Quotes About Flesh

But I did not write any such letter that evening. Because when I returned to the house I encountered Sophie in the flesh for the first time and fell, if not instantaneously, then swiftly and fathomlessly in love with her. It was a love which, as time wore on that summer, I realized had many reasons for laying claim to my existence.

Concealed from the public eye, snug within his coffin, Mr Bird looked as he had looked in life. Despite his size and the flowing bulk of his flesh, he had borne always, since a child, the grey pallor of death; and he had a way of seeming as still as a statue.

We, too, can divide ourselves, it's true. / But only into flesh and a broken whisper. / Into flesh and poetry.

Name me no names for my disease, With uninforming breath; I tell you I am none of these, But homesick unto death —Homesick for hills that I had known, For brooks that I had crossed, ...Before I met this flesh and bone And followed and was lost… .And though they break my heart at last, Yet name no name of ills. Say only, Here is where he passed, Seeking again those hills.

I am alive, he says to himself, I am alive! And life energy surges hotly through him, and delight, and appetite. How good to be in a body - even this old beat-up carcass - that still has warm blood and live semen and rich marrow and wholesome flesh!

People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, and I can't do that as Bruce Wayne. As a man, I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored. I can be destroyed. But as a symbol, as a symbol I can be incorruptible, I can be everlasting.

Was he ill? Or was the anger he carried around burning away his flesh?

Casey's flesh and blood sends the war machine's children to exclusive private schools.

I'm restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don't know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh, like barbs. If I can hold so much love within me, and nevertheless continue to be uneasy, it's because I need God to come. Come, before it's too late. I'm in danger, as is everyone who's alive.

I know that my phrases are crude, I write them with too much love, and that love makes up for their faults, but too much love is bad for the work. I'm restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don't know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh. But when winter comes I give and give and give. The excess of me starts to hurt and when I'm excessive I have to give of myself.

Maybe I have merely undergone a great, slow disintegration. And my struggle against that disintegration is just that: is just trying to give it a form. A form gives contours to chaos, gives a construct to amorphous substance… the vision of an infinite flesh is a madman's vision, but if I cut that flesh into pieces and spread those pieces over days and famines… then it will no longer be perdition and madness: it will be humanized life again.

The vastness around him was now his flesh. And yet, nothing -not the countless footsteps taken or knowledge acquired, not the adversaries bested or the friends made, not the love felt or the blood shed- had made it his.

This, she told herself, was the beginning of madness. The mind becoming the flesh for its own teeth.

Render me the texture of flesh. Pick me what it is, in the timbre of the voice, that marks out the living from the dead.

There is air between their ribs, their flesh is honeycombed with light, and the marrow of their bones is molten with God's grace.

Interrogated by Pearl about the smell of roasting men and whether the Chinese variety smelled different from white flesh, Wang Amah replied confidently that white meat was coarser, more tasteless and watery, "because you wash yourselves so much.

Jag tror på köttets lust och på själens obotliga ensamhet.

I believe in the lust of the flesh and the incurable desolation of the soul.

every night for seven months and seven days, he must bring her a cube of fresh human flesh. He may cut it from himself or from another, whichever he prefers.

How did you do it?" he wanted to know. "Enchanted arrows? Spell of exploding flesh? Rain of fire? No, not that. The worm would be cooked and we would be eating it. Wand of destruction? Oh, a wand of destruction would be a find, fine thing." He turned to me. "Speak up, girl." I hit him with your skillet. A lot.

A devil in the flesh, a rebel at its best. No complainin we live in hell and Im blessed.

I see the insipid flesh blossoming and palpitating with abandon. ? Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea . (New Directions Publishing Corporation January 1, 1975) Originally published 1938.

I love you enormously. I'm spending a little time away from you—quite absurd and contingent. I would so like to see you, my stubborn little thing, and tell you my stories and hold your hand. You are my love, you good little being. Far from you I measure the nothingness of the flesh, and I am not having much fun.

My left hand trembling cut the flesh of my calves to drain the fear from my walk