Powder Cheeks Quotes

The door opened to reveal Janie gleefully putting the finishing touches of the bright pink polish on Max's hands.
"Nice timing," the solider said with a grimace.
Talen snorted. "You're relieved, in case you need to powder your cheeks. ~ Rebecca Zanetti

Cheeks flaming, I wanted to smack myself. Why had I said that? To piss him off orto make myself look like a total ho-bag? I'd accomplished a little of both. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

The smile that folded the puffed eyelids and creased the sagging cheeks was fixed and forced. I'd seen such smiles in mortuaries on the false face of death. It reminded me that I was going to grow old and die. ~ Ross Macdonald

His gaze settles on my lips for a few seconds, then slides up to meet mine. Oh Gods, how my hearts pound. The heat of a blush sneaks up my neck and makes itself at home on my cheeks, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. Sani can definitely hear my frenzied pulse. Hell, as loud as it is, my father can probably hear it from here. ~ Sarah Nicolas

One of the most important long-term changes that arose as a result of this case was the creation of the "murder bag" for use by police. Spilsbury had been shocked to see police officers having to remove rotting flesh and body parts from the scene of the crime using their bare hands. To address this problem, a series of meetings were held between Scotland Yard and Spilsbury, which led to the development of the murder bag, which contained rubber gloves, tweezers, evidence bags, a magnifying glass, compass, ruler, and swabs. Such a bag is now an essential part of any major inquiry and may contain various items, depending on the specific department. Common modern additions include a fiberglass brush, lifting tape, powder, utility knife, scissors, a blood test, a semen test, swabs, alcohol hand spray, scalpels, and goggles ~ Nigel McCrery

There go the crazy eyes again," he whispered.

"Shit." I shut my eyes tight. Lizzy walking in on me and my boyfriend seven years ago had been pretty damn embarrassing, especially given that she then ran and told mom. Not that mom had been coherent enough to care. This, however, topped it.

"Your cheeks have gone all rosy. Are you thinking rude thoughts about me, Anne?"

"No."

"Liar," he taunted in a soft voice. "You're totally thinking of me with no pants on."

I totally was.

"That's just gross, dude. A massive invasion of my privacy." He leaned in closer, his breath warming my ear. "Whatever you're imagining, it's bigger."

"I'm not imagining anything."

"I'm serious. It's basically a monster. I cannot control it."

"Malcolm–"

"You're pretty much going to need a whip and chair to tame it, Anne."

"Stop it."

"That okay with you? ~ Kylie Scott

Before she turned around to face him, she wiped away the tears that had started down her cheeks. Nancy didn't cry much, but when she did, she cried in private. ~ Carolyn Keene

A gal who wants to powder her nose should have enough toilet tissue in hand. ~ Anyaele Sam Chiyson

This isn't just about me," he said. "You're supposed to be head of the Council one day. Prodigium have to trust you, and that's never going to happen if you have one of them in your bed."
A combination of anger and embarrassment rushed through me, burning my cheeks. "Okay, first of all, no one is 'in my bed.' Second, Archer has saved my life more than once. He's not what you think he is. ~ Rachel Hawkins

The driver bumped his way through the door and plopped down Caitlyn's "luggage." Caitlyn watched Madame Snowe's eyes go to it, widening as
she took it in. Caitlyn's cheeks heated.
Her "luggage" was a Vietnam War-era army green duffel bag, bought for a dollar at a garage sale. Cloud-shaped moisture stains mottled its
faded surface, and jagged stitches of black carpet thread sealed a rip on one end, Caitlyn's clumsy needlework giving the mended hole the look of
one of Frankenstein's scars.
"Is that all you brought?" Greta asked.
Caitlyn nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her.
"Very good. You will have no trouble unpacking, and then you can burn your bag, heh?"
"Reduce, reuse, recycle!" Caitlyn said with false cheer. "We're very big on living green in Oregon. Why buy a new suitcase when someone else's
old duffel bag will do?"
"We'll see that it gets … disposed of properly, ~ Lisa Cach

HIGH-ALKALINE FOODS

Vegetables
Beets, Broccoli, Cauliflower, Celery, Cucumbers, Kale, Lettuce, Mushrooms, Onions, Peas, Peppers, Pumpkin, Spinach, Sprouts, Wheatgrass

Fruits
Apples, Apricots, Avocados, Bananas, Blueberries, Cantaloupe, Cherries (sour), Grapes, Melon, Lemon, Oranges, Peaches, Pears, Pineapple, Raspberries, Strawberries, Watermelon

Protein
Almonds, Chestnuts, Whey Protein Powder, Tofu

Spices
Cinnamon, Curry, Ginger, Mustard, Sea Salt ~ Derek Hough

She jumped. "You walk like a cat!"
"I am a cat, sweetheart." He wanted to tease her again, so he let a low growl rumble up from his chest. "See?"
Streaks of vibrant color stained her cheeks once more. But she didn't back down. "Are you planning to move?"
"No." He drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to nuzzle at her throat. "You smell good. Can I taste you?" It was a half-serious question. "Just a little?"
"Mr. Quinn!" She took a step around him and headed off.
But he'd already caught the tart bite of arousal in her scent. Satisfied, he followed, on his best behavior now. It wouldn't do to scare Annie away. Not when he planned to keep her. ~ Nalini Singh

Some words having to do with the death of the people in the World Trade Center attack had been added, and when I got to it, I had this overwhelmingly emotional experience. I struggled to get through the words; tears were streaming down my cheeks. ~ Leonard Nimoy

I beheld before me an animated Corse. Her countenance was long and haggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The paleness of death was spread over her features, and her eye-balls fixed stedfastly upon me were lustreless and hollow.
I gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. My blood was frozen in my veins. I would have called for aid, but the sound expired, ere it could pass my lips. My nerves were bound up in impotence, and I remained in the same attitude inanimate as a Statue.
The visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: There was something petrifying in her regard. At length in a low sepulchral voice She pronounced the following words.
Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!
Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!
In thy veins while blood shall roll,
I am thine!
Thou art mine!
Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!
~ Matthew Gregory Lewis

I wept in my dreams. I dreamed you lay in the grave; I awoke, and the tears still poured down my cheeks. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you had left me; I awoke and I went on weeping long and bitterly. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you were still kind to me; I awoke, and still the flow of my tears streams on. ~ Heinrich Heine

Trunk took a chocolate bar out an inside pocket, ripped the paper and spat it, stuck the end of the bar in his mouth, bit off a huge chunk. He chewed, cheeks bulging, then took out a small silver hip flask, tipped it and drank long.
"Hell's that?"
Trunk chewed fast, said, "Toblerone, vodka chaser."
"Jesus," said Christ. ~ King Coultas

In front of me, Gabe's hands trembled. His face was drained of blood, mouth set in a grim line. "Hey Gabe, hold my hand," I said. He squinted, hesitating, then glanced up at his mom. The makeup girl was dabbing her nose with powder and she didn't look down. I nudged my hand into his balled-up fist and leaned closer. "I'm scared too." He peered up, blinked, and decided to believe me. Why shouldn't he? It was true. My hand was disgustingly clammy, but I think that was comforting to him, proof that I was as terrified as he was. He squeezed it tight. ~ Jenn Marie Thorne

Prison madness is much the same! Insanity is plentiful in prisons. These days with the drug culture it's not a lot of difference, as a lot of convicts make themselves psychotic and paranoid. Many end up killers, all over petty and minor problems. Where men would once squabble, fight and kill over a ½ oz of bacca they now do the same over a gram of white powder or a bag of brown! ~ Stephen Richards

I love hot hand of explosion. I love a breeze perfumed with the devil smell of powder. ~ Tom Robbins

No one feels like you do, so every brush of your skin is a cruel reminder of what I've lost. I can barely stand the sight of you because you're more beautiful than I've allowed myself to remember, and when I cut that wire off Maximus and smelled you all over him, I wanted to kill him more than I've wanted to kill anyone in my life, yet I couldn't because of my promise to you."
Slow tears continued to trickle down my cheeks, but for a different reason this time.
"You care."
The words were whispered with a despairing sort of wonder. He wasn't willing to rescind his loveless vow, clearly, but I was wrong about the apathy I'd thought he felt. That he admitted all the above was surprising enough; the fact he'd done it within earshot of his pilots was no less than shocking.
Vlad grunted. "Don't worry. I intend to kill them as soon as we land. ~ Jeaniene Frost

What it like to sail?" she asked.
His gaze shifted, and he stared into the distance. "It's freedom. Like riding a powerful horse with a gait like silk. You speed over the waves, carried on the wind, held up over an unknowable depth of water beneath you, with the entire sky above. And that sky is a different color depending on where on earth you are. There are a thousand shades of blue. You can look up and know where you are, just by the color. And the stars at night - there's indescribable beauty in the stars, like a woman's eyes, flashing, shining... And yet, they are tools, enabling navigation, a map to follow..."
She stared at his profile as he spoke, at the scars that marred his brow and cheeks, the crooked line of his broken nose, the elegant, aristocratic line of his jaw, half-hidden under the shadow of stubble, and the soft, sensual curve of his mouth. She saw the sea in his eyes, smelled the wind, tasted the salt, and she felt her chest tighten with a longing to sail, to experience speed and adventure. Breathless, she felt the presence of the man in the portrait, the rogue, the bold captain. Her heart twisted as she imagined him in prison, beaten, chained, tormented to madness. He was still a prisoner, trapped inside the cage of his injured flesh, his damaged bones, his memories of unspeakable horrors.
What would it take to set him free? ~ Lecia Cornwall

I curse him silently for moving my hands as he raises them to study the scars. He kisses them, his lips a fluid brush along sensitive flesh, then places them on his cheeks.
Mouth inches from mine, he whispers, "Forgive me for bringing you into this. There was no other way." His skin is softer than clouds must feel, and the tears gathering around my fingertips are hot and tangible. But are they sincere?
Our breaths swirl between us, and his black eyes swallow me whole. My heart knocks against the bottom of his rib cage. I know what's coming next. I fear it. But it's the surest way to distract him and get the wish. And if it has to happen, I'm going to be the instigator.
Rising up on my toes, I press my mouth to his. He moans, frees my wrists, and sweep-s me into his arms - sealing the teddy bear between us ~ A.G. Howard

And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself - more birds than women flocking round his body! ~ Homer

It's a bitch on this ship, isn't it?' That got an unexpected smile out of the symp. Musey had two dimples on his cheeks that made him look about half his chronological age. ~ Karin Lowachee

A kiss, he said, is a conversation. Easing closer, he continued to speak as he caressed her cheeks with featherlight stokes of his thumbs.
"A first kiss", his lips neared hers, is an introduction and then his mouth brushed against hers. The contact sparked, sharp and bright like lightning, yet his lips were soft, unexpectedly so. Her breath caught the same instant his did.
Against her mouth he whispered "That was Hello" His breath mingled with hers as he waited, his lips so close she could feel their warmth. For a moment she simply breathed him in growing heady on the scent of him and the tight anticipation gathering in her belly. Then she understood. Nerves fluttering, she brushed her lips across his as he had done. Again his breath hitched, as if he too felt that same spark, that hot need. Her eyes drifted closed and his voice poured over her like warm cream.
"This is, 'I'm Jack'. ~ Kristen Callihan

You are the opposite of romantic. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
"I am full of romance. I like sunsets and the ocean and beaches and flowers and love songs and Shakespeare in the park and all that kind of shit." Eli's cheeks flushed. It was adorable on him. "I don't get what any of that has to do with sex."
"I'm not talking about sex, Eli. I'm talking about a kiss."
"Fine. I'll kiss the romantic fuck out of you. ~ K.A. Mitchell

Do you read books?" Dr. Weiss asked her in one of her session with him.

She nodded in acceptance. Her lips were stitched with the thread of agony and isolation. She spoke less and when she was asked for anything. She used to nod.

"They are escape, aren't they? When I was a kid, I used to believe that the cover of the book is a door. You open it and go inside. I still believe that and the kid in me is still alive." Dr. Weiss walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a book.

Her eyelashes were heavier. The lower part was much more lighter than upper one. It had the comfort to leak down all its pain to the cheeks. The pain that could be evaporated.

"You are reading this book," He put a book on the glass table. It came in range of her eyesight. The book was titled "Depression."

He continued, "Or, perhaps, you and I, we both are in a book and someone is reading it on its couch, bed, in mobile or in train. Maybe after 15 pages the reader who has glued his eyes to this book may find that you are out of your depression completely. Look at the reader out of the page, look how curious he is. I would keep my mouth shut now, else it would get to know the whole story. ~ Himanshu Chhabra

I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass. ~ Herman Melville

She had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

She looked angelic in sleep, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. Her blond hair was tousled and in disarray and spread out. Over his pillow. He frowned. She'd even stolen his pillow. ~ Maya Banks

Beneath a toilet water of punctilio and restraint ... a deep smell came off Kelly, a hint of a big foul cat, carnal as the meat on a butcher's block, and something else, some whiff of the icy rot and iodine in a piece of marine nerve left to bleach on the sand. With it all was that congregated odor of the wealthy, a mood within the nose of face powder, of perfumes which leave the turpentine of a witch's curse, the taste of pennies in the mouth, a whiff of the tomb. It was all of Deborah for me. ~ Norman Mailer

When you spend half a decade of your life with someone, the ending should occur in a personal fashion. Face to face, hand in hand. Words spoken out of lips kissed, tears shed on seen cheeks. It shouldn't be easy; it should be painful and honest; it should take hours instead of minutes; it should involve yells and cries and discussions, but it should be substantial. A moment thought over and worked out. Not the casual and simple act of a stranger handing over a legal envelope. ~ Alessandra Torre

The Deadwood dirt they painted on us with powder. The air always smelled of livestock and something burning, gave a sooty, dense feel to the air. It was a mixture of odors. ~ Robin Weigert

I believe in a world where love can still catch you off guard and where the best part is the falling stage. Those shy glances, the racing heart, flushed cheeks, and the butterflies? That's magic.
~Sarah Brocious on More Than Scars ~ Sarah Brocious

She laughed. He was right. Her laughter was enchanting. So, too, the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at him. He'd never seen eyes as darkly brown as hers. With her dark hair she should have been a study in monochrome, but she wasn't. Her cheeks matched her pink lips. ~ Karen Ranney

Do you want to hold her?" Qhuinn asked.
Xcor recoiled as if someone had inquired whether he'd like a hot poker in his hands. Then he recovered, shaking his head as he made a manly show of scrubbing his tears away like they were permanent marker on his cheeks. "I don't think I'm quite ready for that. She looks…so delicate."
"She's strong, though. She's got her mahmen's blood in her, too." Qhuinn looked at Blay. "And she's got good parents. They both do. We're in this together, people, three fathers and one mom, two kids. Bam!"
Xcor's voice got low. "A father…?" He laughed softly. "I went from having no family, to having a mate, a brother, and now…"
Qhuinn nodded. "A son and a daughter. As long as you are Layla's hellren, you are their father, too."
Xcor's smile was transformative, so wide that it stretched his face into something she had never seen. "A son and a daughter."
"That's right," Layla whispered with joy.
But then instantly that expression on his face was gone, his lips thinning out and his brows dropping down like he was ready to go on the attack. "She is never dating. I don't care who he is - "
"Right!" Qhuinn put his palm out for a high five. "That's what I'm talking about!"
"Now, hold on," Blay interjected as they clapped hands. "She has every right to live her life as she chooses."
"Yes, come on," Layla added. "This double-standard stuff is ridiculous. She's going to be allowed…"
As the argument st ~ J.R. Ward

Ophelia moaned as I patted her cheeks in the approved "vague assistance to woman who has fainted" manner.

"Perdy?" she mumbled, her eyelashes fluttering.

"No, it's just me," I said, looking up when the door opened. "And Drake and Fiat, and Pal and Istvan, and I think that's Renaldo and another one of Fiat's bullies in the hall, although it's a little hard to see with everyone in the way. ~ Katie MacAlister

I've been offered big money to promote machines. And high-protein diets, when that was really popular. There was always some new powder or diet plan that somebody wanted to put my name on. ~ Richard Simmons

Those clothes are Susie's,' my father said calmly when he reached him.
Buckley looked down at my blackwatch dress that he held in his hand.
My father stepped closer, took the dress from my brother, and then, without speaking, he gathered the rest of my clothes, which Buckley had piled on the lawn. As he turned in silence toward the house, hardly breathing, clutching my clothes to him, it sparked.
I was the only one to see the colors. Just near Buckley's ears and on the tips of his cheeks and chin he was a little orange somehow, a little red.
Why can't I use them?' he asked.
It landed in my father's back like a fist.
Why can't I use those clothes to stake my tomatoes?'
My father turned around. He saw his son standing there, behind him the perfect plot of muddy, churned-up earth spotted with tiny seedlings. 'How can you ask me that question?'
You have to choose. It's not fair,' my brother said.
Buck?' My father held my clothes against his chest.
I watched Buckley flare and light. Behind him was the sun of the goldenrod hedge, twice as tall as it had been at my death.
I'm tired of it!' Buckley blared. 'Keesha's dad died and she's okay?'
Is Keesha a girl at school?'
Yes!'
My father was frozen. He could feel the dew that had gathered on his bare ankles and feet, could feel the ground underneath him, cold and moist and stirring with possibility.
I'm sorry. When did this happen?'
That's not the point, Da ~ Alice Sebold

Do I dazzle you?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, and then the words were out, and it was too late to recall them.
But before I had time to too deeply regret speaking the words aloud, she answered "Frequently." And her cheeks took on a faint pink glow.
I dazzled her.
My silent heart swelled with a hope more intense than I could ever remember having felt before. ~ Stephenie Meyer

A little child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light ;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other ;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true !)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do. ~ James Gillman

I'm so in love with you. You were perfect last night." "I love you back, babe." Day tilted his head back and thrust into him. God slid down and grabbed both of Day's ass cheeks and massaged them while moaning in his ear. "Hell! ~ A.E. Via

Last night I dreamed of the "happy hunting ground." I passed through a place of bones that looked human, but weren't--the skulls were wrong. Then I came to a place where the days were the best of every season, the sweetest air and water in spring, then the dry heat where deer make dust in the road, the fog of fall with good leaves. And you could shoot without a gun, never kill, but the rabbits would do a little dance, all as if it were a game, and they were playing it too. Then winter came with heavy powder-snow, and big deer, horses, goats and buffaloes--all white--snorted, tossed their heads, and I lay down with my Army blanket, made my bed in the snow, then dreamed within the dream. I dreamed I was at Fleety's, and she told me the bones were poor people killed by bandits, and she took me back to the place, and under a huge rock where no light should have shown, a cave almost, was a dogwood tree. It glowed the kind of red those trees get at sundown, the buds were purple in that weird light, and a madman came out with an axe and chopped at the skulls, trying to make them human-looking. Then I went back to the other side of both dreams. --from a letter to his mother, Helen Pancake, where he describes a dream that seems to encapsulate the play between violence and gentleness in his life. ~ Breece D'J Pancake

Westcliff sees an odd sort of logic in why you would finally be the one to win St. Vincent's heart. He says a girl like you would appeal to ... hmm, how did he put it? ... I can't remember the exact words, but it was something like ... you would appeal to St. Vincent's deepest, most secret fantasy."
Evie felt her cheeks flushing while a skirmish of pain and hope took place in the tired confines of her chest. She tried to respond sardonically. "I should think his fantasy is to consort with as many women as possible."
A grin crossed Lillian's lips. "Dear, that is not St. Vincent's fantasy, it's his reality. And you're probably the first sweet, decent girl he's ever had anything to do with."
"He spent quite a lot of time with you and Daisy in Hampshire," Evie countered.
That seemed to amuse Lillian further. "I'm not at all sweet, dear. And neither is my sister. Don't say you have been laboring under that misconception all this time? ~ Lisa Kleypas

Of course I wasn't pretending!" The words exploded out of her before she could stop them. Heat spread across her cheeks.
Cas's mouth had been open, ready with a reply, and he snapped it shut.
She cleared her throat. She'd already embarrassed herself horribly, might as well finish it off. "I fully intended to ignore you, but it turns out you're very hard to ignore. I never pretended to feel anything for you, Cas. All of that was real, and definitely never part of the plan. And I should have ... " A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed, her voice shaking. "I should have warned you about the attack. I should have trusted you. I'm sorry. ~ Amy Tintera

I don't like my hockey sticks touching other sticks, and I don't like them crossing one another, and I kind of have them hidden in the corner. I put baby powder on the ends. I think it's essentially a matter of taking care of what takes care of you. ~ Wayne Gretzky

He felt a stab of satisfaction at the way her cheeks colored and her eyes darkened with trepidation. Her emotions showed readily on her face. She had translucent skin that colored easily, and it would be tempting to spend his time provoking a reaction out of her. She was a match for him in more ways than one. ~ Colleen Coble

She could smell the wrongness in the air and it made her wolf nervous. It felt like something was watching them, as if the wrongness had an intelligence - and it didn't help to remember that at least one of the people they were hunting could hide from their senses.
Anna fought the urge to turn around, to take Charles's hand or slide under his arm and let his presence drive away the wrongness. Once, she would have, but now she had the uneasy feeling that he might back away as he almost had when she sat on his lap in the boat, before Brother Wolf had taken over.
Maybe he was just tired of her. She had been telling everyone that there was something wrong with him...but Bran knew his son and thought the problem was her. Bran was smart and perceptive; she ought to have considered that he was right.
Charles was old. He'd seen and experienced so much - next to him she was just a child. His wolf had chosen her without consulting Charles at all. Maybe he'd have preferred someone who knew more. Someone beautiful and clever who...
"Anna?" said Charles. "What's wrong? Are you crying?" He moved in front of her and stopped, forcing her to stop walking, too.
She opened her mouth and his fingers touched her wet cheeks.
"Anna," he said, his body going still. "Call on your wolf."
"You should have someone stronger," she told him miserably. "Someone who could help you when you need it, instead of getting sent home because I can't endure what you have to ~ Patricia Briggs

Owen was so tiny, we loved to pick him up; in truth, we couldn't resist picking him up. We thought it was a miracle: how little he weighed. This was also incongruous because Owen came from a family in the granite business. The Meany Granite Quarry was a big place, the equipment for blasting and cutting the granite slabs was heavy and dangerous-looking; granite itself is such a rough, substantial rock. But the only aura of the granite quarry that clung to Owen was the granular dust, the gray powder that sprang off his clothes whenever we lifted him up. He was the color of a gravestone; light was both absorbed and reflected by his skin, as with a pearl, so that he appeared translucent at times - especially at his temples, where his blue veins showed through his skin (as though, in addition to his extraordinary size, there were other evidence that he was born too soon). ~ John Irving