, but he, more than anyone, was aware of his track record with women.
"That's something you'll have to decide on your own. ~ Olivia Cunning

All the fear in the world, and the violence that comes from the fear, and the hatred that comes from the violence, and the lonliness that comes from the hatred. All the unhappiness, all the cruelty, it gathers like clouds in the air, and grows dark and cold and heavy, and falls like grey snow in thick layers over the land. Then the world is muffled and numb, and no one can hear each other or feel each other. Think how sad and lonely that must be. ~ William Nicholson

Anyway, I'm in bed with her, with her bracelets. Her face is a blank, so I darken the lights. Off go her silky undergarments. The bracelets are all she has on. They glint slightly, a pleasant muffled clinking on the sheets. I have a hard-on.
Which, halfway down the ladder, is what I noticed. Just great. Why now? Why didn't I get an erection when I needed one? And why was I getting so excited over two lousy bracelets? Especially under this slicker, with the world about to end. ~ Haruki Murakami

Languages are fluffy big pillows stuffed between nations - what others say is muffled and nearly lost in them, and when we speak their grammar we get feathers in our mouth. It's worth it. What pleasure to phrase an idea, even in child's words, slowly, and sail it across the gulf in another language to a different-speaking human being! ~ Richard Bach

In Ronan's hand, the mask was as thin as a sheet of paper, still warm from Adam's gasped breaths. Orphan Girl buried her face in his side, her body shaking with sobs. Her tiny voice was muffled: "Tollerere me a hic, tollerere me a hic ... "
Take me away from here, take me away from here. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

You look beautiful, Rena." Gently he laid a hand on the mound of her belly. His sister, he thought as wonder and pride mixed together. His baby sister. "I can't get used to it," he murmured.
Serena put her hand on his. "You don't have a great deal more time to get used to it." She felt the baby move under their joined hands and grinned as Alan's gaze dropped to them. "He or she is impatient to begin." Tilting her head, she studied Alan's face. "Dad's suddenly gotten it into his head there might be two...I wonder who might have planted that seed?"
His eyes smiled as he lifted them to his sister's. "It was purely a defensive maneuver."
"Mmm-hmm." Turning, she held out both hands. "You must be Shelby. I'm glad you could come."
Shelby felt the warmth, more carefres than Alan's, the welcome, less curious than Caine's. "So am I.I've been wanting to meet the woman who broke Alan's nose."
With a muffled chuckle, Serena jerked her head toward Caine. "It was supposed to be his." She narrowed her eyes a moment as Caine dipped his hands into his pockets and grinned. "It should have been his. Come on in and meet the rest of the family," she continued as she tucked her arm through Shelby's. "God,I hope Alan prepared you."
"In his own way."
"If you start to feel overwhelmed, just shoot me a look. These days all I have to do is sigh to distract Dad's attention for an hour and a half. ~ Nora Roberts

I would like to be able to convey to you the sound of dead voices, to break open this unbearable tomb of sound, to wrest something more than silhouettes from vanished years and by some unimaginable trick let you hear the ha-ha-ha with which Catulle Mendès accompanied the slightest sentence, the muffled voice of Edmond Rostand or the laughter which Proust smeared over his face with his white-gloved hand and his beard. ~ Jean Cocteau

He's got gas," Aaron explained, his voice muffled by the hand still over his face. "It happens when he eats stuff he's not supposed to."
"It's vile," Camael said, glaring at the dog. "Something should be done so that it never happens again. ~ Thomas E. Sniegoski

Isaiah go home and get some sleep, said God.

Isaiah went home, slept, woke again.

Isaiah felt a sensation below the neck, it was a silk and bitter sensation.

Isaiah looked down.

It was milk forcing the nipples open.

Isaiah was more than whole.

I am not with you am in you, said the muffled white voice of God. ~ Anne Carson

The begging snapped into a sharp muffled shriek, just one, just the one terrible muted cry. Krista couldn't move. She stared at the door as if it were a nightmare painting from Hieronymus Bosch's personal, tortured hell. Then ~ Robert Crais

Look through people," I tell her, my voice muffled by the helmet. "Smile without kindness. No small talk, no court talk. Act as if you have a million secrets, and you're the only one important enough to know them all."
She nods, taking this all in stride. After all, Cal and I have both instructed her on how to pass as Maven. This is merely a reminder, a last glance at the book before the test. "I'm not a fool," she replies coldly, and I almost punch her in the jaw. She is not Maven rings in my head, louder than a bell.
"I think you've got it," Kilorn says as he stands. He grabs my arm, pulling me slightly away. "Mare nearly killed you. ~ Victoria Aveyard

Grisaille let go of Ruthven and flopped face downward onto the duvet, with a creak of springs.

'I am never leaving this bed again,' he said, muffled by the covers. 'I am amalgamated with this bed. This bed and I have achieved spiritual oneness. I am it and it is me. ~ Vivian Shaw

A sharp rap at her window startled her even further, and her blood rushed in a charge from her head to her feet. She blinked and blinked again, but the tall figure at the window didn't appear to be going anywhere.
"It's really wet out here, y'know," came a muffled voice from the other side of the glass. "Are you going to ignore me for much longer? ~ Frankie Rose

I need you right now, Shea. My body is going up in flames, and I hurt like hell. We have to be alone soon or I might die."
Her laughter muffled against his chest. "No one has ever died because they wanted to make love." But she wasn't sure. Her own body was burning and begging for the connection to his.
Gregori suddenly materialized, made a soft, sighing noise, and sent them a clear frown. Like guilty children they broke apart. ~ Christine Feehan

Go away," I muffled out. "I'm busy."
"You look super busy."
"I'm busy willing multiple People to be hit by cars."
"Am I on the list?"
"No. But you could be."
He snickered. ~ Santino Hassell

Lopez patted his arm, closed her eyes with a pained grimace and said, "Then you gotta man the fuck up and go talk about your emotions." She opened her eyes at the muffled groan of protest from Jonah and said sympathetically, "I know, I feel your pain. You want to go shoot something? ~ Taylor Lewis

I heard one muffled sniff and knew she was
crying. Damn Chaz. Damn Buck. Damn Lucas/Landon/whoever the hell he was. ~ Tammara Webber

Billos ran. He tore down the shore, bounded up on the rock, and dove into the air.
The warm water engulfed him. A boiling heat knocked the wind from his lungs. The shock alone might kill him.
But it was pleasure that surged through his body, not pain. The sensations coursed through his bones in great unrelenting waves.
Elyon.
How he was certain, he did not know. But he knew. Elyon was in this lake with him.
Billos opened his eyes. Gold light drifted by. He lost all sense of direction. The water pressed in on every inch of his body, as intense as any acid, but one that burned with pleasure instead of pain.
He sank into the water, opened his mouth and laughed. He wanted more, much more. He wanted to suck the water in and drink it.
Without thinking, he did just that. The liquid hit his lungs. Billos pulled up, panicked. He tried to hack the water from his lungs, but inhaled more instead. No pain. He carefully sucked more water and breathed it out slowly. Then again, deep and hard. Out with a soft whoosh. He was breathing the water!
Billos shrieked with laughter. He swam into the lake, deeper and deeper. The power contained in this lake was far greater than anything he'd ever imagined.
"I made this, Billos."
Billos whipped his body around, searching for the words' source. "Elyon?" His voice was muffled, hardly a voice at all.
"Do you like it?"
"Yes!" Billos said. He might have spoken; he might have shouted-- ~ Ted Dekker

Nick tugged her head back, his tormented gaze raking over her face. His trembling fingertips traced the line of her cheek and jaw. "My God. Lottie…" As his panicked exploration continued, he discovered the bruises on her throat, and he uttered a cry of fury. "Holy hell! Your neck. He dared to… I'm going to slaughter that bastard - "
Lottie placed her fingers over his mouth. "I'm all right," she said gently. Feeling the way his large body shook, she drew her hand over his chest in a calming stroke. After the traumatic events of the past hours, it was so wonderful to be with him that her lips curved in a wobbly smile. She gazed into his dusty, sweat-streaked face with concern. "In fact, I believe I may be in better condition than you, my darling."
A primitive groan came from his throat, and he clutched her with his right arm, bending over her hungrily. "I love you," he said in a low, shaken voice. "I love you so much, Lottie." His lips covered hers in a fiercely ardent kiss.
Clearly he was too unsettled to recall that there were others in the room. Lottie turned her face away with a muffled laugh. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Not here, darling. Later, with more privacy, we can - " She was silenced as Nick seized her mouth once more. Suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall by six feet of aroused, overwrought male. Realizing that there was no hope of subduing him, Lottie stroked his broad back in an effort to soothe him. He possessed her with ~ Lisa Kleypas

And if that weren't bad enough, the next sound he heard was a loud click.
The damned woman had locked him out. She'd taken all the food and locked him out.
"You'll pay for this!" he yelled at the door.
"Do be quiet," came the muffled reply. "I'm eating. ~ Julia Quinn

Alan Campbell opened one eye.
From somewhere in remote distances, muffled beyond sight or sound, his soul crawled back painfully, through subterranean corridors, up into his body again. Toward the last it moved to a cacophony of hammers and lights.
Then he was awake.
The first eye was bad enough. But, when he opened his second eye, such as rush of anguish flowed through his brain that he hastily closed them again. ~ John Dickson Carr

I find my anger ebbing away, and I'm lost in muffled grief again, this time not just for Tris, but for Uriah, whose smile is burned into my memory. My friend's brother, and then my friend, too, though not for long enough to let his humor work its way into me, not for long enough. ~ Veronica Roth

A distant, eerie howl had risen out of the floor, from far beneath. Silent, absolutely still, she waited, and at last it came again, indefinably closer, but muffled, as if layers of stone-rooms, dungeons, cellars-were between her and it. Not human. She crouched down with her ear to the stone slabs. Somewhere down there, unguessable levels below,something prowled. ~ Catherine Fisher

You may be astonished that in such a short period of time I could go from weeping over the muffled killing of a flying fish to gleefully bludgeoning to death a dorado. I could explain it by arguing that profiting from a pitiful flying fish's navigational mistake made me shy and sorrowful, while the excitement of actively capturing a great dorado made me sanguinary and self-assured. But in point of fact the explanation lies elsewhere. It is simple and brutal: a person can get used to anything, even to killing. ~ Yann Martel

They'd managed to make it through the room without waking the maid, and all the way to the top of the stairs before the next problem had arisen in the form of the women returning from the ball and entering the foyer below. In a panic, Daniel and Richard had rushed back along the upper hall, and then ducked into this room to wait for the way to be clear.
"We'd best move while we have the chance," Richard said behind him. "Once they have Christiana in bed, the girls will no doubt seek their own rooms and this could be one of them."
Daniel nodded and eased the door open to check the hall. When a quick glance in both directions showed it to be empty, he pulled the door wide and stepped out of the way for Richard to lead with his burden. He then started to follow, but had barely taken a step when Richard suddenly whirled back toward him. Caught by surprise, Daniel was slow to react. Before he could, Richard cursed, and suddenly thrust George's body on him.
Pure instinct made Daniel grab at the blanket-encased corpse. He then found himself stumbling back under a push from Richard, a very stiff George caught to his chest in some sort of macabre dance as the door closed leaving him alone in the dark room. Regaining his footing, Daniel stood absolutely still in the lightless chamber, simply listening as he tried to figure out why Richard hadn't followed him into the room. He relaxed a little when he heard the other man's voice muffled through the door, saying, "Ladies. ~ Lynsay Sands

What matters is only what's here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one's curled, and where he kicks, 'cause he has to. Like, he don't feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music.
It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it's starting to sooth him. It's so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it's coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it's floating inside, into his soft, tender ear.
I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft - around me around him - and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me - but here I am, singing along. I'm whispering words into myself, into him. ~ Uvi Poznansky

You're suppressing my first amendment rights," she said, voice muffled. "You don't live in America; you live in the United States of Teague. ~ Lauren Gilley

I'm all dressed in my new clothes," Luis's proud but muffled voice comes through the pillow. "The nenas won't be able to resist this Latino stud."
"Good for you," I mumble.
"Mama said I should pour this pitcher of water on you if you don't get up."
Was privacy too much to ask for? I take my pillow and chuck it across the room. It's a direct hit. The water splashes all over him.
" Culero! " he screams at me. "These are the only new clothes I got. ~ Simone Elkeles

The Genesis Of Butterflies

The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies ~ Victor Hugo

When I look at this world I feel a deep pain.
A burden in my soul.
This overwhelming sadness threatens to engulf me, to crush me with waves of despair.

Who can I trust but you?

Our Western civilization has fallen foul to false idols.
Community is replaced by screen's of various sizes.
Friendship is reduced to a virtual status.

Yet in You I find community.
In you I find friendship.
The wife you provided, the baby on the way.

The love of this world is enmity with you.
The world's love blows hot and cold.
A politics of hate, a muffled church, neighbourhoods of fear and pain -
Broken, All Broken!
But, Your light still shines.
Pockets of hope, sparkles in the night.
The Sunrise is coming! ~ David Holdsworth

Is anything going to kill me if I use your bathroom?" I finally asked.
"Knowing you?" Pritkin's voice was muffled since he hadn't raised his head.
I frowned. "Is that a yes?"
A couple of fingers came up to massage his temple. "That is a no. Assuming you didn't bring anything deadly along with you. ~ Karen Chance

He dismounted and helped Amelia to the ground. At his direction, she sat on a fallen birch log while he set up a makeshift camp. She waited with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching his every movement as he pulled a bundle of blankets from the packsaddle. In a few minutes he had made a fire in the stone-circled pit and laid out a pallet beside it.
Amelia hurried to the pile of blankets and burrowed beneath the layers of wool and quilted cotton. "Is it safe out here?" she asked, her voice muffled.
"You're safe from everything but me." Smiling, Cam lowered himself beside her. ~ Lisa Kleypas

There is no lie. The world is presented as it is. Nothing is concealed, except for perhaps the identity of the Creator, which is not so much a lie as it is a reasonable omission. No view is, however, disguised. No composition of the natural landscape is purposefully twisted or deformed so as to deliberately deceive, and no function of the natural world is dressed in sweet deception. No scream is muffled, no laceration sanitised, and the pain of hunger and thirst are naked for all to see and be sickened by. Diseases of every ghastly flavour are on loathsome display, the blights of parasitism are laid bare, and the crippling agonies of old age are public property. The terror of predation is revealed in every anguished look, the fear of infanticide written on every mother's face, and the misery of earthquakes, landslides, cyclones, floods, volcanoes, tsunamis, droughts, heat waves, and wild fires conferred uncensored upon stunned and appropriately intimidated audiences. ~ John Zande

So gorgeous was the spectacle on the May morning of 1910 when nine kings rode in the funeral of Edward VII of England that the crowd, waiting in hushed and black-clad awe, could not keep back gasps of admiration. In scarlet and blue and green and purple, three by three the sovereigns rode through the palace gates, with plumed helmets, gold braid, crimson sashes, and jeweled orders flashing in the sun. After them came five heirs apparent, forty more imperial or royal highnesses, seven queens - four dowager and three regnant - and a scattering of special ambassadors from uncrowned countries. Together they represented seventy nations in the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last. The muffled tongue of Big Ben tolled nine by the clock as the cortege left the palace, but on history's clock it was sunset, and the sun of the old world was setting in a dying blaze of splendor never to be seen again. ~ Barbara W. Tuchman

The voice of our original self is often muffled, overwhelmed, even strangled, by the voices of other people's expectations. ~ Julia Cameron

Sitting in the empty classroom and listening to the faraway sounds of noisy students in the cafeteria, I was reminded of feeling sick in class and being sent to the school nurse. The nurse's office had that same muffled sense of distance, like a satellite to the loud planet that was the school. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

And through it all, Adèle sat idle at the organ keyboard - listening to the muffled gasps of the old compressor in the basement - listening as it wheezed and pleaded its convincing argument for swift mutual retirement. ~ Bruce Rousseau

World's freakiest bloodsucker, right here," I went on. "And you know what? If it makes some of you uncomfortable, too bad. If it makes some of you so uncomfortable you want to start shit with me about it, step right up and see if I don't eat the hell out of you next!"
I'd meant that last part as a threat, but somewhere in my impassioned declaration of independence from hiding what I was, I'd neglected to think through my phrasing. I saw Bones raise a brow, a muffled snicker broke out from Ian, and then Vlad laughed loud and hearty.
"With that sort of invitation, Reaper, you might want to suggest the line form to your right."
"That's not ... I meant eat them in a bad way," I sputtered. ~ Jeaniene Frost

The throw truck driver and car-lot owner stood there, peering at us. Hier voice came through, muffled by the glass. 'You find what you're looking for?'
Grace reached across and rolled down the window. She was talking to him but looking at me, gaze intense, when she said, 'Absolutely. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

When she rolled over, nestling her back into Daniel's chest so that he was cradling her with his right wing, her eyelids fluttered shut. Then they flew open.
She was face to face with Cam.
He was inches away, on his side, head propped on his hand, green eyes holding hers as if they were both in a trance. He opened his mouth as if to say something-
BOOM.
The room trembled like a leaf. For an instant, the air seemed to take on a strange transparency. Cam's body shimmered, both there and somehow not there, his very existence seeming to flicker.
"Timequake," Daniel said.
"A big mother," Cam agreed.
Luce sprang upright, gaping at her own body in the sleeping bag, at Daniel's hand on her knee, at Arriane, whose muffled voice called out," "I'wuzznt me," until Annabelle's wing slapped her awake. All of them were flickering before each other's eyes. Solidly present one moment, as insubstantial as ghosts the next.
The timequake had jarred loose a dimension in which they weren't even there.
The cave around them shuddered. Sand sifted down from the walls. But unlike those of Luce and her friends, the physical properties of the red rock remained fixed, as if to prove that only people-souls-were at risk of being erased. ~ Lauren Kate

I just proposed to Isabelle," (Simon) announced.
Beatriz screamed with excitement. Some of the students, fearing a demon attack, also screamed. One of them fell off a rafter and thumped to the ground on a training mat. Clary burst into happy tears and threw her arms around Simon.
Jace lay down on the floor, arms thrown wide. "We're going to be family," he said glumly. "You and me, Simon, we're going to be brothers. People will think we're related."
"No one will think that," Simon said, his voice muffled against Clary's hair. ~ Cassandra Clare

Tongues and odors mixed on the air: Iskari and motor oil, sweat and leather, Camlaander and Archipelagese and some Shining Empire dialect like silk-muffled cymbals. ~ Max Gladstone

Beautiful prairies, bordered by lofty hills sparsely scattered with timber, stretch around. The massive fronds of the Pinus Ponderosa replace the elegant leaflets of the Cedar, no longer found save rarely, perchance, in some deep dell moistened by a purling streamlet. Groves of aspen appear here and there. The Balsam Poplar shows itself at intervals only, along the streams. The white racemes of the Service-berry flower, and the chaste flowers of the Mock Orange, load the air with their fragrance. Every copse re-echoes with the low drumming of the ruffed Grouse; the trees resound with the muffled booming of the Cock of the Woods. The Pheasant shirrs past; the scrannel-pipe of the larger Crane -- ever a watchful sentinel -- grates harshly on the ear; and the shrill whistle of the Curlew as it soars aloft aides the general concert of the re-opined year. I speak still of Spring; for the impressions of that jocum season are ever the most vivid, and naturally recur with the greatest force in after years. -- Alexander Caulfield Anderson describing the new brigade trail between Lac la Hache and Kamloops. ~ Nancy Marguerite Anderson

Levering himself over Evie's prone body, Sebastian risked a glance upward at the second-floor balcony. Bullard was gone. With a grunt of pain, Sebastian rolled to his side and searched his wife for injuries, terrified that the bullet might have struck her as well. "Evie…sweetheart…are you hurt?"
"Why did you push me like that?" she asked in a muffled voice. "No, I'm not hurt. What was that noise?"
His shaking hand brushed over her face, pushing back a tumble of hair that had fallen across her eyes.
Bemused, Evie wriggled out from beneath him and sat up.
Sebastian remained on his side, panting for breath, while he felt a hot slide of blood over his chest and waist.
People were crowding to flee the building, threatening to trample the couple on the floor. Suddenly a man came to crouch over them, having fought his way through the rushing horde.
He used his body as a bulwark to keep them from being overrun. Blinking, Sebastian realized that it was Westcliff. Dizzily Sebastian reached up to clutch at his coat. "He aimed for Evie," Sebastian said hoarsely. His lips had gone numb, and he licked at them before continuing. "Keep her safe…keep her… ~ Lisa Kleypas

To all that is used-up, and to all the muffled and dumb creatures in the world's full reserve, the unsayable sums, joyfully add yourself, and cancel the count. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

My wife has made up Ty's old bedroom for you," he told him in a low voice as Ty and Mara argued over the merits of the couch cushions versus the rocks out back.
"Oh Christ." Zane laughed, falling back in his chair. "He won't let me forget this. Losing his bed to me."
"Well," Earl said with a sigh, "it's either that or fight his mama over it." He sat and watched Ty and Mara for a moment, sipping at his coffee contentedly. "Ain't none of us ever won that fight," he told Zane flatly.
"Me and Zane'll just bunk together," Ty was arguing.
Mara laughed at him. "You two boys won't fit in a double bed any more than I'll still fit in my wedding dress," she scoffed.

[...]

"Good morning, Zane dear, how did you sleep?" Mara asked as she came up to him and pressed a glass of orange juice into his hands.
"Ah, okay," Zane hedged, taking the glass out of self-defense. "I don't do too well sleeping in strange places lately, but…."
"Well, Ty's bed is about as strange a place as you can get," Deuce offered under his breath. He followed it with a muffled grunt as Ty kicked him under the table. ~ Abigail Roux

Night came on, the lamps were lighted, the tables near him found occupants, and Paris began to wear that peculiar evening look of hers which seems to say, in the flare of windows and theatre-doors, and the muffled rumble of swift-rolling carriages, that this is no world for you unless you have your pockets lined and your scruples drugged. ~ Henry James

So, I was looking through websites about animal sacrifice on the Internet," Kami announced to distract herself. "Apparently it's a feature in Satanic rituals."
"Wow," Rusty remarked, his voice slightly muffled. "I sure hope this conversation continues over dinner."
"Wait," Angela said, expertly twisting Rusty's arm. "I thought we were dealing with kids? Are we talking about twelve-year-old Satanists?" She paused. "Actually, that makes a lot of sense. I suspect those kids from the cricket club. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan

What would you do without me?" he asked one night. We were tangled in the silky sheets of his gigantic bed. My heart was still pounding as I came down from the high of what we'd just done, and he wasn't helping matters by putting his lips so close to my ear.
"Live a happy… happy life," I murmured. "I might even… be an optimist… if you weren't around."
"Liar." He bit my earlobe playfully. "You'd be absolutely miserable. Admit it, Duffy. I'm the wind beneath your wings."
I bit my lip, but I still couldn't hold back the laughter-and just as I was finally catching my breath, too. "You just referenced Bette Midler… in bed. I'm starting to question your sexuality, Wesley."
Wesley looked at me with a defiant glint in his eye. "Oh, really?" He grinned before moving his mouth back to my ear and whispering, "We both know that my manhood has never been in question… I think you're just changing the subject because you know it's true. I'm the light of your life."
"You…" I struggled for words as Wesley pressed his mouth into the crook of my neck. The tip of his tongue moved down to my shoulder and made my brain get all fuzzy. How was I supposed to argue under these conditions? "You wish. I'm just using you, remember?"
His laughter was muffled against my skin. "That's amusing," he said, his lips still grazing my collarbone. "Because I'm pretty sure your ex is out of town by now." One of his hands slid between my knees. "Yet you're still here, aren't you?" His f ~ Kody Keplinger

Guess what?" Maggie said as soon as I walked into Celmentine's.
"What?"
She clapped her hands. "I have a date to the prom!"
"Guess what?" I replied.
"What?"
"I don't." Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, and," I added, "I bought a bike."
.... "Okay, let's just slow down." She held up her hands, palms facing me. "First things first. What do you mean, you don't have a date?"
"Just that," I said, sitting down at the desk. "Jason bailed on me."
"Again?"
I nodded.
"When?"
"About twenty minutes ago."
"Oh, my God." She put her hand over her mouth: her expression was so horrified, like someone had died. "That's the worst thing ever."
"No," I said, swallowing. "It's actually not."
"No?"
I shook my head. "The worst thing is that right afterward, I marched right into the bike shop and asked Eli to go with me, and he said no."
She threw up her other hand, clapping it over the one already covering her mouth. "Holy crap," she said, her voice muffled. "Where does the bike come in?"
"I don't know," I said, waving my hand. "That part's kind of a blur. ~ Sarah Dessen

I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m., gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes. ~ Anna Peters

He thought of the feeling of receiving oxygen from a mask and the calming sensation it brought, partly because of the concentrated gas but partly too because he could hear his muffled lungs expelling their product within the mask, and it reminded him that he was breathing, that the gas was flowing at all times but most importantly at that moment, a constant and essential truth. His lips and lungs and teeth were witness to the passage of breath. ~ Amelia Gray

You've been quiet, lass. Are you alive back there?'
All she could do was grunt with exasperation through the tight gag that was pressing down on her tongue.
'Aye, I know.' He nodded, as if he had understood every word. 'I was thinking about removing it, but something tells me you've been working up a mountain of complaints, so if it's all the same to you, I'll wait till we're somewhere more remote before I release that mouth of yours, so no one will hear your screeching.'
'I won't screech,' she tried to say, but it came out as a muffled grumble.
'What was that? You think I'm very wise? Aye, I think so, too. ~ Julianne MacLean

She buried her face against his chest, solid and broad, allowing herself this moment to fully lean on him, take some of the strength he readily offered. "I don't regret my choice," she said, her voice muffled as she pressed herself tight. "If I had to, I'd make the exact same decisions. But it hurts so damned much."
"Give me your pain, love," he said holding her against the steady beat of his heart. "Let me take it for you."
She shook her head. "No, the pain is mine to bear. I need it." She took a ragged breath. "To make me stronger. ~ Zoe Archer

What he longs for instead, as he sits at the food-strewn table, is winter, winter itself. He wants the essentiality of winter, not this half-season grey selfsameness. He wants real winter where woods are sheathed in snow, trees emphatic with its white, their bareness shining and enhanced because of it, the ground underfoot snow-covered as if with frozen feathers or shredded cloud but streaked with gold through the trees from low winter sun, and at the end of the barely discernible track, along the dip in the snow that indicates a muffled path between the trees, the view and the woods opening to a light that's itself untrodden, never been blemished, wide like an expanse of snow-sea, above it more snow promised, waiting its time in the blank of the sky. ~ Ali Smith

. . . to my surprise I began to know what The Language was about, not just the part we were singing now but the whole poem. It began with the praise and joy in all creation, copying the voice of the wind and the sea. It described sun and moon, stars and clouds, birth and death, winter and spring, the essence of fish, bird, animal, and man. It spoke in what seemed to be the language of each creature. . . . It spoke of well, spring, and stream, of the seed that comes from the loins of a male creature and of the embryo that grows in the womb of the female. It pictured the dry seed deep in the dark earth, feeling the rain and the warmth seeping down to it. It sang of the green shoot and of the tawny heads of harvest grain standing out in the field under the great moon. It described the chrysalis that turns into a golden butterfly, the eggs that break to let out the fluffy bird life within, the birth pangs of woman and of beast. It went on to speak of the dark ferocity of the creatures that pounce upon their prey and plunge their teeth into it--it spoke in the muffled voice of bear and wolf--it sang the song of the great hawks and eagles and owls until their wild faces seemed to be staring into mine, and I knew myself as wild as they. It sang the minor chords of pain and sickness, of injury and old age; for a few moments I felt I was an old woman with age heavy upon me. ~ Monica Furlong