Quotes About Veins

Literacy is in our veins like blood. It enters every other phrase. It is next to impossible to hold a real conversation, as against an interchange of instructions and acquiescences, in which reference to the printed word is not made or in which the implications of something read do not occur.

I thought of the "Roman way" of impaling oneself on a sword. Certainly poison seemed more civilized. And I thought the Romans were a little too eager to commit suicide. It did not take much of a setback before they were reaching for their swords, or opening their veins.

His face was all the more bright from the blood he'd drunk. Indeed the color was even now, and radiant overall, and his hair seemed all the fairer against his blushing skin. A tiny spider's web of veins lived within each of his eyes, not detracting one jot from their awesome lustrous beauty.

La edad proporciona otras interpretaciones, por supuesto. Las venas se endurecen, lo mismo que las opiniones.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous; gray light streaking each bare branch, each single twig, along one side, making another tree, of glassy veins.

Que notre sang rie en nos veines, Voici s'enchevêtrer les vignes.

You are so far south I keep looking down at my thumb. Written on the wrinkled skin just below the joint the neon blue veins fan out flashing the name Utopia.

Sometimes I love thee so I wish thee dead. I would devour thy being as my bread; Would drain thy hidden veins dry, as of wine, Red drop by drop, for all my heart has bled!

As through the hard rock go the branching silver veins; as into the solid land run the creeks and gulfs from the unresting sea; as the lights and influences of the upper worlds sink silently through the earth's atmosphere; so doth Faerie invade the world of men, and sometimes startle the common eye with an association as of cause and effect, when between the two no connecting links can be traced.

I have that working-class show-business blood coursing through my veins.

The trick is after a workout you're supposed to have gummy bears or some candy to get your veins to stick out. Of course, it's all about protein, too, but right before you're filming a shirtless scene, you have a little bit of sugar to pop the veins.

chain link heat, a little over whelming some times when the sweat runs down your body like so many open veins jagged and throbbing

one night i saw the black widow crawling on my bed and the fear coursing through my veins felt like the best kind of hell

She watched the smoke from the cigarette ooze slowly up to the ceiling, form into a nebulous cloud above her head like some miniature L.A. and then glanced at me. "Open the window, the room smells." As I struggled with the lock, I noticed the cracks in the pane looked like so many veins in her wrist, pulsing, throbbing, making rivers of passion and death.

I cannot be weaned/Off the earth's long contour, her river-veins.

As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.

and the rain went rollin down the windowpanes, and the shadows wiggled n' squiggled on her check and forehead like black veins.

I got ice in my veins Blood in my eyes/Hate in my heart Love in my mind

shouting to each other like drummers in rock bands calling out rhythms, pasting new skin on the veins of the city.

This was a living flow, like a pulse through veins, with the cells bursting and renewing themselves as they went. The sudden vision filled her with strong emotions that embarrassed her, for fear of breaking into sobs as she had in front of her in-laws that day when the butterflies enveloped her. How was that even normal, to cry over insects?

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck pop up, a fresh surge of adrenaline dump into my veins. My fight or flight reaction is finely honed, and this guy's presence was making it sing.

The blood in my veins is frozen but it sings of love.

all the blood that has been wasted—all of it—gathers into deep coherent veins in the earth and calls itself history—& we make it make sense— & we are asked to call it good.

He stood there feeling the sweet poison spread in his veins, confused, growing dizzy with joy and strangeness. He had spread love, but never felt it; shot others, but never wounded himself.