Quotes About Window

There was a parking ticket on her windshield. She rolled down her window and reached out, yanking the paper from beneath the rusted windshield wiper. She wadded it into a ball and tossed it out the window. To her mind, ticketing this rattrap and expecting to get paid was like leaving a bill on the pillow at a homeless shelter.

She was smoking a cigarette and staring out the window as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

have an opportunity to make

her window looked out on the Great Plains night sky. Her childhood portal to adventure. How often had she stood at this window and sent her dreams into those unknown universes? She opened the window and climbed out onto the metal flower trellis. It seemed as if she were crawling into the starlit sky itself.

This was it; the Mystery of The Unseen, the Gate of Sorrow, that leads to the Grace of the Redeemer. I pressed my lips together, and my hands gripped the windowsill. I saw the hand of Fatima, and all the visible world sank away from me.

WHEN the plane finally began to descend, Mitch Rapp turned to the window and examined the grid of runways and buildings

I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.

Magnus stood up and went to the window. He pushed the curtain back, letting in just enough light to silhouette his hawklike profile. "Blood," he said, half to himself. "I had a dream two nights ago. I saw a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, and blood ran in the streets like water." Simon slewed his eyes over to Jace. "Is standing by the window muttering about blood something he does all the time?" "No," said Jace, "sometimes he sits on the couch and does it.

I think he's handling it with grace. A lot of teenage boys would sulk, or lurk around under your window with a boom box.

Simon!" The voice was Clary's. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind was conjuring it up now, a sense memory of what he'd most loved during life to carry him through the process of death. "Simon, you stupid idiot! I'm over here! At the window!" Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up.

I don't understand." "How can you not understand?" He pointed at her books. "You read novels. Obviously, I'm here to rescue you. Don't I look like Sir Galahad? ... My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure - " Something echoed, far away inside the house - the sound of a door slamming. Will said a word Sir Galahad would never have said, and sprang away from the window.

The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window.

One of the heavy marble busts that lined the higher shelves had slid free and was falling toward her; she ducked out of its way, and it hit the floor inches from where she'd been standing, leaving a sizable dent in the floor. A second later Jace's arms were around her and he was lifting her off her feet. She was too surprized to struggle as he carried her over to the broken window and dumped her unceremoniously out of it.

She threw the door open. The room seemed to be a sort of library, the walls lined with books. It was brightly lit, light streaming through a tall picture window. In the middle of the room stood Jace. He wasn't alone, though-not by a long shot. There was a dark-haired girl with him, a girl Clary had never seen before, and the two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace

Luke could only imagine the odd picture they made: the starving vampire, the dying warlock, and the werewolf keeping watch at the window.

In a city by the sea which was once called St. Petersburg, then Petrograd, then Leningrad, then, much later, St. Petersburg again, there stood a long, thin house on a long, thin street. By a long, thin window, a child in a pale blue dress and pale green slippers waited for a bird to marry her.

You came!" he whispered. "How do you always find me?" The girl smiled. "Magic," she whispered. "After all, I am a demon." "You always come to the window, you come to find me and carry me away—that is not what girls are supposed to do. It is what the Princes do in all the stories." "This is not that kind of story.

Olli punched in with the cymbal-whack of her typewriter by the alley-side window while a happy neon sign six stories down flashing Hobart and Sons' Fine Smokables got its purple light all tangled up in her eyelashes.

someone, walking in the white street, looked in at our window, he would have seen in the family tableau a simulacrum of domestic joy.

A concept is a brick. It can be used to build a courthouse of reason. Or it can be thrown through the window.

Yo!" "We good?" "We're good." "Okay. You've broken Mr. Marlowe's window, however." "Apologies, boss. Exuberance.

Reading in the car was so much my personal journey that when my mother urged me to put down my book and look out the window, I would protest, "But I just looked an hour ago!

She fastened her attention on the taxi window as they drove crosstown. It was one of those last wonderful days in October, when the air is balmy and the faded sun tries to pretend it's spring.

She hung right out of the window and tugged at her shawl to show her purple hair. She tugged too violently, she jerked forward, she wobbled in her crazy red shoes – and then she fell.