Quotes About Awareness

Silence while we both thought our thoughts.

She was glad to be alone, to be free, to be high above the world, where she could see everything coming. She had people to protect.

She walked in the evening through her domaine, as aware of it as if her own body.

Artos is afraid of you, and I begin to understand why.

She should have expected her mother to know she knew.

She could speak if she chose, but she was not ready to choose because she did not understand.

She heard the world humming deep in its throat, and when it rang with its soft pulse, she leaned forward to strike the gong.

She moved faster, and so did he. She leaned farther, and so did he. Then she began to draw on the life around her-the hum in the air, the flight of the kicked dirt-and changed again.

Anger isn't a bad thing. It's just a feeling. Learn it. Understand it.

She breathed in and out, in and out. He breathed as fast as she did. She felt the muscles sliding over his ribs. He smelt of thyme and mead and that iron-and-salt tang that made her nostrils flare.

Hild, on the first boat with Eorpald and Edwin, smelt it before she saw it: the old, cold scent of deep, turned dirt; the smell of bones.

She was beginning to see patterns, learning how to think.

They are noisy; their untidy feet snap twigs and kick stones without heed for what might hear.

The sense of the world shifting was so strong she swayed in the saddle.

Peretur had never seen so many beasts living in so small a space; even closed, if she shut her eyes she could hear them, feel them, taste their curiosity.

One had to sit still and really quiet to really see, really hear.

Gemæcce, Hild thought, staring at the pattern. She looked up, found Begu looking at her, blushed, looked down again. After a breath of two, she looked up.

My flash, your blue place. I did some reading. Psychology books call it flow. They talk about losing awareness of your surroundings, about being swept up in the tide-not exactly surrender, but a kind of letting go.

She cocked her head slightly as though listening to a voice only she could hear.

Julia stood and they shook hands in that brittle Southern girl-girl squeeze of limp fingers; the one that says, When did they start letting people like you in? Dornan, of course, noticed none of this. His world was full of Tammy, his girl, his fiancée, the light of his life.

It didn't matter about Luz. She was nothing to do with me. Sending money was all I needed to do. More. I hadn't put her with the foster parents in Arkansas. I didn't have to help her, or any of the others-because, oh, suddenly it was so clear that there were others. Many, many others.

For a moment Peretur could not speak, only sit with sensation flickering up and down her belly and back, like a school of fish swimming in and out of the light.

She could no more stop thinking than stop breathing.

Light is a comfort, a human thing, and it pleases me. It reminds me I'm mortal.