Limping Quotes
Quotes tagged as "limping"
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“The truth may roar, but it's roaring does not terrify the blameless. Guilty conscience needs neither a critic nor an accuser. Remember, the truth has no aiding crutches; once it is limping, its name is "a lie'.”
― The Great Hand Book of Quotes
― The Great Hand Book of Quotes
“She got dressed at the side of the pool, schooled her limp into a rolling gait and headed for the hall.”
― Brede: An erotic fairy tale
― Brede: An erotic fairy tale
“A breeze announced his arrival- and I turned from the table toward the long hall, to the open glass doors to the garden.
I'd forgotten how huge he was in this form- forgotten the curled horns and lupine face, the bearlike body that moved with feline fluidity. His green eyes glowed in the darkness, fixing on me, and as the doors snicked shut behind him, the clicking of claws on marble filled the hall. I stood still- not daring to flinch, to move a muscle.
He limped slightly. And in the moonlight, dark, shining stains were left in his wake.
He continued toward me, stealing the air from the entire hell. He was so big that the space felt cramped, like a cage. The scrape of claw, a huff of uneven breathing, the dripping of blood.
Between one step and the next, he changed forms, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the blinding flash. When at last my eyes adjusted to the returning darkness, he was standing in front of me.
Standing, but- not quite there. No sign of the baldric, or his knives. His clothes were in shreds- long, vicious slashes that made me wonder how he wasn't gutted and dead. BUt the muscled skin peered out beneath his shirt was smooth, unharmed.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
I'd forgotten how huge he was in this form- forgotten the curled horns and lupine face, the bearlike body that moved with feline fluidity. His green eyes glowed in the darkness, fixing on me, and as the doors snicked shut behind him, the clicking of claws on marble filled the hall. I stood still- not daring to flinch, to move a muscle.
He limped slightly. And in the moonlight, dark, shining stains were left in his wake.
He continued toward me, stealing the air from the entire hell. He was so big that the space felt cramped, like a cage. The scrape of claw, a huff of uneven breathing, the dripping of blood.
Between one step and the next, he changed forms, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the blinding flash. When at last my eyes adjusted to the returning darkness, he was standing in front of me.
Standing, but- not quite there. No sign of the baldric, or his knives. His clothes were in shreds- long, vicious slashes that made me wonder how he wasn't gutted and dead. BUt the muscled skin peered out beneath his shirt was smooth, unharmed.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
“I am a troubled and vexed human being drowning in the fear born of the insurmountable wounds left by a journey from which recovery is unlikely. And although my limp dramatically diminishes my gait and my trauma screams the insanity of entertaining any notion of limping forward, I simply cannot surrender to wounds, or limp, or trauma. For it is the troubled and vexed person who understands better than any other that while recovery might be unlikely, victory is not.”
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