Quotes About Gasp

Poetry is a kind of gasp, and there it is, a spark on the page. Fiction, on the other hand, is like swamp fire.

The world halted. There sounded a great gong made of sky. A gasp. Silence.

He heard Will's startled gasp, the long slow rattle of his breath permitted to slide back out.

A wayward wind drew a wintry breath across the scene with a sound like a gasp, shivering the grasses.

So it's almost entertaining to see Caesar Flickerman, the eternal host of the Hunger Games, with his painted face and sparkly suit, preparing to give an interview. Until the camera pulls back and I see that his guest is Peeta. A sound escapes me. The same combination of gasp and groan that comes from being submerged in water, deprived of oxygen to the point of pain.

Life has no adjective. It's a mixture in a strange crucible but that allows me on the end, to breathe. And sometimes to pant. And sometimes to gasp. Yes. But sometimes there is also the deep breath that finds the cold delicateness of my spirit, bound to my body for now.

You expect death to bring some new form of punctuation, but there it is: one small gasp. Period.

Glorious life ending. There must have been a moment when his son had gasped for air, the last time, as Jesus must. But as Jesus had risen, he wanted his son to rise up, organs and spirit and mind intact, and everything to be as it had been not so long ago.