Snapping Quotes

Some guys are alpha dogs, snarling and snapping. Dex is more like a silverback gorilla, quietly going about his business until something pisses him off and he gives a warning. ~ Kristen Callihan

In the woods it was not so much that it was quiet as that the few sounds were loud and distinct, not the orchestra tuning-up of the city but individual grace notes. Birdcalls broken into pieces like a piano exercise, a tree branch snapping sharp and then swishing down and thump on the ground, the hiss of water coming off the mountain. ~ Anna Quindlen

Marya watched from the upper floor as once again the birds gathered in the great oak tree, sniping and snapping for the last autumn nuts, stolen from squirrels and hidden in bark-cracks, which every winged creature knows are the most bitter of all nuts, like old sorrows sitting heavy on the tongue. ~ Catherynne M Valente

Reading is an escape, an education, a delving into the brain of another human being on such an intimate level that every nuance of thought, every snapping of synapse, every slippery desire of the author is laid open before you like, well, a book. ~ Cynthia Heimel

Actually, no. I won't ever go digital. I work with thirty-five or large format. I like the hand-jobs, you know. And I still do most of my own printing. I've developed such a profound distaste for touch-up and modern artifice - comes from snapping too many derelicts and detritus, perhaps, but I love it. Photo bloody Shop can go stuff it. A picture should be honest, even if the subject is contrived on the ground, you know; not dolled-up for advertising punch or sex appeal. ~ Pansy Schneider-Horst

PRETENDING TO DROWN

The only regret is that I waited
longer than a breath
to scatter the sun's reflection
with my body.

New stars burst upon the water
when you pulled me in.

On the shore, our clothes
begged us to be good boys again.

Every stick our feet touched
a snapping turtle, every shadow
a water moccasin.

Excuses to swim closer to one another.

I sank into the depths to see you
as the lake saw you: cut in half
by the surface, taut legs kicking,
the rest of you sky.

Suddenly still, a clear view
of what you knew I wanted
to see.

When I resurfaced, slick grin,
knowing glance; you pushed me
back under.

I pretended to drown,
then swallowed you whole. ~ Saeed Jones

So keep your head down, and none of them will bother you. Though Lucien - he could do with someone snapping at him, if you've the courage for it." I didn't, and when I went to ask more about whom I should try to avoid, she had already finished with my hair and opened the door to the hall. ~ Sarah J. Maas

He needed to man up. Step one. Take a deep breath. Step two. Scratch his balls to remind himself he wasn't a prissy fucking princess. Step three - "What the hell are you doing?" Constantine said, snapping him back to the here and now. Doing? Why having a panic attack, of course, but that wasn't something he was about to admit. "Just taking in all the changes to the place. ~ Eve Langlais

This is what you remember about him: not much, but then you have been assiduous in your forgetting. His red sweater, v-neck, cashmere; the clink of ice-cubes in a glass. He is shadow and voice, but you cannot recall his face. He is behind a closed door, in a forbidden room. He is asleep in his armchair, he is asleep in the driveway, asleep in your sandpit, face down, snoring but not harmless, even then. He is shouting, he is whispering, he is close but also remote as if at the end of a long hallway and you cannot hear him. His words never make any sense, he speaks some other language. His hands sometimes spin away from him like windmills, like pinwheels and Catherine wheels, snapping like firecrackers. There must be pain, but you cannot feel it.
Your skin bruises like apples. ~ Melanie Finn

Fredrika Bimm, what do you think you're doing?"
"Freaking out. Losing my mind. Thinking about snapping your husband's spine. Squashing the urge to vomit. Wishing I had died at childbirth."
"Oh, you say that when you don't get a prize in your Lucky Charms. ~ MaryJanice Davidson

Jackson, you can't just go around asking strange women to move in with you."

"Why not? You need a place to live. I have three extra bedrooms. And you're hardly strange."

"That's true. We're practically family," she muttered.

"Practically. But not." Something in his tone had Mollie's head snapping up.

Something low and a little bit sexy.

They weren't family. They weren't related.

Jackson leaned forward, his gaze strangely intent. "Come on, Mollie. What do you have to lose?"

As she stared at the man she'd once harbored an unhealthy crush on - a crush she was no longer at all sure had dissipated - she realized that the answer to his question was everything.

She had everything to lose. ~ Lauren Layne

He got in beside her and impatiently reached for her seat belt, snapping it in place. "You always forget," he murmured, meeting her eyes.
Her breath came uneasily through her lips as she met that level stare and responded helplessly to it. He was handsome and sexy and she loved him more than her own life. She had for years. But it was a hopeless, unreturned adoration that left her unfulfilled. He'd never touched her, not even in the most innocent way. He only looked.
"I should close my door to you," she said huskily. "Refuse to speak to you, refuse to see you, and get on with my life. You're a constant torment."
Unexpectedly he reached out and touched her soft cheek with just his fingertips. They smoothed down to her full, soft mouth and teased the lower lip away from the upper one. "I'm Lakota," he said quietly. "You're white."
"There is," she said unsteadily, "such a thing as birth control."
His face was very solemn and his eyes were narrow and intent on hers. "And sex is all you want from me, Cecily?" he asked mockingly. "No kids, ever?"
It was the most serious conversation they'd ever had. She couldn't look away from his dark eyes. She wanted him. But she wanted children, too, eventually. Her expression told him so.
"No, Cecily," he continued gently. "Sex isn't what you want at all. And what you really want, I can't give you. We have no future together. If I marry one day, it's important to me that I marry a woman with the same backgroun ~ Diana Palmer

He went back to snapping pictures, this time getting close-ups of each SWAT member. "The ones who're only interested in muscular men who kick in doors and shoot things." Her lips twitched. "Versus men who do what? Take pictures and eavesdrop on police scanners?" "And program their own phone apps," he told her. "Trust me. That skill is in high demand these days. ~ Paige Tyler

When I told my sister, who was a fashion designer in college, what I wanted to do, she said I was crazy. But once I got started, I couldn't turn back. Kimberly Goodwin, Snapping Turtle Kids ~ Holly Hurd

I knew his face when he came. Of course I knew it. Even a Star dreams. I have been dreaming a long time, and I watched the glittering cord of that man's life spool out until it intersected with mine, and how the sparks lit the grass at my feet! I looked at this man and thought: Oh, how we are going to hurt each other. But Stars, you know, are fixed in their courses, and we can no more change the throttling paces of orbit than a rabbit can shorten its ears. I saw his cord lashing and snapping in the dark, and could do nothing. ~ Catherynne M Valente

This is the very basis of inspiration and friendship, both of which are, in essence, spiritual connections. No two people are exactly the same, though they may share fragments of each other's personality. Some may feel so uncannily connected as to be kindred spirits, watching the world through different eyes but hearts aligned, the canvas of consciousness cast in common colors, struggling to express the same thoughts and gleefully snapping their fingers when the other puts it just right, finishing each other's sentences on page, screen, or scroll - across the decades, centuries, millennia. Great men and women influence "a number of people," even after they die. People will take up their mantle and continue the endless work of human progress. By giving new voice to the echoes fading in time, we elevate both ourselves and the person from whom we draw inspiration. Our souls interpenetrate through the broken chains of eternity, and through us, they live once again. ~ Shmuel Pernicone

We may think of them as silent, but fish make many sounds that are rarely appreciated by the human ear. Clownfish chirp and pop by gnashing their teeth together. Oyster toadfish hum and blare like foghorns by quickly contracting muscles attached to their swim bladders. Croaking gourami make their signature noise by snapping the tendons of their pectoral fins. Altogether, more than eight hundred fish species are known to hoot, moan, grunt, groan, thump, bark, or otherwise vocalize. ~ Anonymous

The simple action of pulling her body against his was strangely satisfying, like a puzzle piece snapping neatly into place. She gave a low cry, automatically clutching at his arm. The loose lock of fine blond hair blew across Nick's face, and the fresh, faintly salty fragrance of female skin rose to his nostrils. The scent made his mouth water. Nick was startled by his instant reaction to her- he had never experienced such a visceral response to a woman. He wanted to leap from the wall and carry her off like one of the wolves that had once roamed the medieval forests, and find some place to devour his prey in private. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Mom! Look. This one is my favorite," Devin said, pulling out a faded pink dress with a red plaid sash. The crinoline petticoat underneath was so old and stiff it made snapping sounds, like beads or fire embers. She dropped the dress over her head, over her clothes. It brushed the floor. "When I'm old enough for it to fit me, I'm going to wear it with purple shoes," she said.
"A bold choice," Kate said as Devin dove back into the trunk. The attic in Kate's mother's house had always fascinated Devin with its promise of hidden treasures. When Kate's mother had been alive, she had let Devin eat Baby Ruth candy bars and drink grape soda and play in this old trunk full of dresses that generations of Morris women had worn to try entice rich men to marry them. Most of the clothes had belonged to Kate's grandmother Marilee, a renowned beauty who, like all the rest, had fallen in love with a poor man instead. ~ Sarah Addison Allen

I gave myself a mental shake. Snapping out of a slump, that was what today was all about. ~ Charlaine Harris

Any day you had gym class was a weird school day. It started off normal. You had English, Social Studies, Geometry, then suddenly your in Lord of the Flies for 40 minutes. Your hanging from a rope, you have hardly any clothes on, teachers are yelling at you, kids are throwing dodge balls at you and snapping towels - you're trying to survive. And then it's Science,Language, and History. Now that is a weird day. ~ Jerry Seinfeld

He was not her sole companion. She had her demons, too.

You can't run from them, as Lexi discovered. Changing cities doesn't help either; you carry them along inside you. You just wake up one day, fed up, and decide to snuggle with them instead. You invite them along as you go about your day, balancing them on your shoulder as you would a toddler, but with very strict conditions: You will not set fire to my hair. You will not take candy from strangers. You will not tie me up in chains while I sleep. You will behave.

And Lexi's demons, allowed to come close, sat on her shoulder. They waved to the angels perched on her other shoulder and struck up a conversation with Lexi.

'What's that noise?' her demons asked, sidling close to her ear.

'Oh, that?' Lexi massaged her temples. 'It's the air whistling through the hole in my heart.'

'You're afraid,' they taunted.

'I am,' she admitted. 'Afraid of the sky falling. Afraid of the tight-rope snapping. Afraid I can't dance well enough on the edge. Afraid there are no hands to steady my body. Afraid of hands that wish to cage my heart.'

'Coward,' the demons goaded. ~ Angela Panayotopulos

I was hospitalized five times in 2011 because of my skiing. Fracturing my left shoulder twice, snapping my anterior cruciate ligament once and smashing my scapula into five pieces. ~ Heather Mills

We may not realise that we're behaving in an irritable manner or snapping at our loved ones and work colleagues until we actively listen to their feedback. When we understand that we're actually part of the problem, we can take steps to adjust our thoughts and actions, and stop blaming the world around us for all of our issues. ~ Robyn Spooner

I have lived in this tree, in this same hollow," the owl said, "for more years than anyone can remember. But now, when the wind blows hard in winter and rocks the forest, I sit here in the dark, and from deep down in the bole, near the roots, I hear a new sound. It is the sound of strands of wood creaking in the cold and snapping one by one. The limbs are falling; the tree is old, and it is dying. Yet I cannot bring myself, after so many years, to leave, to find a new home and move into it, perhaps to fight for it. I, too, have grown old. One of these days, one of these years, the tree will fall, and when it does, if I am still alive, I will fall with it. ~ Robert C. O'Brien

People can't anticipate how much they'll miss the natural world until they are deprived of it. I have read about submarine crewmen who haunt the sonar room, listening to whale songs and colonies of snapping shrimp. Submarine captains dispense 'periscope liberty'- a chance to gaze at clouds and birds and coastlines and remind themselves that the natural world still exists. I once met a man who told me that after landing in Christchurch, New Zealand, after a winter at the South Pole research station, he and his companions spent a couple days just wandering around staring in awe at flowers and trees. At one point, one of them spotted a woman pushing a stroller. 'A baby!' he shouted, and they all rushed across the street to see. The woman turned the stroller and ran. ~ Mary Roach

In 2001, my father finally succumbed to the bone cancer that had tortured him for seven years. His last weeks were a terrible, black icing on the cake, the agony, the slow twisting, thinning and snapping of his skeleton. Everything fell apart. ~ Peter Baynham

Happy birthday. Your thirteenth is important. Maybe your first really public day. Your thirteenth is the chance for people to recognize that important things are happening to you.
Things have been happening to you for the past half year. You have seven hairs in your left armpit now. Twelve in your right. Hard dangerous spirals of brittle black hair. Crunchy, animal hair. There are now more of the hard curled hairs around your privates than you can count without losing track. Other things. Your voice is rich and scratchy and moves between octaves without any warning. Your face has begun to get shiny when you don't wash it. And two weeks of a deep and frightening ache this past spring left you with something dropped down from inside: your sack is now full and vulnerable, a commodity to be protected. Hefted and strapped in tight supporters that stripe your buttocks red. You have grown into a new fragility.

And dreams. For months there have been dreams like nothing before: moist and busy and distant, full of unyielding curves, frantic pistons, warmth and a great falling; and you have awakened through fluttering lids to a rush and a gush and a toe-curling scalp-snapping jolt of feeling from an inside deeper than you knew you had, spasms of a deep sweet hurt, the streetlights through your window blinds crackling into sharp stars against the black bedroom ceiling, and on you a dense white jam that lisps between legs, trickles and sticks, cools on you, hardens and cle ~ David Foster Wallace

If Candy doesn't do it for her, I bet Mrs. Marvin Housby would like the smooth ride of your Woody."
"You're going to get your ass handed to you later. I'm still pissed about you snapping my glasses. Don't even get me started on you pimping me to the blue-hair."
Jillian popped the caps off two bottles of beer, the handed one to Jackson. "I like her. I bet she's a real cougar."
Jackson took a long pull. "I don't know. The whiskers on her chin bear greater resemblance to a wild boar than a cougar. ~ Jewel E. Ann

Snapping shut his mobile, Dalgliesh reflected that murder, a unique crime for which no reparation is ever possible, imposes it own compulsions as well as it's conventions. He doubted whether Macklefield [the murder victim's Will attorney] would have interrupted his country weekend for a less sensational crime. As a young officer he, too, had been touched, if unwillingly and temporarily, by the power of murder to attract even while it appalled and repelled. He had watched how people involved as innocent bystanders, provided they were unburdened by grief or suspicion, were engrossed by homicide, drawn inexorably to the place where the crime had occurred in fascinated disbelief. The crowd and the media who served them had not yet congregated outside the wrought-iron gates of the Manor. But they would come, and he doubted whether Chandler-Powell's [owner of the Manor where the murder was committed] private security team would be able to do more than inconvenience them. ~ P.D. James

I squeezed through a horde of gum-snapping girls I recognized as seniors from my school.
"He did not say that!"
"Yes, he did! And you wouldn't believe what she said!"
Please, someone tell me I wouldn't be that annoying if I had girlfriends.
"Sure, you will be."
I whipped around and nearly got a faceful of cotton candy. I moved the purple sugar cloud to the side and glared at my mother. She wore a white, short-sleeved blouse and a patchwork skirt.
"You have to stop listening in on my thoughts without my permission, Mom. It's not cool."
She shoved a piece of cotton candy in my mouth to shut me up. "I didn't do it on purpose, Clarity. I was strolling along listening in to the crowd."
"Pick up anything interesting?"
"Actually, I did. That detective's son can't stop checking out your legs. He loves this little pink dress you've got on. So much so that he's actually mad at himself for it." She shook her head.
I blushed. "Did you happen to pick up anything important?"
"Like a man walking along thinking, 'I killed Victoria Happel'?"
"Exactly."
"No such luck. But dear, people don't wander around thinking about their biggest secrets all the time. The killer could be standing right next to me and all I might pick up from him is how he wants to buy some barbequed chicken."
"Have you seen Billy Rawlinson or Frankie Creedon?" I asked.
Distaste turned her mouth down. "No. Why are you looking for those scoundrels?"
Kim Harrington

The bells gave tongue: Gaude, Sabaoth, John, Jericho, Jubilee, Dimity, Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul, rioting and exulting high up in the dark tower, wide mouths rising and falling, brazen tongues clamouring, huge wheels turning to the dance of the leaping ropes. Tin tan din dan bim bam bom bo--tan tin din dan bam bim bo bom--tan dan tin bam din bo bim bom--every bell in her place striking tuneably, hunting up, hunting down, dodging, snapping, laying her blows behind, making her thirds and fourths, working down to lead the dance again. Out over the flat, white wastes of fen, over the spear-straight, steel-dark dykes and the wind-bent, groaning poplar trees, bursting from the snow-choked louvres of the belfry, whirled away southward and westward in gusty blasts of clamour to the sleeping counties went the music of the bells--little Gaude, silver Sabaoth, strong John and Jericho, glad Jubilee, sweet Dimity and old Batty Thomas, with great Tailor Paul bawling and striding like a giant in the midst of them. Up and down went the shadows of the ringers upon the walls, up and down went the scarlet sallies flickering roofwards and floorwards, and up and down, hunting in their courses, went the bells of Fenchurch St. Paul. ~ Dorothy L. Sayers

But all I could think was in New York that kid would have been stuck in a straitjacket practically from birth and dangled over a tank full of Educational Consultants and Remedial Experts all snapping at his ankles for the next twenty years arguing about his Special Needs and getting paid plenty for it. ~ Meg Rosoff

The funny thing is that I almost find it more difficult now to take a still picture than to be behind a moving camera. I'm just so much more inspired and comfortable and confident when I have that whole operation going. I feel more connected. Snapping a moment doesn't seem relevant to me anymore. ~ Steven Klein

Nothing shows a greater contempt for individuality than the train. Modern civilization uses every possible means to develop individuality, and having done so, tries everything in its power to stamp it out. It allots a few square yards to each person, and tells them that they are free to lead their life as they please within that area. At the same time it erects railings around them, and threatens them with all sorts of dire consequences if they should dare to take but one step beyond their compass. It is only natural that the person who has freedom within the confines of their allocated plot, should desire to have freedom to do as they wish outside it too. Civilization's pitiable subjects are forever snapping and snarling at imprisoning bars, for they have been made as fierce as tigers by the gift of liberty, but have been thrown into a cage to preserve universal peace. This, however, is not a true peace. It is the peace of the tiger in a menagerie who lies glowering at those who have come to look at it. ~ Natsume Sōseki

The more horses you yoke the quicker everything will go - not the rending of the block from its foundation, which is impossible, but the snapping of the traces and with that the gay and empty journey. ~ Franz Kafka

But this was how I'd always been... finite in my capacity for tolerating simple day-to-day contact. I could handle it just fine, all the way up to the point that I couldn't anymore, as if I existed on a tether, and not a particularly long one, finding myself able to wonder only so far into the territory of another human being before snapping back into myself. ~ Miriam Gershow

He, Teddy and Eliza entered the room just as someone was snapping a picture: they would be forever captured in a photo they didn't belong in, blinking against the flash. ~ Eleanor Henderson

Taking deep breaths, I gathered my power until I could feel it crackling in my fingertips. "Let him go!" I commanded in what I hoped was my most "I am a powerful demon" voice. Probably would've been better if my voice hadn't cracked on the last word. I released the magic in my hands, which felt kind of like snapping a giant rubber band.
A bolt of power flew from my fingertips, crashing into a nearby tree with a thunderous crack. There was a bright flash like lightning, and a branch fell to the ground. The ghouls startled, which meant the one holding Archer jerked his head back even farther. The smallest one made a noise that might have been distress, but they certainly didn't seem under my control.
And they weren't letting Archer go.
Okay, so my first experiment with necromancy was an epic fail.Take two.
I fought panic and frustration. Shooting off my magic at the ghouls was no good, but what else was I supposed to try? "Think,Sophie," I muttered under my breath.
"Yeah,please do that," Archer replied, his voice slightly strangled. The ghoul holding him had wrapped a hand around Archer's throat. The thing's expression wasn't threatening, just curious, like he was little kid trying to see what would happen if he just kept squeezing.
I slammed my eyes shut. Okay, they were dead. Yucky dead things. That smelled like-okay, those thoughts were not helpful. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Katniss, got that spile? Finnick asks, snapping me back to reality. ~ Suzanne Collins

Doc was collecting marine animals in the Great Tide Pool on the tip of the Peninsula. It is a fabulous place: when the tide is in, a wave-churned basin, creamy with foam, whipped by the combers that roll in from the whistling buoy on the reef. But when the tide goes out the little water world becomes quiet and lovely. The sea is very clear and the bottom becomes fantastic with hurrying, fighting, feeding, breeding animals. Crabs rush from frond to frond of the waving algae. Starfish squat over mussels and limpets, attach their million little suckers and then slowly lift with incredible power until the prey is broken from the rock. And then the starfish stomach comes out and envelops its food. Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers. And black eels poke their heads out of crevices and wait for prey. The snapping shrimps with their trigger claws pop loudly. The lovely, colored world is glassed over. Hermit crabs like frantic children scamper on the bottom sand. And now one, finding an empty snail shell he likes better than his own, creeps out, exposing his soft body to the enemy for a moment, and then pops into the new shell. A wave breaks over the barrier, and churns the glassy water for a moment and mixes bubbles into the pool, and then it clears and is tranquil and lovely and murderous again. Here a crab tears a leg from his brother. The anemones expand like soft and brilliant flowers ~ John Steinbeck

There is hardly an American male of my generation who has not at one time or another tried to master the victory cry of the great ape as it issued from the androgynous chest of Johnny Weissmuller, to the accompaniment of thousands of arms and legs snapping during attempts to swing from tree to tree in the backyards of the Republic. ~ Gore Vidal

His eyes did not do anything that shock normally describes. No snapping, no slapping, no jolt. Those things happen when you wake from a bad dream, not when you wake into one. ~ Markus Zusak

Eurydice"

It's more like the sound
a doe makes
when the arrowhead
replaces the day
with an answer to the rib's
hollowed hum. We saw it coming
but kept walking through the hole
in the garden. Because the leaves
were bright green & the fire
only a pink brushstroke
in the distance. It's not
about the light - but how dark
it makes you depending
on where you stand.
Depending on where you stand
his name can appear like moonlight
shredded in a dead dog's fur.
His name changed when touched
by gravity. Gravity breaking
our kneecaps just to show us
the sky. We kept saying Yes -
even with all those birds.
Who would believe us
now? My voice cracking
like bones inside the radio.
Silly me. I thought love was real
& the body imaginary.
But here we are - standing
in the cold field, him calling
for the girl. The girl
beside him. Frosted grass
snapping beneath her hooves. ~ Ocean Vuong

You will either do so convincingly and well, or you won't. But at least you will be plugged in to the moment in the process. Not flitting just outside of it, trying to keep everything together like one of those little heel-snapping Sheltie dogs. ~ Augusten Burroughs

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

Finally I end up snapping 'I'm too old for young idealisms like that, I ben through all that! - all over again I gotta go through all that?'
'But it's real, it's truth!' yells Simon. 'The world is a place of infinite charm! Give everybody love and they'll give it right back! I seen it!'
'I know it's true but I'm bored'
'But you can't be bored, if you get bored we all get bored, if we all get bored and tired we all give it up, then the world falls down and dies!'
'And it's as it should be!'
'No! It should be life!'
'That's no difference! ~ Jack Kerouac

With her self-esteem perilously balanced on her excellence, she could only interpret failure as catastrophic. Lilly shamed herself when she made a mistake, becoming upset not only about her performance but about who she was as a human being ... She reached her heights at a steep internal price. Her Good Girl thinking forced her to walk an unforgiving line; one misstep would plummet her to the snapping jaws of failure ... Her unreasonable expectations kept her shackled to failure, preventing her from shaking off a mistake and moving forward quickly. ~ Rachel Simmons

How many people make a career out of writing anyway?' Cath snapped. She felt like everything inside her was snapping. Her nerves. Her temper. Her esophagus. 'I'll write because I love it, the way other people knit or ... or scrapbook. And I'll find some other way to make money. ~ Rainbow Rowell

If you had gone around the table last night ticking off the Ten Commandments and asking for a show of hands to indicate transgression, you would have thought we were doing the wave. A gloss of the New Testament rules and you would have heard the rotator cuffs snapping. But if you had asked a simpler question
"Who among you is proud of this?"
I think you would have seen no hands, and this is what I love about that crew. Chipped and profane, they have taught me that there is a certain vocabulary you learn only through attrition and heartache. ~ Michael Perry

Her hair came undone and rose off her shoulders, quivering as if from a breeze. Static kept snapping through the strands, and Jasmira's eyes turned completely white. Her arms were covered in spiraled script. It crawled and twisted on her skin. The text shone burgundy. Single letters kept separating and slowly flaking off. They resembled tiny red fire sparks, burning brightly, and then disappearing all together. ~ A.O. Peart

Elliott took a long, deep breath. "Look. We seem to have had a misunderstanding.…"

"Really?" Eyes snapping fire, Simone faced him. "Really. A misunderstanding. What part of 'I don't want to see you again, and I don't want you to come to my office' did I misunderstand? Because it seemed pretty fucking crystal to me."

He winced. "No. That part was right. ~ Megan Hart

So I blocked it from my mind. I could do that with things I didn't want to think about, like snapping shut a book. ~ Erin Kelly

Personally, I didn't take a single photograph while I was there, but that's not all that unusual for me. I suppose my aversion to snapping pictures may have something to do with shaky hands and blurry results, but there's another reason: The act of lifting up the camera and positioning it between me and the object of my interest separates me from the experience. ~ Michael J. Fox

Most of what presents itself to us in the marketplace as a product is in truth a web of relationships, between people, yes, but also between ourselves and all the other species on which we still depend. Eating and drinking especially implicate us in the natural world in ways that the industrial economy, with its long and illegible supply chains, would have us forget. The beer in that bottle, I'm reminded as soon as I brew it myself, ultimately comes not from a factory but from nature - from a field of barley snapping in the wind, from a hops vine clambering over a trellis, from a host of invisible microbes feasting on sugars. It took the carefully orchestrated collaboration of three far-flung taxonomic kingdoms - plants, animals, and fungi - to produce that ale. To make it yourself once in a while, to handle the barley and inhale the aroma of hops and yeast, becomes, among other things, a form of observance, a weekend ritual of remembrance. ~ Michael Pollan

Here is New York. This is why I stay. I stay to hear the jazz musicians playing in the parks, and to browse the tables of books for sale on the street. I stay for a drink in a quiet bar, lit by golden autumn light, and for Film Forum double features in black and white. I stay for egg creams, for the amateur opera singers practicing with their windows open so we all can listen. For the Chinese grandmothers dancing by the East River, snapping red fans in their hands. For the music of shopkeepers throwing open their gates. I stay for the unexpected spectacle, and the chance encounter, and for those tough seagulls gliding inland on rainy days to remind us that Manhattan is an island, a potential space both separate and connected. Most of all, I stay because I need New York. I can't live anywhere else, so I hold on to what remains. We've lost a lot, but there's so much left worth fighting for. And while I stay, I fight. ~ Jeremiah Moss

For the first part of the journey Maia kept her eyes on the side of the road. Now that she was really leaving her friends it was hard to hold back her tears.
She had reached the gulping stage when she heard a loud snapping noise and turned her head. Miss Minton had opened the metal clasp of her large black handbag and was handing her a clean handkerchief, embroidered with the initial A.
"Myself," said the governess in her deep gruff voice, "I would think how lucky I was. How fortunate."
"To go to the Amazon, you mean?"
"To have so many friends who were sad to see me go."
"Didn't you have friends who minded you leaving?"
Miss Minton's thin lips twitched for a moment.
"My sister's canary, perhaps. If he had understood what was happening. Which is extremely doubtful. ~ Eva Ibbotson

Ethan stared at Krysta. A teasing gleam entered his eyes, making Étienne narrow his own as his hackles rose. Offering Krysta a flirtatious grin, Ethan said, "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."
In a heartbeat, Étienne drew a dagger and threw it.
The hilt struck Ethan right in the center of his forehead, snapping his head back. "Ow! Shhhhit! What the hell, man?"
Krysta gaped up at Étienne, who squirmed as everyone at the table stared at him.
He cleared his throat , but didn't know what to say. He hadn't really meant to do that. He had just reacted.
"Oh yeah," Sheldon said. "He has fallen and he has fallen hard. ~ Dianne Duvall

I hope that for my kids, too, success will be its own reward. That they'll do their best because they want to win for themselves and for their team, without even calculating my reaction, much less having it be the driving force. I don't think they'll care that I'm not always ...snapping pictures of everything they do, to be pasted up in the commemorative album of their lives. ~ Muffy Mead-Ferro

Every question was like the snapping of a little thread about my heart. ~ Dorothy Wordsworth

Your brother?" St. Clair points above my bed to the only picture I've hung up. Seany is grinning at the camera and pointing at one of my mother's research turtles,which is lifting its neck and threatening to take away his finger. Mom is doing a study on the lifetime reproductive habits of snapping turtles and visits her brood in the Chattahoochie River several times a month. My brother loves to go with her, while I prefer the safety of our home. Snapping turtles are mean.
"Yep.That's Sean."
"That's a little Irish for a family with tartan bedspreads."
I smile. "It's kind of a sore spot. My mom loved the name,but Granddad-my father's father-practically died when he heard it.He was rooting for Malcolm or Ewan or Dougal instead."
St. Clair laughs. "How old is he?"
"Seven.He's in the second grade."
"That's a big age difference."
"Well,he was either an accident or a last-ditch effort to save a failing marriage.I've never had the nerve to ask which. ~ Stephanie Perkins

It's a finger snapping kind of day. ~ Coco J. Ginger

He had a face made for magazine covers. Could someone say GQ model? That razor sharp jaw and those angular features caught the light just right. If she'd had a camera she wouldn't mind snapping a few pictures. And those lips ... she stopped. She didn't know him, and something told her she shouldn't get to know him. ~ Kate Evangelista

Keeley, Burke tells me your new trainer is a natural with the horses, with Travis and with cards as well."
"And I hear he's gorgeous,too," Mo added.
"Where'd you hear that?" Keeley demanded before she could bite her tongue into two.
"Oh,the word gets around in our snug little world," Mo said grandly. "And Shelley Mason-one of your kids? Her sister Lorna's in my Worl History class, a huge, bore by the way. The class, that is, not Lorna, who's only a small bore.Anyway, she picked Shelley up last week from your place and got a load of the Irish hunk, so I heard all about it. Which is why I'm planning on coming over as soon as I can and getting a load of him myself."
"Trevor, give your sister your pork chop so the can stuff it in her mouth."
"Dad." Giggling, Mo snatched another fry. "I'm just going to look. So, Keeley, is he gorgeous? I respect your opinion more than Lorna Mason's."
"He's too old for you," Keeley said, a bit more sharply than she intended and had Mo rolling her eyes.
"Jeez.I don't want to marry him and have his children."
Travis's laugh prevented Keeley from snapping back with something foolish. "Good thing. Now that I've found someone who comes close to replacing Paddy,I don't intend to lose him to Three Acres."
"okay." Mo licked salt from her fingertip. "I'll just ogle him. ~ Nora Roberts

I think a photograph, of whatever it might be - a landscape, a person - requires personal involvement. That means knowing your subject, not just snapping at what's in front of you. ~ Frans Lanting

I began to ponder; this life we had for ourselves, Eric and I, it felt like the opposite of Potage Parmentier. It was easy enough to keep on with the soul-sucking jobs; at least it saved having to make a choice. But how much longer could I take such an easy life? Quicksand was easy. Hell, death was easy. Maybe that's why my synapses had started snapping at the sight of potatoes and leeks in the Korean deli. Maybe that was what was plucking deep down in my belly whenever I thought of Julia Child's book. Maybe I needed to make like a potato, winnow myself down, be a part of something that was not easy, just simple. ~ Julie Powell

There are not enough faces. Your own gapes back
at you on someone else, but paler, then the moment
when you see the next one and forget yourself.

It must be dreams that makes us different, must be
private cells inside a common skull.
One has the other's look and has another memory.

Despair stares out from tube-trains at itself
running on the platform for the closing door.
Everyone you meet is telling wordless barefaced truths.

Sometimes the crowd yields one you put a name to,
snapping fiction into fact. Mostly your lover passes in the rain and does not know you when you speak.

- I Remember Me ~ Carol Ann Duffy

You arrogant ... " thrust through the stomach of a snapping zombie, twisting and using all my strength to cleave him in half " ... over published ... " wasn't going to work, it clawed at the blade, and my God, these things were tough, " ... showy old bat ... " Crack! There went my head into the wall. If I didn't have a split skull, I'd be amazed. "What are you waiting for? Aren't you the king of all bogeymen? The legend children fear will devour them if they don't behave?"
"Come on, Vlad, live up to your reputation! If you can't burn to death one Egyptian vampire chained to a wall, how did you ever drive the Turks from Romania?"
"You did it!"
"Of course, I'm Vlad Tepesh, what did you expect? ~ Jeaniene Frost

It is surprising that people are snapping photos and stuff and then putting them on the internet. For me, it is like, "Why would you want to do that?" It would be like knowing what your Christmas presents were before Christmas morning. ~ Michael Shannon

It doesn't matter if I'm off the beat. It doesn't matter if I'm snapping to the rhythm. It doesn't matter if I look like a complete goon when I dance. It is my dance. It is my moment. It is mine. And dance I will. Try and stop me. You'll probably get kicked in the face. ~ Dan Pearce

I'm profoundly attracted to classical Zen literature, I have the gall to lecture on it and the literature of Mahayana Buddhism one night a week at college, but my life itself couldn't very conceivably be less Zenful than it is, and what little I've been able to apprehend - I pick that verb with care - of the Zen experience has been a by-result of following my own rather natural path of extreme Zenlessness. Largely because Seymour himself literally begged me to do so, and I never knew him to be wrong in these matters.) Happily for me, and probably for everybody, I don't believe it's really necessary to bring Zen into this. The method of marble-shooting that Seymour, by sheer intuition, was recommending to me can be related, I'd say, legitimately and un-Easternly, to the fine art of snapping a cigarette end into a small wastebasket from across a room. An art, I believe, of which most male smokers are true masters only when either they don't care a hoot whether or not the butt goes into the basket or the room has been cleared of eyewitnesses, including, quite so to speak, the cigarette snapper himself. I'm going to try hard not to chew on that illustration, delectable as I find it, but I do think it proper to append - to revert momentarily to curb marbles - that after Seymour himself shot a marble, he would be all smiles when he heard a responsive click of glass striking glass, but it never appeared to be clear to him whose winning click it was. And it's also a fact that someone ~ J.D. Salinger

The man was a walking dichotomy. Those powerful neck-snapping, knife-throwing hands that did murder without pause were equally capable of tenderness and delicacy. ~ Karen Marie Moning

He promised all those things men promise when they are far away and can feel the phone lines stretching too tight, the wires and cables rapidly unraveling from their braids, snapping, recoiling, collapsing the poles along the way. ~ Salvador Plascencia

And then he saw the chains, snapping down through the clouds to crack thunderously on the horizon. Hundreds of chains, impossibly huge, black, whipping in the air with explosions of red dust, crisscrossing the sky. Horror filled his soul. ~ Steven Erikson

I am intoxicated with a feeling of rightfulness, a psychological snapping together of mating parts, a lucid moment of geometrical perfection. A liberating bliss. ~ Andrew X Pham

I was never the girl who walked down the centre of the hallway snapping people out of her way. ~ Piper Perabo

Lorcan heard the moan of the soldier pinned to the floor beneath his boot. With a sneer, he pushed his foot down harder on his neck. The worthless little bastard had failed him. He'd come back without the bitch.
He glanced over his shoulder at his lieutenants. They watched him, trying their best to hide their fear. But he could smell it. He looked back at the lowering suns. "I want my sister." He growled the words low. "I want my sister!" He slammed his foot down, snapping the man's neck and crushing his jaw. "Now get out of my sight!"
He heard them run from the room.
They better run.
He would have his sister. He would see the bitch dead if he had to destroy half the world to get to her. ~ G.A. Aiken

You give out free bites of your banana bread for a couple of days, you'll be beating them back with a stick," I told him. "Hey!" he yelled, his head snapping back to look at me. "Great idea!" Sunny turned to Shambles. "Why didn't we think of that?" "Because half the time we're stoned?" Shambles asked back. ~ Kristen Ashley

Phoebe was relieved to discover she would be accompanied by Westcliff's oldest son, Lord Foxhall, whom she had known her entire life. He was a big, boldly handsome man in his twenties, an avid sportsman like his father. As the earl's heir, he had been accorded a viscountcy, but he and Phoebe were far too familiar to stand on ceremony.
"Fox," she exclaimed, a wide smile crossing her face.
"Cousin Phoebe." He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his dark eyes snapping with lively humor. "It seems I'm your escort. Bad luck for you."
"To me it's good luck- how could it be otherwise?"
"With all the eligible men present, you should be with one who doesn't remember you as a little girl in pigtails, sliding down one of the banisters at Stony Cross Manor. ~ Lisa Kleypas

ThunderClan is doomed!" "There will be a cat who burns like fire!" "Trust no one, not even your Clanmates. Too many hearts are fickle." "Beware the striped face and snapping teeth! ~ Erin Hunter

I closed my eyes and I thought of the lash of her skirt snapping around her as she danced one evening in a bar on the South Side to a jukebox that was playing "Barefootin'," of the downy slope of her neck and the declivity in her nightgown as she bent to wash her face in the bathroom sink, of a tuna salad sandwich she'd handed me one windy afternoon as we sat at a picnic table in Lucia, California, and looked out for the passage of whales, and I felt that I loved Emily insofar as I loved those things – beyond reason, and with a longing that made me want to hang my head – but it was a love that felt an awful lot like nostalgia. ~ Michael Chabon

After they left, Gabriel turned on Nathan. "So when did everyone get to kiss Sang?" Nathan's eyebrows went up. "What?" Gabriel held up his fingers, counting off. "North, Kota, Luke and Victor." Gabriel turned to me, snapping. "Oy. Get over here." He pointed to his cheek. "Where's my kiss?" I took a half step forward, but Nathan planted himself between us, his back to me. "No," he said. "You can't do that?" "Why not?" Gabriel asked. "She was going to. She's already done it to the others. ~ C.L.Stone

Just as I prepared to stand and bow, a woman appeared with a miniature coffee cup in her hand.
She offered it to me.
As I took it, I noticed two things:
Bugs crawling on the ground and the men approving of me by snapping their fingers.
I bowed and took a sip of the coffee and almost fainted.
I had a cockroach on my tongue.
I looked at the peoples' faces and I could not spit it out.
My grandmother would have pushed away the grave's dirt and traveled by willpower to show me her face of abject disappointment.
I could not bear that.
I opened my throat and drank the cup dry.
I counted four cockroaches. ~ Maya Angelou

I've got it!" he declared suddenly, snapping his fingers in triumph.
"Take your knickers off."
"What?" Did that mean what I think it did?
"Your knickers. You know - panties, underwear, muff-huggers, nasty nets - ~ Jeaniene Frost

Stop whimpering and snapping at me, I'm sick of it. Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you, and maybe we'll even be in time for your uncle's bloody wedding. ~ George R R Martin

Had taught him to sharpen his senses - to trust the instincts that had been guiding him south. His homing radar was tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close - almost right under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on the hilltop. The wind changed. Percy caught the sour scent of reptile. A hundred yards down the slope, something rustled through the woods - snapping branches, crunching leaves, hissing. Gorgons. For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren't so good. They had always said they could smell him because he was a demigod - the half-blood son of some old Roman god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks, even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets so he'd have that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard to mask. He scrambled to the west ~ Rick Riordan

When we wake up in the morning (he thought), it's the first task that lies ahead of us: the separation of the true from the false. We have to dismiss, to erase the mocking kingdoms made by sleep. But at the close of day it was the other way round, and we sought the untrue and the fictitious, sometimes snapping ourselves awake in our hunger for nonsensical connections. ~ Martin Amis

Anthony watched him, dumbfounded, and then turned to Lucy. "What have you done with Zack's brain?"
Lucy stood to follow Zack. "What brain? I don't think he has one. I think he's just one giant exposed nerve ending. I swear sometimes at night, I can hear his neurons snapping like popcorn. ~ Jennifer Crusie

Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
"What - what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.
"Teaching," said Moody.
"Teach - Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
"Yep," said Moody.
"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might have mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly. ~ J.K. Rowling

So imagine a fire going
wood snapping the way it does when it's a little green - the wind rattling the windows behind the curtains
and one of those Chopin melodies that feel like sorrow and ecstasy all mixed together pouring from the keys
and you have my idea of happiness. Or just reading, reading and lamplight, the sound of pages turning.
And so you dare to be happy.
You do that thing.
You dare. ~ Steven Millhauser

Never before had he seen a woman so angry - or so seductive. It rendered him speechless. He couldn't fight the compulsion to kiss her.
She punched him on the chin, snapping his head back. ~ Gwynn White

Please don't sing and dance," I whisper, but it's too late. He's snapping his fingers and doing this sexy groove to the music. It should look really stupid - and it kind of does - but with his tight abs and his tattoos and piercings, it's really just...precious. ~ C.M. Stunich

how many ghosts I was going to encounter. That Serra guy had to have a bunch of Native Americans mad at him - particularly considering that corporal punishment thing - and I hadn't any doubt I was going to encounter all of them. And yet, when my mom and I walked through the school's wide front archway into the courtyard around which the Mission had been constructed, I didn't see a single person who looked as if he or she didn't belong there. There were a few tourists snapping pictures of the impressive fountain, a gardener working diligently at the base of a palm tree - even at my new school there were palm trees - a priest walking in silent contemplation down the airy breezeway. It was a beautiful, restful place - especially for a building that was so old and had to have seen so much death. I couldn't understand it. Where were all the ghosts? Maybe they were afraid to hang around the place. I was a little afraid, looking up at that crucifix. ~ Meg Cabot

There was a horrible, wrenching sound, a screech of protesting metal, and one of the screams peaked at a shivering, violent point - then dissolved into a strangled mishmash of sounds, of tearing and snapping and popping, of gurgling and thudding. And when they were finished, something, something big, with a cavernous, resonating chest, snarled from not ten feet beyond the security door. ~ Jim Butcher

When I was in South Africa, I was meeting with people who never heard of Lego bricks. And yet, when I was like, 'Here they are,' they immediately got it. They saw the appeal, were snapping bricks and creating their little creations right there immediately. ~ Nathan Sawaya

He let go of her hands and cut her off, placing a finger over her lips as he rubbed her arm.
"The only thing I want tonight is you. The only thing you need to know tonight is I'm going to have you...as I wish...for as long as I wish." He rolled his head in a circle to stretch before looking directly back into her eyes, and added as an afterthought, "Hmm... Hurt you? Your arousal will likely hurt you excruciatingly until I allow your release."

And as his sensual voice streaked through her, Kate's mind shorted out like a tripped wire snapping, completely blank. Her whole body betrayed her yet again by flushing with unrestrainable heat.

"Stay as you are, Kate." He pushed the bunched-up nightgown at her waist, down to the floor to pool at her feet. Shivering hard, she moved her hands to cover her nakedness, dropping her head to her chest, avoiding his steady gaze. Grabbing her hands, he moved them back to her sides. He lifted her chin high to face him and said, "I told you to stay as you were, Kate. You will do good to listen to me."

His fingers pressed into her hair, curling a bit of it around her ear as he leaned in to the side of her head. His voice lowered seductively until it was a purr in her ear. "I know how to please a woman to the point her voice is hoarse from her screams of desire, her bed linens soaked, and her legs quivering for hours after I'm done." His lips scantly apart from her ear, his voice dropping lower, he continued, ~ Elaine Barris

I'm close to my mother's heart and know its rhythms and sudden turns. And now! It accelerates at her husband's voice, and there's an added sound, a disturbance in the chambers, like the distant rattling of maracas, or gravel shuffled softly in a tin. From down here I'd say it's a semilunar valve whose cusps are snapping to hard and sticking. Or it could be her teeth. ~ Ian McEwan

Alice could not see his face as she crammed cake into her mouth, and the Rabbit laughed and stroked her braid with his white hands, saying, Pretty little Alice. We'll make you fine and plump, won't we, pretty girl? Pretty Alice.
Alice. Alice.
His hand on her braid, wrapping around it, pulling her head back so she could look into his eyes, his blue-green eyes so angry... eyes snapping, hand pulling her hair until she cried, his voice cracking like a whip, Where do you think you're off to, pretty Alice?
Alice. Alice. ~ Christina Henry

He sucked in a breath, his head snapping back from hers. Groaning as he filled her, she arched her back against him, her nipples stroking his chest with the movement. They weren't going to make it to the living room. "Wall or floor?" he managed. ~ Katie Reus

Once dressed he came back downstairs, snapping: "call me a taxi."
So I did. I said, "Dick, you're a taxi. ~ Gillibran Brown