Slanted Quotes

It can feel so lonely, to see strangers out in the day, shopping, on a day that is not a good one. On this one: the day I returned from the emergency room after having a fit about wanting to remove my mouth. Not an easy day to look at people in their vivid clothes, in their shining hair, pointing and smiling at colorful woven sweaters.
I wanted to erase them all. But I also wanted to be them all, and I could not erase them and want to be them at the same time.
At home, Joseph was nicer to me than usual and we played a silent game of Parcheesi for an hour in the slanted box of remaining sunlight on the carpet. Dad came by and brought me a pillow. Mom went to take a nap. Joseph won. I went to bed early. I woke up the same. ~ Aimee Bender

The feature that makes people look at her twice, sometimes with suspicious glances, is her eyes. They are too large, wide-set, slanted a bit. And they judge, those eyes do, they watch and they take note and they judge all that they see, and lots of folks do not like that much.
To the innocent, her eyes are arresting. To a person with something on his conscience, they seem too knowing. ~ Michael Grant

And that afternoon, as the sun slanted low through the changing autumn leaves, I remembered to savor the moment, soak in the beauty, breathe deeply and feel the immensity of God. ~ Cindee Snider Re

Two hundred years from now, she had - I will? she thought wildly - stood in front of this portrait in the National Portrait Gallery, furiously denying the truth that it showed. Ellen MacKenzie looked out at her now as she had then; long-necked and regal, slanted eyes showing a humor that did not quite touch the tender mouth. It wasn't a mirror image, by any means; Ellen's forehead was high, narrower than Brianna's, and the chin was round, not pointed, her whole face somewhat softer and less bold in its features. But the resemblance was there, and pronounced enough to be startling; the wide cheekbones and lush red hair were the same. And around her neck was the string of pearls, gold roundels bright in the soft spring sun. ~ Diana Gabaldon

For a moment, I saw him as he had looked the morning I married him. Duine uasal was what he looked, a man of worth. But the bold face above the lace was the same, older now, but wiser with it - yet the tilt of his shining head and the set of the wide, firm mouth, the slanted clear cat-eyes that looked into my own, were just the same. Here was a man who had always known his worth. ~ Diana Gabaldon

Then it happened. One night as the rain beat on the slanted kitchen roof a great spirit slipped forever into my life. I held his book in my hands and trembled as he spoke to me of man and the world, of love and wisdom, pain and guilt, and I knew I would never be the same. His name was Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky. He knew more of fathers and sons than any man in the world, and of brothers and sisters, priests and rogues, guilt and innocence. Dostoyevsky changed me. The Idiot, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov, The Gambler. He turned me inside out. I found I could breathe, could see invisible horizons. The hatred for my father melted. I loved my father, poor, suffering, haunted wretch. I loved my mother too, and all my family. It was time to become a man, to leave San Elmo and go out into the world. I wanted to think and feel like Dostoyevsky. I wanted to write.
The week before I left town the draft board summoned me to Sacramento for my physical. I was glad to go. Someone other than myself could make my decisions. The army turned me down. I had asthma. Inflammation of the bronchial tubes.
"That's nothing. I've always had it."
"See your doctor."
I got the needed information from a medical book at the public library. Was asthma fatal? It could be. And so be it. Dostoyevsky had epilepsy, I had asthma. To write well a man must have a fatal ailment. It was the only way to deal with the presence of death. ~ John Fante

I folded my hands back on my desk, and as I did, I saw Paul's slanted handwriting standing out against my blocky, square printing on my skin. He'd managed to find room to squeeze in the words females hurt my brain on my left hand. I raised an eyebrow at him and he gave me a look like, well it's true, isn't it? ~ Maggie Stiefvater

Which was why he reflexively turned when a flash of iridescence caught his eye. His first thought was: Morpho rhetenor Helena. The extraordinary tropical butterfly with wings of shifting colors: blues, lavenders, greens.
It proved to be a woman's skirt.
The color was blue, but by the light of the legion of overhead candles, he saw purples and even greens shivering in its weave. A bracelet of pale stones winked around one wrist, a circlet banded her dark head. The chandelier struck little beams from that, too.
She's altogether too shiny for a woman, he decided, and began to turn away.
Which was when she tipped her face up into the light.
Everything stopped. The beat of his heart, the pump of his lungs, the march of time.
Seconds later, thankfully, it all resumed. Much more violently than previously.
And then absurd notions roman-candled in his mind.
His palms ached to cradle her face - it was a kitten's face, broad and fair at the brow, stubborn at the chin. She had kitten's eyes, too: large and a bit tilted and surely they weren't actually the azure of calm southern seas? Surely he, Miles Redmond, hadn't entertained such a florid thought? Her eyebrows were wicked: fine, slanted, very dark. Her hair was probably brown, but it was as though he'd never learned the word "brown."
Burnished. Silk. Copper. Azure. Delicate. Angel. Hallelujah. Suddenly these were the only words he knew. ~ Julie Anne Long

If the media isn't slanted toward the Left, why is everyone so worried about my affiliation with Glenn Beck but not with Alec Baldwin? ~ Adam Carolla

Throughout this evolution from left to right, Beard always detested war. Hence his writings were slanted to show that the military side of history was insignificant or a mere reflection of economic forces. ~ Samuel E. Morison

I do think people have suggested that it would be a good thing if the reporting were accurate on Al-Jazeera and if it were not slanted in ways that appear to be at times just purely inaccurate. ~ Condoleezza Rice

I had trouble putting the book down - at least, it was very hard to do whenever I was forced to by other obligations. I received it in the mail on a Thursday and finished it that following Sunday night (this is FAST for me, given everything else I have on my plate).

Anyway, this book is amazing - I was quite literally floored by the information it contained as it was stuff I hadn't heard about due to selective (heavily slanted against Jackson) media coverage at the time.

I was like a lot of people back then . . . I thought that MJ might have very well been guilty of the accusations and I remember feeling a bit annoyed that he "got off" when the jury found him not guilty.

Well, since then I have realized that my knowledge of all the facts of the case (as well as the 1993 allegations) was sorely lacking and I've done a complete about-face with regard to Michael Jackson.

It's clear to me now that the "accusers" were a bunch of frauds (I do recall feeling a bit skeptical about them at the time but didn't explore those suspicions further, as I was also doubtful about Jackson's innocence). When the testimony and facts are taken into consideration it becomes glaringly obvious that Michael Jackson was an innocent man who was taken advantage of on numerous occasions.

텔레그램 혹은 위커메신저 아이디: HighHemp
텔레그램 혹은 위커메신저 아이디: HighHemp
텔레그램 혹은 위커메신저 아이디: HighHemp
텔레그램 혹은 위커메신저 아이디: HighHemp
텔레그램 혹은 위커메신저 아이디: HighHemp ~ "하이햄프"텔레+위커:HighHemp, I Had Trouble Putting The Book Down - At Least, It Was Very Hard To Do Wheneve

I stood and went to her side. Taking her hands, I tugged her onto her feet and wrapped my arms around her waist. I lowered my head, brushing my lips across her cheek. "I'm serious about you, Avery. If you want me for real, you have me."
Shortcake pressed her palms to my chest. "I want you for real."
"Good to know." I slanted my lips over hers. "Because, if not, this would get a whole lot awkward. ~ J. Lynn

1883. Third Month 16

Some moments set my heart on fire, and that's when language seems the smallest. Yet precisely these bursts of feeling make me long to write. I sit now in a high-walled courtyard, amid the green smells and slanted light of early spring, with that familiar burning in my heart. I'll need to destroy these pages before returning home, but no matter; for the first time since Mother's death, words come to me. ~ Janet Benton

…And I want someone emotionally available.' He slanted her a glare. 'I'm emotionally available.' 'You outlawed Valentine's Day, Avenant. ~ Cassandra Gannon

Swearing, he fisted a hand in her short hair, yanked her head back and slanted his mouth over hers. She opened for him, humming with delight and Law was cursing himself even as he gorged on her taste. Fuck, she was sweet - hot, sweet, and perfect. ~ Shiloh Walker

She slanted him a wary look. "Are you just trying to make me feel good? If so, don't bother."
"If I was trying to make you feel good, believe me, you wouldn't have to ask. You'd know. ~ Lara Adrian

his way across the slanted roof over the ~ Lorraine Heath

If you have someone in your life that you are grateful for - someone to whom you want to write another heartfelt, slanted, misspelled thank you note - do it. Tell them they made you feel loved and supported. That they made you feel like you belonged somewhere and that you were not a freak. Tell them all of that. Tell them today. ~ Lisa Jakub

Books. They tumbled from the bleeding sky like wounded birds. The spines snapping open and the pages fanning white. Black letters slipping off the slanted pages and falling, falling to the ground where they ... Shatter. ~ Natasha Mostert

Oh, anywhere, driver, anywhere - it doesn't matter. Just keep driving.
It's better here in this taxi than it was walking. It's no good my trying to walk. There is always a glimpse through the crowd of someone who looks like him - someone with his swing of the shoulders, his slant of the hat. And I think it's he, I think he's come back. And my heart goes to scalding water and the buildings sway and bend above me. No, it's better to be here. But I wish the driver would go fast, so fast that people walking by would be a long gray blur, and I could see no swinging shoulders, no slanted hat.
Dorothy Parker, Sentiment, Harper's Bazaar, May 1933. ~ Dorothy Parker

One day when I went to see him (Picasso), we were looking at the dust dancing in a ray of sunlight that slanted in through one of the high windows. He said to me, 'Nobody has any real importance to me. As far as I'm concerned, other people are like those little grains of dust floating in the sunlight. It takes only a push of the broom and out they go.'I told him I had often noticed in his dealings with others that he considered the rest of the world only little grains of dust. But I said, as it happened, I was a little grain of dust gifted with autonomous movement and who didn't therefore need a broom. I could go out by myself. ~ Francoise Gilot

I ended up with my life slanted toward television, and I just accept that. I think you play the hand the way it's dealt, that's all. ~ Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.

While Dmitri, as the leader of Raphael's Seven, could not accept such a weakness, the mortal he'd once been, the one who had loved a woman with a wide mouth and eyes of slanted brown ... that man understood what it was to love so deeply it was a kind of beautiful madness. ~ Nalini Singh

My family background was heavily slanted toward business and seafaring matters. ~ William Standish Knowles

I still can't believe it's really you," he murmurs, running his fingers down my cheek. "This face...it's yours, isn't it?"
"The one I was born with," I admit, heat rising under my skin as I feel a surge of shyness. I look down at my hands. "Do you...like it?"
"Zahra."
I can't help but lift my gaze at the warmth in his tone. His eyes are shining, his lips slanted in a small smile.
"You're beautiful," he says. "I mean, you were beautiful before, of course, but knowing that this is the real you...I didn't think I could love you more, but I do. ~ Jessica Khoury

They'd entered a clearing. A wide, green meadow in the middle of the forest. The entire space was carpeted with bluebells. Thousands upon thousands of sweetly curving green stalks, their tips heavy with sprays of blue-violet blossoms. The sunlight shone from above and slanted through the trees, catching the blooms at different angles. The whole scene splendid.
It was magical. ~ Tessa Dare

Embodied in objects was a partial sense of sharing. They didn't lift their eyes from their respective sets. But noises bound them, a cyclist kick-starting, the plane that came winding down the five miles from its transatlantic apex, rippling the pictures on their screens. Objects were memory inert. Desk, the bed, et cetera. Objects would survive the one who died first and remind the other of how easily halved a life can become. Death, perhaps, was not the point so much as separation. Chairs, tables, dressers, envelopes. Everything was a common experience, binding them despite their indirections, the slanted apparatus of their agreeing. That they did agree was not in doubt. Faithlessness and desire. It wasn't necessary to tell them apart. His body, hers. Sex, love, monotony, contempt. The spell that had to be entered was out there among the unmemorized faces and uniform cubes of being. This, their sweet and mercenary space, was self-enchantment, the near common dream they'd countenanced for years. Only absences were fully shared. ~ Don DeLillo

Tally moved to stand at her sister's side. "Nanny Rana said it was a lady's duty to see that she was the brightest light at the table." She smiled at Felicity, and together they recited, "Never hide your light, for how else is a man to notice you? Your spark, your fire, is your most cherished possession." They both sighed, as if they had just shared the cure for all that ailed the world. Then Tally slanted an assessing glance at Miranda. "I fear, Miss Porter, your light is positively dull." Having ~ Elizabeth Boyle

Mrs Moonsong sat in the tiny room lit only by flickering candlelight and a small beam of moonlight which slanted through the small roof window. ~ Helen Laycock

I pick up a copy of Newsweek on the plane and immediately notice how biased, slanted, and opinionated all the U.S. newsmagazine articles are. Not that the Euro and British press aren't biased as well
they certainly are
but living in the United States we are led to believe, and are constantly reminded, that our press is fair and free of bias. After such a short time away, I am shocked at how obviously and blatantly this lie is revealed
there is the 'reporting' that is essentially parroting what the White House press secretary announces; the myriad built-in assumptions that one ceases to register after being somewhere else for a while. The myth of neutrality is an effective blanket for a host of biases. ~ David Byrne

I want you, Elaine. I want your mind, your soul, your body. I want you as my mate. I offer you my soul - right now. Right here. Take it all - take everything I am," he murmured, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth. "…and I'll even let you keep your clothes on."
She looked up at him, gasping at his boldness. In that instance, Ian's lips slanted across hers in a consuming, mind-numbing, heart-stopping kiss. She moaned against his mouth, drinking in his groan before pulling back, chest heaving. "We're in church, Ian," she panted. "God can hear us."
His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I'm counting on that, love. ~ R.W. Patterson

There was nothing strange about it. Jed and i were on a covert mission. We had dinoculars, jungle, a quarry, a threat, the hidden presence of AK-47s and slanted eyes. The only missing element was a Doors soundtrack. ~ Alex Garland

The music that of common speech but slanted so that each detail sounds unexpected as a sharp inserted in a simple scale. ~ Dana Gioia

I roller skated when I was younger, but when you're on a track that's slanted and you're with other people all skating in a pack, it's a whole different sport. ~ Kristen Wiig

Instead he said, "Our game is over now, isn't it?"
"It's still my turn," Andrew pointed out.
"But after that?" Neil asked. "I have no secrets left to trade."
"Come up with something else."
"What would you take?"
"What would you give me?"
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," Neil said. Andrew slanted a bored look at him, unimpressed with having his own words tossed back in his face. ~ Nora Sakavic

From that day on, pay of me yearned to be invisible. In a way, nothing would have been nicer than for no one to see me. Although I could not have defined it at the Tom me, I felt if attention were drawn to me, people would see what this girl had first responded to. They wouldn't see me, the would see the slanted - eye face, the Oriental. ~ Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston

Oh. Wow.'
'What?'
He held my hand up between us. 'Look.'
I squinted at my hands. 'I don't see anything.' Sighing, he flipped my hand over, and my jaw hit the ground. A faint blue line marked the center of my palm with a smaller line through it. It would've looked like a cross, except the horizontal line was slanted.
'Oh. My. Gods.' I jerked my hand away, scrambling back. 'I have a rune on my hand. It's an Apollyon rune, isn't it.'
Seth rested his hands on his knees. 'I think so. I have one like that.'
'But why is it still there? Why is it there at all?' I flipped my palm over several times, shook it, but the faint blue tattoo was still there. 'You can see it, right? Like right now, you can see it?'
'Yes. It hasn't faded.' Seth leaned forward, catching my hand. 'Stop shaking it like it's a damn Etch-A-Sketch. That doesn't make them disappear. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

You're lucky you're good in
bed."
"Oh." He grabbed at my foot. "I think you keep me around for other reasons."
I slanted him a look out of the corner of my eye. "Right now, for the life of me I can't think what those reasons are."
Braden tugged harder on my foot, raising his fingers towards it. "Take it back or the foot getsit."
Oh hell no! I yanked at my appendage.
"Braden, no."
Deaf to my warning, he started to tickle me,his grip tightening as I laughed breathlessly and
kicked out, trying to get free.
He wouldn't stop. Ruthless!
"Braden," I panted hysterically, attempting to shove at him with my arms but struggling as he continued his war on my feet. I laughed harder,
ribs aching, and then… horror.
I broke wind.
Big time.
Braden immediately let go of my feet, his loud, rumbling laugh filling the room, laughter that only deepened when I lost balance, from kicking out
at him and then being abruptly let go, and fell off the couch with an undignified thud.
Mortified as he collapsed against the couch
belly laughing at my fart then fall, I grabbed a cushion and launched it at him from my position on the floor.
Of course this only made the idiot laugh
harder. I warred between feeling humiliation at farting in front of him, something you just didn't do in
company, and laughing, since his was so
infectious. "Braden!" I whined. "Shut up. It's not funny," I huffed, my lips caught i ~ Samantha Young

I've seen a ghost in my bathroom with no face, this is true by the way, and I had a yo-yo that rolled up a hill in my apartment. My place is a little slanted. I have no idea how that happened. ~ Brett Dier

Murderous thieves make their home here." She failed to keep the tremor from her voice.
"Absolutely," Jonas replied.
"Dangerous animals too."
"Without a doubt."
She slanted a look toward him. "Perfect place for you."
He repressed a snort. "Oh, such compliments, your highness. You're going to make me blush. ~ Morgan Rhodes

Then why do you want to marry me?" she exploded.
"For the usual reasons," he shot back.
"Such as?"
He slanted her a narrow look and made an obvious bid for his patience. "Such as the fact that we are very strongly attracted to each other, although I'll admit a casual onlooker might not think so if he saw us bickering like this. ~ Jayne Ann Krentz

I love your kiss. Everything's sorted, and obvious, and understood, and civilised, your kiss says. It's a shut-eye lie, I know it is, because the music I didn't know before I knew you makes me open my eyes in a place of no sentimentality, where light itself is a kind of shadow, where everything is fragment-slanted. ~ Ali Smith

You make it sound like we're living in a comic book with villains and superheroes." He slanted him and assessing look. "And sidekicks."

J.T. grinned. "When you think about it, that's pretty much what high school is, isn't it? ~ Lisa Brown Roberts

Are you finally starting to breathe in a normal fashion?" Shahrzad teased. "I must confess I find your behavior rather odd, considering you said only a child would be afraid to fly."
"I wasn't afraid." Khalid wrapped a forearm of corded muscle around her. She slanted a disbelieving look his way. "You just lied to me."
"I wasn't afraid," he repeated. "I was terrified. ~ Renee Ahdieh

I wonder why the mountain men's wives don't seem to mind them drinking so much and dancing with other women?" Emma's propped up her chin with her fist, her elbow resting on her knee, as she watched the goings-on. Davis grinned. "You see the size of those men? I'm sure they do whatever it is they want to do. Most Ute women tend to be easy on their men. Besides, not everyone has an exemplary husband such as myself." She slanted him a look and smirked. ~ Callie Hutton

I dreamed a dream, Shy Cage."
He shifted so his hips were against mine and his voice was now raw when he ordered, "Shut up, baby, and kiss me."
"I dreamed a dream when I was sixteen and here I am, standing with my dream, feeling it come real."
"Fuck me," he muttered.
Then I knew he'd lost patience, because Shy slanted his head and kissed me.
Yes.
I dreamed a dream and there I was, a ring on my finger, my man's mouth on mine, standing with my dream, feeling it come real.
I was feeling everything.
And it was beautiful. ~ Kristen Ashley

The cracked white cups took pink lights as the sun, already descending, slanted across the cherry; the tree filled the air with its heavy scentlessness. ~ Elizabeth Bowen

I remember him. Jaxton only knew I existed long enough to take the piss out of me. He certainly never liked me." Roman sighed, giving his side of the story, though it was a slanted
one. Only three people knew the real story; him, Jaxton and Ben, and it was far from the tale of bully and victim that Jaxton kept telling people.
"Yeah, that's what he said," Thayer agreed, with a laugh.
Roman wasn't even surprised. Disappointed, but never surprised. ~ Elaine White

People have themselves to blame for their decisions; that is undeniable. But don't we have a legal obligation to structure a system that is balanced, not savagely slanted against minorities and the poor? Don't we have a fiscal responsibility to take a commonsense approach to reducing the cost to taxpayers? Don't we have a moral responsibility to offer redemption to someone who has paid his debt instead of unyielding retribution against him and his family?... Aren't we a nation that believes our fellow citizens deserve, at some point, a second chance? ~ Cory Booker

Before she could think, he bent his head and was kissing her, only this wasn't anything like the chaste kiss she'd gave him. His mouth slanted across hers, demanding her response. Soft and warm, his tongue brushed against the tender skin. With a sigh, Clarissa parted her lips and he quickly took advantage, deepening their kiss.
His hand cupped the back of her head and his fingers tangled in her hair, while his other arm around her waist locked her against him. Clarissa twined her arms around his neck and felt the cold wall of the house at her back as he pressed her into it.
Her pulse raced as their kiss became even more heated, each second that passed marking time they didn't have. Langston's tongue stroked hers in a dance that set fire to her blood. The shadow of whiskers on his face softly abraded her skin. His hair was silky, and she couldn't resist from pushing her fingers into the thick strands, which he must have liked, judging by the masculine groan that met her ears.
When he finally lifted his head, both of them were breathing hard. ~ Tiffany Snow

San Francisco is a city that requires a fine pair of legs, a city of cliffs misnamed as hills, honeycombed with a fine webbing of showy houses that cling to the slanted streets with the fierceness of abalones. ~ Pat Conroy

Out of the brown mouth into a slanted easterly rain they head south along the shore, pushed toward it on a light chop, all but the pilot huddling under plastic sheeting that covers lumber, nails, window casings and plantains - the women sharing a seat, Reese behind them and the boatman behind him in a narrow-running balance. The land retreats as the dory crosses a wide bight toward the next point, rising and dropping on larger waves while a seaside village of thatch and palm passes thin and blurry in the drizzled distance. Two miles later another village appears, much the same but longer along the curve and then, past the point, the coast is tangled in mangrove, grass and sea grape. The passengers peer out of the plastic at a rain-erased horizon as the dory slices and slows in equal measure and the boatman bails with a cut jug the rolling puddle at his feet. ~ Michael Jarvis

But most of all, as summer slanted to an end, he was learning to love idleness, idleness no longer as stretches of freedom reclaimed by stealth here and there from involuntary labour, surreptitious thefts to be enjoyed sitting on his heels before a flowerbed with the fork dangling from his fingers, but as a yielding up of himself to time, to a time flowing slowly like oil from horizon to horizon over the face of the world, washing over his body, circulating in his armpits and his groin, stirring his eyelids. He was neither pleased nor displeased when there was work to do; it was all the same. He could lie all afternoon with his eyes open, staring at the corrugations in the roof-iron and the tracings of rust; his mind would not wander, he would see nothing but the iron, the lines would not transform themselves into pattern or fantasy; he was himself, lying in his own house, the rust was merely rust, all that was moving was time, bearing him onward in its flow. ~ J.M. Coetzee

Scarlet O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin-that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns. ~ Margaret Mitchell

His body was tubby but his arms apparently couldn't understand that, for they were long and scrawny. From his brow to an inch below his eyes, his nose turned up; from there on, down. His short upper lip slanted sharply toward his tonsils, which had the effect of making his chinlessness positively jut.
( ... )
The bartender was fascinated by the way the teardrops proceeded down Biddiver's amazing nose. One drop would dash almost halfway, and then hesitate, daunted by the hump. Then it would be joined by another teardrop, and the two, merging, would surmount the obstacle and slip down to hang glittering over the disappearing lip until a sob came along to shake them off. ~ Theodore Sturgeon

For too long, the system has been biased in favor of oil and gas developers: sweetheart lease deals, generous subsidies and a regulatory process so slanted in favor of Big Oil that often permit reviews are simply waived. ~ Chellie Pingree

Come here, little one."
"I want to go back."
He hoped she stood there arguing for a time. "Obey your husband."
She wrinkled her nose. "It's broad daylight."
"Keemah, come."
Growing tired of just looking when he could be touching, Hunter cocked his head and let her see him leering. He was awarded a fetching glimpse of slender, creamy thighs and honey gold. She gasped and dropped to her knees as if someone had dealt a blow to the backs of her legs.
Tucking her skirt under her knees, she cried, "Have you no shame?"
His answer was a slow grin. Seizing her wrist, he drew her toward him. "There is no shame. You are my woman."
Pulled off balance, she fell across his chest. Squirming, but halfheartedly, she said, "There's a time and a place for everything, and this isn't it."
"No?" He ran a hand under her blouse. "I say it is a very good time."
She jerked when his fingers scaled her ribs. "That tickles."
Without warning he rolled with her, coming out on top. He kissed her lightly on the lips while he moved his hand from her ribs to her breast. The small mound of warm flesh fit perfectly in his hand, the crest springing taut against his palm. Scarlet flamed on her cheeks. Unable to resist, Hunter lifted her blouse and moved off her to look, one thigh slanted across both of hers to keep her still. He had guessed right; when she was shy, she grew pink all over.
"Hunter!" She tried to shove the leather down. "Someone might come! ~ Catherine Anderson

I think when companies are struggling, they don't want to talk to the press. The guys who write business books aren't interested in it because nobody wants to learn what it's like to be a mess, you want to learn how to be successful. That's slanted the whole thing quite a bit. ~ Ben Horowitz

The church was simply the former chapel of the castle, fronting upon its grass-grown court, which, however, was of generous enough width to have given up its quaintest corner to a little graveyard. Here the very headstones themselves seemed to sleep, as they slanted into the grass. ~ Henry James

I can see how your mother would have a point. Having a debate with a politically minded woman can be intriguing and even entertaining but to share a house with her and have her always campaigning and protesting at the dinner table," he slanted his gaze down toward me. "That could be very tiring indeed. ~ Gwenn Wright

You don't know the protocol for any kind of anniversary."
"Fuck you." Cam's mouth slanted into a smirk. "If you're gonna bitch, maybe I should just give you flowers and chocolate next year."
"Beats the blow-job coupons you gave me." Austin grinned wryly,
Austin & Cam ~ Cara Dee

Does your husband dictate where you can and cannot go?"
The woman looked as though she expected to be proven right.
"My husband would never do that." Rose informed her coolly. "Although there will always be unsavory characters at any social gathering, my husband trusts me to decide the ones I wish to attend."
The woman flushed, and Rose felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that her barb had struck a nerve. "If that's true, he must have changed immensely since the days when we were acquainted."
Ahh. Now the claws came out. No wonder the woman had made such vile aspirations earlier. She was jealous.
"He has." Rose held the other woman's gaze, not caring a whit for how she said the word "acquainted." This woman had slept with her husband, and oddly enough she wasn't the least bit jealous. She did, however, feel sorry for the woman because Grey had been a different man back then. "My husband is very attentive and courteous to my wishes. I couldn't be more satisfied with my situation." Oh God, had she actually said that? The innuendo practically stood up on its own and waved to everyone in the room.
What was it about Grey-no, about this woman-that made her feel as though she had to defend her marriage, and brag about her sex life? It was just so pretty.
"You were once a friend of the duke's, were you not, Lady Devane?" The woman-whose name Rose could not remember-slanted a devious glance in the blonde woman's direction.
Everyone ~ Kathryn Smith

Like a long sighing of wind in trees it begins, then they sweep into sight, borne now upon a cloud of phantom dust. They rush past, forwardleaning in the saddles, with brandished arms, beneath whipping ribbons from slanted and eager lances; with tumult and soundless yelling they sweep past like a tide whose crest is jagged with the wild heads of horses and the brandished arms of men like the crater of the world in explosion. ~ William Faulkner

We picked up Grouper III and one of his buddies on the way to Media Day. The two of them were wearing Easton jerseys and didn't shut the hell up in the back of my car the entire way to the stadium. Their excitement was contagious.

"They always that loud?" My eyes slanted toward Grouper.

He nodded. "The Good Lord made old people go deaf for a reason. ~ Vi Keeland

I could remember the details as if it had happened yesterday, even though it was hard to believe some of it had happened at all. Funerals were tricky like that. And life, I guess. The important parts you blocked out altogether, but the random, slanted moments haunted you, replaying over and over in your mind. ~ Kami Garcia

Ed Lim's daughter, Monique, was a junior now, but as she'd grown up, he and his wife had noted with dismay that there were no dolls that looked like her. At ten, Monique had begun poring over a mail-order doll catalog as if it were a book–expensive dolls, with n ames and stories and historical outfits, absurdly detailed and even more absurdly expensive.
'Jenny Cohen has this one,' she'd told them, her finger tracing the outline of a blond doll that did indeed resemble Jenny Cohen: sweet faced with heavy bangs, slightly stocky. 'And they just made a new one with red hair. Her mom's getting it for her sister Sarah for Hannukkah.' Sarah Cohen had flaming red hair, the color of a penny in the summer sun. But there was no doll with black hair, let alone a face that looked anything like Monique's. Ed Lim had gone to four different toy stores searching for a Chinese doll; he would have bought it for his daughter, whatever the price, but no such thing existed.
He'd gone so far as to write to Mattel, asking them if there was a Chinese Barbie doll, and they'd replied that yes, they offered 'Oriental Barbie' and sent him a pamphlet. He had looked at that pamphlet for a long time, at the Barbie's strange mishmash of a costume, all red and gold satin and like nothing he'd ever seen on a Chinese or Japanese or Korean woman, at her waist-length black hair and slanted eyes. I am from Hong Kong, the pamphlet ran. It is in the Orient, or Far East. Throughout the Orient, people shop a ~ Celeste Ng

Kids are still up," David commented, noting the guest house was lit up like a Vegas casino. "I'll
have to kill them."
"Yes, I've noticed what a terrifying and brutal father you are. And how your children fear you."
He slanted her a look. "I wouldn't mind seeing the occasional tremble out of them."
"I think it's way too late for that. You've gone and raised two happy, well-adjusted kids ~ Nora Roberts

You're awfully quiet, Princess," Puck said as he arranged the firewood into
a tepee. His slanted green eyes shot me a knowing look. "In fact, you haven't said a word since his royal iciness left. What's wrong?"
"Oh." I cast about for an excuse. No way was I telling Puck about my
feelings for Ash. He'd probably challenge him to a duel the moment he walked through the door. "I ... um ... I'm just weirded out, you know, with all those wiremen bodies around. It's kinda creepy, like they might come to life and attack us while we're sleeping. ~ Julie Kagawa

This was certainly a fitting end to Valentine's Day." She slanted him a glance. "Tell me, was it really just chance that you drew my name at the ball?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. Celia told me on the way home that she thought it was Fate."
He arched one eyebrow. "Only if Fate's helper is the Duke of Foxmoor. He rigged the drawing for me."
To his surprise, she laughed. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I thought perhaps you'd spotted my name by chance, but deliberately cheating…You have no principles whatsoever, do you?"
"Not where you're concerned," he said.
That answer seemed to please her. Reassured of her ability to bewitch him, she stretched beside him like a cat, her full breasts moving enticingly under the sheet.
It roused him instantly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, my dear."
"Do what?" Her gaze was full of curiosity.
"Display yourself so deliciously. Or I'm going to make love to you again."
A coy smile tipped up her lips. "Are you really?" She slid up next to him, her hand drawing a line down his bare chest in a motion worthy of the most experienced courtesan.
He caught her hand. "I mean it, minx. Don't tempt me. I'll have you on your back so fast you won't know what happened."
"And what would be wrong with that?"
He entwined his fingers with hers. Why couldn't he stop touching her? "It was your first time. Your body needs to rest."
"Oh." She frowned. "I suppose I am a little sore. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

It was a tough night," Marcus said briefly, another humorless smile crossing his mouth. "But they got what they paid for." "Jesus," Thomas murmured. Marcus slanted a glance at him, and his green eyes were hard, brittle. "Don't think about it, pet. I don't. No one who lives it dwells on this fucking stuff. You just thank God or your own balls for getting yourself through it, pulling yourself up into something better. The day I see pity in your face, I want your fucking ass out of my life. ~ Joey W. Hill

Ever since, two summers ago, Joe Marino had begun to come into her bed, a preposterous fecundity had overtaken the staked plans, out in the side garden where the southwestern sun slanted in through the line of willows each long afternoon. The crooked little tomato branches, pulpy and pale as if made of cheap green paper, broke under the weight of so much fruit; there was something frantic in such fertility, a crying-out like that of children frantic to please. Of plants, tomatoes seemed the most human, eager and fragile and prone to rot. Picking the watery orange-red orbs, Alexandra felt she was cupping a giant lover's testicles in her hand. ~ John Updike

Celia froze. She couldn't believe it-Proper Pinter was kissing her. Hard, boldly, with more feeling than the duke.
Good heavens.
Stung by the challenge he'd laid down, she fumbled for the pistol in her reticule, but she'd just got it in her hand when he whispered hoarsely against her lips, "Sweet God, Celia..."
He'd never called her by only her Christian name. He'd certainly never said it so...desperately. It made her hesitate with the pistol in her hand.
He took her mouth once more, and her world shifted on its axis as his kiss became wilder, more consuming. This wasn't about a challenge anymore-not when he kissed her is if her mouth held the secret to eternity. Such lovely, drugging kisses made her blood dance through her veins.
His mouth slanted over hers, and his tongue swept the seam of her lips with an urgency that made her throat ache. Remembering how Ned had kissed her, she parted her lips for him.
He went still for the briefest instant. Then with a groan, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Ohhh, that was amazing. When Ned had done it she'd found it messy and disgusting, but Mr. Pinter's kiss was as opposite to Ned's as sun was to rain.
Slow and sensual, he dove inside with hot strokes that had her eager for more. How could this be happening to her? With him? Who could ever have guessed that the passionless Mr. Pinter could kiss so very passionately?
Scarcely aware of what she did, she slipper her free hand up to clutch his n ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Keep in mind, the news media are not independent; they are a sort of bulletin board and public relations firm for the ruling class-the people who run things. Those who decide what news you will or will not hear are paid by, and tolerated purely at the whim of, those who hold economic power. If the parent corporation doesn't want you to know something, it won't be on the news. Period. Or, at the very least, it will be slanted to suit them, and then rarely followed up. ~ George Carlin

Sunlight slanted through the windows, turning his eyes the color of strong tea. ~ Leigh Bardugo

Jake, she whispered, the hot blast of her exhalation making him groan. He gave in and fisted his hands in her hair.
She opened to him at once, her body melting against his, wilting into his embrace so that it felt like his light pressure on her cheeks was all that held her upright. But her mouth was a hungry thing, her tongue diving in to tangle with his while her arms wound around his shoulders. He slanted his head to plunder her as deeply as he could, ravenous to explore every inch of her mouth.
Forget kissing. They were eating each other alive. ~ Cari Quinn

Step your mind into a crowded elevator, an elevator so crowded you cannot turn around without bumping into (and aggravating) your neighbor. The elevator is so crowded you are often held aloft. This is a kind of blessing, as the slanted floor is made of wire, which cuts into your feet. After some time, those in the elevator will lose their ability to work in the interest of the group. Some will become violent; others will go mad. A few, deprived of food and hope, will become cannibalistic. There is no respite, no relief. No elevator repairman is coming. The doors will open once, at the end of your life, for your journey to the only place worse (see: PROCESSING). ~ Jonathan Safran Foer

The important question isn't how to keep bad physicians from harming patient; it's how to keep good physicians from harming patients. Medical malpractice suits are a remarkably ineffective remedy.
(In reference to a Harvard Medical Practice Study) ... fewer than 2 percent of the patients who had received substandard care ever filed suit. Conversely, only a small minority among patients who did sue had in fact been victims of negligent care. And a patient's likelihood of winning a suit depended primarily on how poor his or her outcome was, regardless of whether that outcome was caused by disease or unavoidable risks of care. The deeper problem with medical malpractice is that by demonizing errors they prevent doctors from acknowledging & discussing them publicly. The tort system makes adversaries of patient & physician, and pushes each other to offer a heavily slanted version of events.
~ Atul Gawande

His friends liked to hunt. Sometimes I went along."
"And here I thought you only fired at people," Celia called over from the other side of him.
"I rarely need to shoot in the course of performing my duties. But I do have to use my pistol occasionally." He slanted a glance at her. "Unlike you, my lady, I don't carry mine for show."
Her cheeks pinked, but she merely sniffed and halted to reload again. So did he.
He probably should stop tormenting her about her damned pocket pistol, but it still shook him. Powder or no powder, such a weapon could easily provoke a man to attack her.
Still, Jackson admitted that it probably wouldn't have that effect on this lot. They didn't seem the bullying sort, just the coax-a-woman-into-their-bed sort. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Where did you and your brother get your weapons from?" Meg asked Bo. "Our cars." "You drive around with handguns and shotguns in your cars?" Bo slanted a look down at her, humor in his eyes. "We're hicks from a small town in Texas. 'Course we do." She shook her head. "Wait till you see the arsenal I'll be driving around with from now on. ~ Becky Wade

She slanted him a warning glance, but the corners of her mouth twitched. ~ Nancy Herkness

You do have money, don't you? You never paid your fare yesterday. It's six pounds, eight. If you haven't the coin, I'll have no choice but to hold you for ransom once we reach Tortola."
Her fare. Sophia sipped her tea with relief. If Mr. Grayson was this concerned over six pounds, he surely had no idea he was harboring a runaway heiress with nearly one hundred times that amount strapped beneath her stays. She suppressed a nervous laugh. "Yes, of course I can pay my passage. You'll have your money today, Mr. Grayson."
"Gray."
"Mr. Grayson," she said, her voice and nerves growing thin, "I scarcely think that my moment of…of indisposition gives you leave to make such an intimate request, that I address you by your Christian name. I certainly shall not."
He clucked softly, wrapping the handkerchief around his fingers. With hypnotic tenderness, he reached out, drawing the fabric across her temple.
"Now, sweetheart-surely my parents can be credited with greater imagination than you imply. Christening me 'Gray Grayson'?" He chuckled low in his throat. "Everyone aboard this ship calls me Gray. Sorry to disappoint you, but it's no particular privilege. There's but one woman on earth permitted to address me by my Christian name."
"Your mother?"
He grinned again. "No."
She blinked.
"Oh, now don't look so disappointed," he said. "It's my sister."
Sophia slanted her gaze to her lip, cursing herself for playing into his charm. If the sight ~ Tessa Dare

Aubade"

Who lives where summer
ends knows the hard cold of

autumn is blissfully
close, although it feels
each season newly un-

known. You are constantly
newly unknown to me,
my night-glowing open-hearted

sting-of-salt weather.
Rains and winds, sleights-of-
hand. Who if not you

could weigh me enough
down. You'd paint my eyes
blacker and warmer than they are

and soon they would carry
whole calendars of
black night in them.

You say you're pulled back,
but it is a rare thing inside those

shocks of minutes that
holds without our even
needing to touch it.

Maybe you think you trade
one clean joy for

another. But mine is darker,
slanted, nitrous blue at the root,

an acrostic of what is
most free and
far. To be another

person than the one
you were before means
more than I understand.

But my gradual hands
move in streams
over you whether you travel or not,

as you drop into sleep or not,
and in the book of this
most-alone-place I am

there only when you feel
need, a coat so thin and so like

skin you can touch the
slopes, the smoother

pools, dust-mooded
winds over roads, the skeleton
instrument of your voi ~ Joanna Klink

American voices, country voices, high-pitched and without mercy. He lies freezing, wondering if the bedsprings will give him away. For possibly the first time he is hearing America as it must sound to a non-American. Later he will recall that what surprised him most was the fanaticism, the reliance not just on flat force but on the rightness of what they planned to do ... he'd been told long ago to expect this sort of thing from Nazis, and especially from Japs - we were the ones who always played fair - but this pair outside the door now are as demoralizing as a close-up of John Wayne (the angle emphasizing how slanted his eyes are, funny you never noticed before) screaming BANZAI! ~ Thomas Pynchon

Afternoon light slanted in through the parted curtains, laying bars of gold across the floor. ~ Cassandra Clare

Tied to my reading lamp was a single balloon. Filled with helium, it floated in a morning sunray which slanted in through one of the high windows.

On it was a picture of my face, the eyes gone, blood running down from the ragged sockets, a scream distorting the mouth on the balloon's thin and bulging rubber skin.

I looked at it and I screamed. ~ Stephen King

At dawn, a ray of sunlight slanted from the steeple of St. Antoine's church, glanced off a window on Grant Street and finally alighted on a beer can lying in the middle of the pavement. ~ Yves Beauchemin

Fermi turned to Bohr with weary eyes and a slanted smile, and shrugged. "So we thought we had discovered new elements. We even named them - hesperium, ausonium. Wrong! Mythical! They were ordinary old barium and iodine. We were careful - too careful. ~ Gregory Benford