The Pricked Heart Quotes

You were the fire bound to burn me, the needle destined to prick me, and the beauty destined to break me. ~ Ezra Kwame

The near dark streets where Friday night's business began to accomplish itself, strolling couples, arm in arm, girls bright as just pricked flowers, halfdrunk belligerent men herded homeward by fierce women with bitter persecuted faces ... ~ William Gay

She walked with Bertram; she walked rather like a stag, with a little give of the ankles, fanning herself, majestic, silent, with all her senses roused, her ears pricked, snuffing the air, as if she had been some wild, but perfectly controlled creature taking its pleasure by night. ~ Virginia Woolf

He rode home with her to New Jersey and she took him into the backyard to look at her father's roses . . . to look at her childhood, to look at what pricked and stung and was difficult to forgive. He looked at the house and the yard and her family . . . And it seemed to her that everything changed. Was forgiven. The ~ Kathleen Collins

A tour was being planned so we could conquer America, just like The Beatles had. All we had to do was sign on that little piece of paper you see on Mr. B.S.'s desk. We signed it in blue ink from a fountain pen - but had we known whom we were dealing with we would have pricked ourselves and used blood. ~ Diane Rinella

All I was allowed to keep for myself was missing you. Which is what? The tears that pricked the inside of my face, the emotion catching at the top of my throat, the cavity in my chest that was larger than I am. Was that all I had now? ~ Rosamund Lupton

A heavy naughtiness pricked through my veins, irritating and attractive as the hurt of a loose tooth. ~ Sylvia Plath

The first lights of the evening were springing into pale existence. The Ferris wheel, pricked out now in lights, revolved leisurely through the dusk; a few empty cars of the roller coaster rattled overhead. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

Are you mine?" I asked, low knowing the answer already.
"Completely." His voice thrummed with conviction.
And oh, I liked it.
"So I may do anything I wish with you?"
"Anything."
I didn't need his invitation, of course. He belonged to me, like everything in Sheol, but there was more pleasure in a willing slave. I drew my athame and took his hand. He shuddered at my touch because I put a thread of power in it, pulled it through him in a flicker of the darkest pleasure. Soon enough he'd beg for this, unable to perform with anyone else. I knew how to enthrall my lovers. With a faint smile, I pricked the tip of his finger. Not as much pain as he expected, I think, but I drew blood. His gasp aroused me. His blood welled like a crimson jewel and I took his fingertip between my lips, tasting him. Learning his secrets. ~ Ann Aguirre

His hands lay flat on either side of him, his arms at his sides. He seemed barely to be breathing; she wasn't sure she was breathing herself. She slid her own hand across the bedsheet, just far enough that their fingers touched-so lightly that she would have probably hardly been aware of it had she been touching anyone but Jace; as it was, the nerve endings in her fingertips pricked softly, as if she were holding them over a low flame. She felt him tense beside her and then relax. He had shut his eyes, and his lashes cast fine shadows against the curve of his cheekbones. His mouth curled into a smile as if he sensed her watching him, and she wondered how he would look in the morning, with his hair messed and sleep circles under his eyes. Despite everything, the thought gave her a jolt of happiness.
She laced her fingers through his. "Good night," she whispered. With their hands clasped like children in a fairy tale, she fell asleep beside him in the dark. ~ Cassandra Clare

Break the cinnamon in half.'

The cinnamon stick was light, curled around itself like a brittle roll of papyrus. Not a stick at all, Lillian remembered as she look closer, but bark, the meeting place between inside and out. It crackled as she broke it, releasing a spiciness, part heat, part sweet, that pricked her eyes and nose, and made her tongue tingle without even tasting it. ~ Erica Bauermeister

Tallkit shivered. This was only his second sunrise outside the nursery, and his paws pricked with excitement. A light dusting of snow had turned the camp white, frosting the tussocky grass and thick heather walls. The freezing air stung his nose. He fluffed up his fur. ~ Erin Hunter

For the first time in years, I could see the stars that Thurmond's monstrous lights had faded into nonexistence. They were so bright, so clear that they couldn't have been real. I didn't know what was more shocking–the endless stretch of road or the sky. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. ~ Alexandra Bracken

The Black was looking out on the open sea; his ears pricked forward, his thin-skinned nostrils quivering, his black mane flowing like windswept flame. Alec could not turn his eyes away; he could not believe such a perfect creature existed. ~ Walter Farley

Head, pricked his ears, and said, "There are the hounds!" and ~ Anna Sewell

It was my turn to let my eyes travel over his features. Take in his male beauty. Memorize it. Do it knowing that as crazy as it sounded, I'd never forget him. For reasons I didn't know and would never have the opportunity to understand, there would always be a part of me that would long for him. There would always be thoughts in the back of my mind plaguing me, haunting me, making me wonder, if he let me in, even just a little, how it could have been. I stopped thinking these thoughts when the pad of his thumb whispered across my lips. That was when the tears pricked my eyes. Because I knew that was when he was going to let me go. For always. ~ Kristen Ashley

I sighed. You can go harass the construction workers if you want. I even give you permission to sniff their asses. Oberon stopped panting and pricked up his ears at me. Sure, why not? They're construction workers. They'll tease one another about it, especially if you sneeze afterward. But if you startle them, they might knock you upside the head, so watch out. Oberon levered himself off the ground, his tail wagging. ~ Kevin Hearne

She hurt her hand." Sabrina managed a frown. "Terrible, really. Awful accident. Sad. Horribly painful. She almost lost full use of her hand."
"Whatever happened?" he asked.
"Happened?" Sabrina blinked at the question, her face going blank briefly, then filling with desperation. "She… er… she… er… pricked her finger doing embroidery!" she finished triumphantly, and Brinna nearly groaned aloud as what sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter burst from Lord Thurleah. ~ Lynsay Sands

(Really, thought Lib, who ever died exultingly? Whatever fool penned that phrase had never sat by a bed with his ears pricked for the last rasp.) Aged ~ Emma Donoghue

The thumbs have been pricked, at least proverbially. ~ Chloe Neill

He doesn't deserve to die," she said. Tears pricked at her eyes. "Does anyone? Whether he deserves it or not is neither here nor there; it's simply his fate. You can no more change that than you can change the course of the stars. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt

The young lady was once a rose without thorns because she was taught how to take care of everyone else, as opposed to taking care of herself. After the betrayals, hurt, pain and bitterness, she becomes a rose with thorns. However, the thorns pricked and scared her, because she was groomed to be what other people wanted her to be. Now she has to learn how to handle the thorns of life on her own.
As the thorns grow thicker and sharper, her personality changes; she is now labeled as bitter, quick-tempered, and a bad influence on others because her attitude has changed. Sad to say, the same people who molded her to be the "perfect" young lady, are the ones who are back-biting her. They fail to realize it was their doing. Everyone should be born with thorns so that they are entitled to make mistakes and learn from them. They will know how it feels to love, to be loved, and to know how to heal if love doesn't work out accordingly. ~ Charlena E. Jackson

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu's left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. ~ Kunal Sen

In TV today, you can say I pricked my finger, but you can't say it the other way around. ~ George Carlin

I tried to discover, in the rumor of forests and waves, words that other men could not hear, and I pricked up my ears to listen to the revelation of their harmony. ~ Gustave Flaubert

His throat bobbled. His kiss that time was deep and thorough, unhurried and intent.
I let the dawn creep inside me, let it grow with each movement of his lips and brush of his tongue against mine. Tears pricked beneath my closed eyes.
It was the happiest moment of my life. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Emma this is not a joke. Look at your hands! They're ... they're ... wrinkled!"
"Yes that's because-"
"No way. I'm not going down for this. This isn't my fault."
"Toraf-"
"Galen will find some way to blame me though. He always does. 'You wouldn't have gotten caught if you didn't swim so close to that boat, tadpole.' No it couldn't be the humans fault for fishing in the first place-"
"Toraf."
"Or how about. 'Maybe if you'd stop trying to kiss my sister, she'd stop bashing your head with a rock.' How does my kissing her have anything to do with her bashing my head with a rock? If you ask me, it's just a result of poor parenting-"
"Toraf."
"Oh and my favorite: 'If you play with a lionfish, you're going to get pricked.' I wasn't playing with it! I was just helping it swim faster by grabbing its fins-"
"TOR-AF."
He stops pacing along the water, even seems to remember that I exist. "Yes, Emma? What were you saying? ~ Anna Banks

The quill has pricked my soul and each word bleeds onto the parchment of my life. My freedom is in my words, therefore, I write.

~ Mona Bethke

Nine-tenths of the world is entertained by scandalous rumors, which are never dissected until they are dead and, when pricked, collapse like an empty bladder. ~ Horace Greeley

Sunk in the mud, it took all my strength to flip it over. I lifted out the oar and inspected the bottom for holes and rotted wood. Seeing none, I gathered up my skirt, climbed in, and paddled to the middle of the pond, an untouchable place, far from everything. I tried to think what I would say to him, worried my voice would slink off again and leave me. I remained there a long while, lapping on the surface. Vapor curled on the water, dragonflies pricked the air, and I thought it all beautiful. ~ Sue Monk Kidd

My youth was the most stubborn, peremptory part of myself. In my most relaxed moments, it governed my being. It pricked up its ears at the banter of eighteen-year-olds on the street. It frankly examined their bodies. It did not know its place: that my youth governed me with such ease didn't mean I was young. It meant I was divided as if housing a stowaway soul, rife with itches and yens which demanded a stern vigilance. I didn't live thoughtlessly in my flesh anymore. My body had not, in its flesh, fundamentally changed quite so much as it now could intuit the change that would only be dodged by an untimely death, and to know both those bodies at once, the youthful, and the old, was to me the quintessence of being middle-aged. Now I saw all my selves, even those that did not yet exist, and the task was remembering which I presented to others. ~ Susan Choi

The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting. ~ Charles Dickens

She'd been betwitched. She'd pricked her finger and had fallen into a deep, comalike sleep. ~ Ruth Ozeki

Yoh: What were you doing?

Haruna:Ah, I was sewing Asoaka-san's t-shirt and I got pricked by the needle.

Yoh: He could've done the work better if he did it himself. I'm pretty sure he got a 10 in home economics.

Haruna: Eh!? Really!?

Yoh: Ah thanks for this.

Haruna: Ah. yeah.

Yoh: I drank what was in the container, but what was it?

Haruna: Radish soup!! Asaoka-san told me that radish soup is good for the throaght!!

Yoh: Why does he always come in with such good timing?

Haruna: Ah. Come to think of it, you're right.It's a mystery!! ~ Kazune Kawahara