Quotes About Rasp

Clever, clever cat. He knew precisely what to say. And how to touch, she acknowledged, as his fingers moved from her ass to trace the curve of her waist. "My need for dominance doesn't bother you?" she pressed, knowing his answer was important. Her cat would never be happy in a subservient role. "Let's say I'm willing to compromise," he said, the rasp of his breath filling the air. "I don't always have to be on top.

the rasp of the respirator's filter were about as comforting as Darth Vader reading a bedtime story

I want to rasp into sober cryptology and say something dynamic but tonight is my laundry night. How do we imagine a new life when a pocketful of quarters weighs our possibilities down?

Kit's voice stayed level, amused, but there was a honeyed rasp in it that Will knew for sheerest hatred.

The familiar voice made Megan automatically smile. The voice still had the sexy rasp of whiskey, cigarettes, and late nights, where every utterance had a hint of a laugh and a dollop of a double entendre.

I guess I'm very distinctive. I didn't realize how distinctive my voice is, the cadence of it, the slight rasp to it, how I walk, my little laugh that I do all the time.

Wounds, I think, are never confined to a single skin but reach out to rasp us all.

Organized shuffleboard has always filled me with dread. Everything about it suggests infirm senescence and death: it's a game played on the skin of a void, and the rasp of the sliding puck is the sound of that skin getting abraded away bit by bit.

The soft rasp of her erratic breathing is erotic, enticing, and I can almost taste her desire.

I think I need help, I heard myself whisper, voice little more than a rasp. I think I'm lost. There was not an instant's hesitation in his answer or in his deep, gentle voice. Come in, my friend said.

At times it seems to me that the distance between my writing and her reading is unbridgeable, that whatever I write bears the stamp of artifice and incongruity; if what I am writing were to appear on the polished surface of the page she is reading, it would rasp like a fingernail on a pane, and she would fling the book away with horror.

If what I am writing were to appear on the polished surface of the page she is reading, it would rasp like a fingernail on a pane, and she would fling the book away in horror.

His voice still had the rasp of desire as he asked, "If I disappear, will you come and find me?

I do wonder if the stab of memory doesn't strike him high in the stomach just below the ribs where it hurts. And in the humid ever-summer I dare his picturing mind not to go back to the shout of color, to the clean rasp of frosty air, to the smell of pine wood burning and the caressing warmth of kitchens. For how can one know color in perpetual green, and what good is warmth without cold to give it sweetness?