Quotes About Limbs

The High King Balekin is a friend to my lady's Court,' Cardan says, silver-tongued in his silver fox mask. He wears an easy half smile. He's speaking the language of privilege, speaking it with his drawling tone, with the looseness of his limbs, as though he thinks he owns everything he can see.

our goods and money are consumed by taxation; our land is stripped of its harvest to fill their granaries; our hands and limbs are crippled by building roads through forests and swamps under the lash of our oppressors'.

Fear is good, for it makes us cautious and aids survival. Not so with terror. It is like slow poison, paralyzing the limbs and blurring the mind. . . Never, when in danger, ask yourself, What will they do to me? Instead think, What can I do to prevent them?

My arms are pretty long.

I have long arms.

The limbs of a dismembered poet.

I'm afraid to be on this shore a trunk without limbs, and what I most regret is not to have flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my suffering.

And she would not hold back his limbs when his heart was gone to the woods, for it is ever the way of witches with any two things to care for the more mysterious of the two.

I always thought I looked good in red and black, but as a rule I preferred that to be my clothes. Not my limbs.

His limbs were cold in death; his spirit fled with a groan, indignant, to the shades below.

Spider legs. Some arachnid form, anyway. A xenos variety of chelicerata. But these limbs were not under a microscope. They were two hundred metres long. 'That's not local,' he said.

Fright being, in its way, as communicable a disorder as leprosy, I soon felt my own heart pound, my own limbs stiffen

I would just like to learn to control my limbs.

You cannot force a child to use their limbs if they're in pain.

Staking is a terrible way to go. I'd much rather be decapitated. It still makes an awful mess but it's a lot more dignified than your limbs twittering all over the place. - Jo March

Count yourself fortunate." He made an elegant sweep of his hand toward the sun. "Daylight does not make them turn to ash, but they become bloody damn infants, whinging on about irritated eyes and sluggish limbs and so forth.

As they moved from exhibit to exhibit like reluctant tourists in some artist's studio, Buffin sat on a stool with his limbs tense. He was like an exhibit himself in the direct odd light filtering through the whitish panes, legs wound tensely round one another, his face like an apologetic bag.

All I saw was his beauty, his singing limbs, the quick flickering of his feet.

the drowsy tangle of his limbs.

The panic crawled throughout his limbs like a million tiny newborn spiders.

In the tide pool I was riveted by fat pink sea stars sitting like satisfied gangsters and seemingly unconcerned by their exposure; gulls would peck at them but the sea stars simply grew replacement limbs.

Like I was falling even while I was standing still. Aching limbs.

The boy squirmed, long skinny legs wrapped round each other, rib-cage twisted ninety degrees from his hips in what appeared to be an impossible configuration of limbs. His elbows jutted out abruptly from his sides like some sort of drafting error and (independently aware of their awkwardness) his arms wound themselves round his torso like vines.

He would drift through the house in search of the coolest spot to read through the long summer afternoons that had a touch of eternity to them, altering the arrangement of his limbs as much for comfort as for the fear that his undisturbed shadow would leave a stain on the wall.