Description Quotes
Salander was an information junkie with a delinquent child's take on morals and ethics.
I should've known the eyes. Wide, bright blue, and something about the delicate arc of the lids: a cat's slant, a pale jeweled girl in an old painting, a secret.
Those who are long on logic, definitions, abstractions, and formulas are frequently short on a sense of the concrete.
And out the bus window, here is my dead world come true, my whole dead world in motion.
... it was with an unusual intensity of pleasure, a pleasure destined to have a lasting effect upon his character and conduct...
Lady Moon rose an' gazed o'er my busted'n'beautsome Valleys with silv'ry'n'sorryin' eyes, an' the dingos mourned for the died uns.
Through my sudden tears, the train lights smeared like shooting stars. Lying before the rippling blue window, below the slurred lights of the world above, it was as if we were underwater.
She was strong and stubborn but loving. She was an untouchable angel with a devil’s mark. She was beautiful.
Famous revolutionary, ' you say, and the laughter pumps out of your chest like blood, great almost painful spurts of it splashing up the building faces toward the marquee moon.
The sky is grey, with a thin TV-static drizzle that hangs in the air like it's been freeze-framed.
Dorothy scratched her dark head, yawning wide, and white feathers floated out of her hair.
It was a chilly morning after the night's rain, and the sun hung in the sky like a pale coin lost by someone high up in the clouds.
The sun was deaf'nin' so high up, yay, it roared an' time streamed from it.
The evening sky was awash with peach, apricot, cream: tender little ice-cream clouds in a wide orange sky.
Even the kids, behind the slice of streetscape floating in the glass, had mastered the art of pretending not to see.
This morning, I see the lead in my glass tumbler. A slim, bright glint, a silverfish. I feel it collecting in my blood, papercutting the lining of my veins.
... it had arrested for all eternity the moment which it had been trying to make pass more quickly.
Tricky was a plain-faced man with a very handsome voice - a voice like the sound of a clarinet, at once liquid and penetrating, and lovely to listen to.
Mirabelle sat down, dropping into the cushions like a ball being caught in a large leather glove.