Quotes About Captivation

There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic. When I at last woke up to myself, I could only guess what had been going on in the darkness of my unconsciousness.

But there is something I want to capture. It has to do with the feeling I had when I watched the Cottons coming down the lane, the queer separate feeling. I like seeing people when they can't see me. I have often looked at our family through lighted windows and they seem quite different, a bit the way rooms seen in looking-glasses do. I can't get the feeling into words — it slipped away when I tried to capture it.

It's there in your face, all of it, the way it rarely shows in any face. What do I see? Something lazy, sexy and insatiable.

Story is the one thing that can hold a human being's attention for hours.

She was beautiful, too. That's almost secondary; but still, she was.

Professional wrestling's most mysterious hold is on its audience.

A speechmaker's gravest sin is to leave the listener indifferent. I was determined not to be dull.

When he talked, he was lawyer and bard and crossroads charlatan at once, arguing his case, entertaining, pulling back the veil to show you the secrets of the world. It was not just his words, though they were clever enough. It was everything together: his face, his gestures, the sliding tones of his voice. I would say it was like a spell he cast, but there was no spell I knew that could equal it. The gift was his alone.

And you wouldn't want to bring her home—at least not to entertain your guests or amuse the children. No, Juan Diego thought—you would want to keep her, all for yourself.

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—"La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you.

You dazzled me. There is nothing in the world so bright and delicate.

In the chapters that follow, we will see, and repeatedly, how the investing public is fascinated and captured by the great financial mind. That fascination derives, in turn, from the scale of the financial operations and the feeling that, with so much money involved, the mental resources behind them cannot be less. Only

The lead—like the title—should be a flashlight that shines down into the story. A lead is a promise. It promises that the piece of writing is going to be like this. If it is not going to be so, don't use the lead.

Even in her pain, she commanded the room, drawing all the light to herself, leeching the world around her pale as mushrooms.

Esas milésimas de segundo donde se encontraban la línea de nuestras miradas eran el único momento de mi jornada en que yo sentía algo: el súbito vuelco en el estómago, el flujo de la ira. Era como un pez mirando desde el anzuelo.

She was taller than I was, taller than any woman I had ever seen. Her black hair was loose down her back, and her skin shone luminous and impossibly pale, as if it drank light from the moon. She was so close I could smell her, seawater laced with dark brown honey. I did not breathe. I did not dare.

If he was nervous, even I could not tell. I watched as he greeted them, spoke ringing words that made them stand up straighter. They grinned, loving every inch of their miraculous prince: his gleaming hair, his deadly hands, his nimble feet. They leaned toward him, like flowers to the sun, drinking in his luster. It was as Odysseus had said: he had light enough to make heroes of them all.

It was not just his words, though they were clever enough. It was everything together: his face, his gestures, the sliding tones of his voice. I would say it was like a spell he cast, but there was no spell I knew that could equal it. the gift was his alone.

Vos sos la mujer araña, que atrapa a los hombres en su tela.

Qué pasa que a veces alguien dice algo y conquista para siempre a otra persona?

His attention seemed tied to her face by a taut string.

Men and women wanted to inspect her, to be close to her, to try to find what caused the disturbance she distributed so subtly. And since this had always been so, Cathy did not find it strange.

You watched these people go through their lives and just had a feeling that they existed outside the usual laws of nature; that there was no other group so handsome, so engaged.