Quotes About Edge

That night, JoAnn didn't want to leave, but she knew she had to go. She understood, in that quiet hour, things that only people who've walked to the edge know. Dying seemed almost compassionate - a way to escape the living hell. (283)

I'll tell Mom I'm bringing someone and that we'll be late." "Yeah. It'll give your date time to find another partner." That lethal edge was back in his voice. Her stomach muscles tightened. "Zach?" "Might as well get this out in the open." He pulled the car into a small layby and turned to brace his hand against the top edge of her seat. "I'm not real good at sharing.

Surely the President can agree with us, that theft from government is not good. I know it's bold. It's out on the edge. I know from a Chicago-Springfield background it's hard to fully grasp that honesty could be part of government.

Life, death, change, they happened most at the edge of things: where forest meets clearing, air meets water.

Hild stood on the headland in the light mist of dawn with her toes hanging over the edge of the grassy east cliff. The edge of all things. Between day and night, between sky and earth, sea and land. The land smelt of iron and salt.

On the edge of things was the sound of the ocean, that tectonic drum, the heartbeat of the earth.

Adam leaned down to Paul. "That edge you lost in your fight with Mary Jo is what allowed me to take the time to find something that would hurt you instead of kill you. You can thank her for your life.

What makes this a good place?" He looked out over the water for a long time before he answered. "It is an edge," he said at last. "It is a high place with a chance of falling. Things are more easily seen from edges. Danger rouses the sleeping mind. It makes some things clear.

Dianne is like a waterfall of spark pouring off a sharp iron edge that God is holding to the grindstone.

We sit restless, on a fickle edge always looking for something new yet wary of anything different.

as we sat under the wattle tree near the edge of the wide yard. Beyond the bluish ring of shade, the earth was like hammered metal and wicked as metal, too, or live cinders if you dared to walk on it.

Childbirth provided the drama I craved, the thrill of peeking over the primal edge of creation, the rush of the unexpected.

Next was Mars, the western edge of the Olympus Mons caldera, roughly twenty-two kilometers above the lowland plains, where geology had spent the last hundred million years quietly rusting the world to its barren death.

Still, some nights I grieved. I grieved as much at what I knew must be the fleeting nature of my present happiness as any loss, any past. We lived on some edge, if we ever lived on a rolling plain. Who knew what attack, what illness. That doubleness again. Like flying: the stillness and speed, serenity and danger.

It's early spring, some late or very early hour with Orion toppling backward onto the serrated edge of the mountains and not crying out but silent, silent as he tries to shoot the bull before it tramples him.

Twenty nine point three gallons. Not enough gas to get home. As simple as that. As simple as that we go over the edge.