“
Snow kissed me last night until my mouth was sore. He kissed me so much, I was worried I’d Turn him with all my saliva. He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth—and I did. I would again. I’d cross every line for him.
I’m in love with him.
And he likes this better than fighting.
”
”
Rainbow Rowell (Carry On (Simon Snow, #1))
“
Am I the reason you breathe
Or am I the reason you cry?
”
”
Saliva
“
You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. It will be the stuff of legend, endless discussion and limitless inspiration for the brave of heart. It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.
”
”
Henry Rollins
“
You look at me, you look at me closely, each time closer and then we play cyclops, we look at each other closer each time and our eyes grow, they grow closer, they overlap and the cyclops look at each other, breathing confusion, their mouths find each other and fight warmly, biting with their lips, resting their tongues lightly on their teeth, playing in their caverns where the heavy air comes and goes with the scent of an old perfume and silence. Then my hands want to hide in your hair, slowly stroke the depth of your hair while we kiss with mouths full of flowers or fish, of living movements, of dark fragrance. And if we bite each other, the pain is sweet, and if we drown in a short and terrible surge of breath, that instant death is beauty. And there is a single saliva and a single flavour of ripe fruit, and I can feel you shiver against me like a moon on the water.
”
”
Julio Cortázar
“
Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea, see the titbits and topsyturvies, bobs and buttontops, bags and bones, ash and rind and dandruff and nailparings, saliva and snowflakes and moulted feathers of dreams, the wrecks and sprats and shells and fishbones, whale-juice and moonshine and small salt fry dished up by the hidden sea.
”
”
Dylan Thomas (Under Milk Wood)
“
His saliva tasted like the wet dicks of ten thousand lonely truck drivers.
”
”
Chuck Palahniuk (Tell-All)
“
You do not,’ cried Giovanni, sitting up, ‘love anyone! You never have loved anyone, I am sure you never will! You love your purity, you love your mirror—you are just like a little virgin, you walk around with your hands in front of you as though you had some precious metal, gold, silver, rubies, maybe diamonds down there between your legs! You will never give it to anybody, you will never let anybody touch it—man or woman. You want to be clean. You think you came here covered with soap and you think you will go out covered with soap—and you do not want to stink, not even for five minutes, in the meantime.’ He grasped me by the collar, wrestling and caressing at once, fluid and iron at once: saliva spraying from his lips and his eyes full of tears, but with the bones of his face showing and the muscles leaping in his arms and neck. ‘You want to leave Giovanni because he makes you stink. You want to despise Giovanni because he is not afraid of the stink of love. You want to kill him in the name of all your lying little moralities. And you—you are immoral. You are, by far, the most immoral man I have met in all my life. Look, look what you have done to me. Do you think you could have done this if I did not love you? Is this what you should do to love?
”
”
James Baldwin (Giovanni’s Room)
“
I have not yet elected to bestow the grace of my saliva upon another human being. I have never… kissed anyone.
”
”
Laini Taylor (Night of Cake & Puppets (Daughter of Smoke & Bone, #1.5))
“
After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.
”
”
Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)
“
Fenestra was silent for a while, and Morrigan thought she’d fallen asleep standing up. Then she felt something warm, wet, and sandpapery lick the entire right side of her face. She sniffled again, and Fen’s big gray head rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “Thanks, Fen,” Morrigan said quietly. She heard Fenestra padding softly to the door. “Fen?” “Mmm?” “Your saliva smells like sardines.” “Yeah, well. I’m a cat.” “Now my face smells like sardines.” “I don’t care. I’m a cat.” “Night, Fen.
”
”
Jessica Townsend (Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow (Nevermoor, #1))
“
— Kelsey, ¿entiendes que… te quiero?
Más y más silencio. Ambos en un mundo paralelo, lejos de todos los demás. Kelsey tragó saliva despacio y advirtió que estaba a punto de llorar.
— Sí.
— Entonces lo entiendes todo —concluyó James.
”
”
Silvia Hervás
“
Saliva causes cancer, but only if swallowed in small amounts over a long period of time.
”
”
George Carlin
“
I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and start sucking my thumb, let my tears and dripping saliva pool under me.
Sorry. I tried living, tried being sentient. Can't do it. Can't live in the same universe with that.
”
”
David Wong (John Dies at the End (John Dies at the End, #1))
“
You just mingled saliva with the most beautiful boy ever to tread the hallways of Saint Pock's. Saliva. There's DNA in saliva. You're like carrying his cells in your mouth like one of those weird frogs that incubates its eggs in its cheeks
”
”
Laini Taylor (Lips Touch: Three Times)
“
Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar los ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano por tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja.
Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y nuestros ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.
”
”
Julio Cortázar (Rayuela)
“
Nothing evokes the end of the world more than a man running straight ahead on a beach, swathed in the sounds of his walkman . . . Primitives, when in despair, would commit suicide by swimming out to sea until they could swim no longer. The jogger commits suicide by running up and down the beach. His eyes are wild, saliva drips from his mouth. Do not stop him.
”
”
Jean Baudrillard (America)
“
Bidding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger
and said, “Daddy, look — one of the gnomes actually bit me!”
“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!” said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today — perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish — do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”
Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort.
”
”
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7))
“
I tilted my head and tossed my hair back, baring my neck. I saw her hesitate, but the sight of my neck and what it offered proved too powerful. A hungry expression crossed her face, and her lips parted slightly, exposing the fangs she normally kept hidden while living among humans. Those fangs contrasted oddly with the rest of her features. With her pretty face and pale blond hair, she looked more like an angel than a vampire.
As her teeth neared my bare skin, I felt my heart race with a mix of fear and anticipation. I always hated feeling the latter, but it was nothing I could help, a weakness I couldn't shake.
Her fangs bit into me, hard, and I cried out at the brief flare of pain. Then it faded, replaced by a wonderful, golden joy that spread through my body. It was better than any of the times I'd been drunk or high. Better than sex—or so I imagined, since I'd never done it. It was a blanket of pure, refined pleasure, wrapping me up and promising everything would be right in the world. On and on it went. The chemicals in her saliva triggered an endorphin rush, and I lost track of the world, lost track of who I was.
”
”
Richelle Mead (Vampire Academy (Vampire Academy, #1))
“
Don't swallow: your bulging, blushing cheeks display the saliva you want to share.
”
”
Bauvard (Some Inspiration for the Overenthusiastic)
“
There was a dragon who had a long-standing obsession with a queen's breasts," she said, growing breathless. "The dragon knew the penalty to touch her would mean death, yet he revealed his secret desire to the king's chief doctor. This man promised he could arrange for the dragon to satisfy his desire, but it would cost him one thousand gold coins." She spread her soapy hands over his nipples, then down his arms. "Though he didn't have the money, the dragon readily agreed to the scheme."
Grace," Darius moaned, his erection straining against her stomach.
She hid her smile, loving that she had this much power over such a strong man. That she, Grace Carlyle, made him ache with longing. "The next day the physician made a batch of itching powder and poured some into the queen's bra… uh, you might call it a brassiere… while she bathed. After she dressed, she began itching and itching and itching. The physician was summoned to the Royal Chambers, and he informed the king and queen that only a special saliva, if applied for several hours, would cure this type of itch. And only a dragon possessed this special saliva." Out of breath, she paused.
Continue," Darius said. His arms wound around her so tightly she could barely breathe. His skin blazed hot against hers, hotter than even the steamy water.
Are you sure?"
Continue." Taut lines bracketed his mouth.
Well, the king summoned the dragon. Meanwhile, the physician slipped him the antidote for the itching powder, which the dragon put into his mouth, and for the next few hours, the dragon worked passionately on the queen's breasts.
Anyway," she said, reaching around him and lathering the muscled mounds of his butt, "the queen's itching was eventually relieved, and the dragon left satisfied and touted as a hero."
This does not sound like a joke," Darius said.
I'm getting to the punch line. Hang on. When the physician demanded his payment, the now satisfied dragon refused. He knew that the physician could never report what really happened to the king. So the next day, the physician slipped a massive dose of the same itching powder into the king's loincloth. And the king immediately summoned the dragon."
-Heart of the Dragon
”
”
Gena Showalter
“
You are bad and mean and I'm going to spit on your cupcakes.
”
”
Sarra Manning (Adorkable)
“
Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling the door closed behind him. Jack took the stairs two and two. They seized each other by the shoulders, hugged mightily, squeezing the breath out of each other, saying, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers, their mouths came together, and hard, Jack’s big teeth bringing blood, his hat falling to the floor, stubble rasping, wet saliva welling, and the door opening and Alma looking out for a few seconds at Ennis’s straining shoulders and shutting the door again and still they clinched, pressing chest and groin and thigh and leg together, treading on each other’s toes until they pulled apart to breathe and Ennis, not big on endearments, said what he said to his horses and his daughters, little darlin.
”
”
Annie Proulx (Brokeback Mountain)
“
-Tu eres distinta-le dijo en voz baja, contra su piel-. Simplemente... tienes otro tipo de belleza.
-¿De qué tipo?
-De un tipo mucho más... etéreo.
Victoria tragó saliva cuando notó que varios mechones de pelo oscuro le rozaban la piel.
-No se que significa esa palabra-le dijo con un hilo de voz.
Caleb volvió a sonreír contra su piel, pero esa vez levantó la cabeza y la miró.
-Significa sutil. E intangible. Y perfecto.
”
”
Joana Marcús (Etéreo (Extraños, #1))
“
Every fat person says it's not their fault, that they have gland trouble. You know which gland? The saliva gland. They can't push away from the table.
”
”
Jesse Ventura
“
—Imagina que existiera una cura —le susurró Kai al oído en vez de besarla—, pero tuvieras que pagar un precio tan alto por su descubrimiento que te arruinara la vida por completo. ¿Qué harías?
—¿Mi vida a cambio de la de millones de personas? ¿Dónde está la elección?
En ese momento, la mirada de Kai se tiñó de tristeza.
—Tienes razón. No hay elección.
Cinder tragó saliva.
”
”
Marissa Meyer (Cinder (The Lunar Chronicles, #1))
“
I swing my arms to loosen myself up. Place my fists on my hips. then drop them to my sides. Saliva's filling my mouth at a ridiculous rate and i feel vomit at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and open my lips so I can get the stupid line out and go hide in the woods and-that's when i start crying.
”
”
Suzanne Collins (Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3))
“
Don't spit in my hair!"
"Don't get hair in my spit. That's my good saliva.
”
”
Ciara Smyth (Not My Problem)
“
The night of today looks at me with torpor, verdigris and lime. I want inside this night that is longer than life, I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva.
”
”
Clarice Lispector (Água Viva)
“
Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.
”
”
Julio Cortázar (Hopscotch)
“
Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo de aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar como una luna en el agua.
”
”
Julio Cortázar
“
Alarmed, I realized what my visceral reaction implied: jealousy. Over a guy I barely knew, with whom I’d exchanged more saliva than sentences.
”
”
Tammara Webber (Easy (Contours of the Heart, #1))
“
Her heart kicked and an itchy burning in her throat made her swallow all her saliva away. She didn't know which way to go.
”
”
Toni Morrison
“
—Quiero que sepas… —Akiva tragó saliva—. Necesito que sepas que me sentí atraído por ti (por ti, Karou) antes de descubrir el hueso. Antes de darme cuenta, y creo… creo que siempre te encontraría, sin importar lo escondida que estuvieras —la miró con extraordinaria intensidad—. Tu alma y la mía cantan la misma canción. Mi alma es tuya, y siempre lo será, en cualquier mundo. No importa lo que suceda… —su voz se quebró y tuvo que respirar hondo—. Necesito que recuerdes que te quiero.
”
”
Laini Taylor (Daughter of Smoke & Bone (Daughter of Smoke & Bone, #1))
“
The duende....Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.
”
”
Federico García Lorca
“
His mouth skates over my lips once before I watch a trail of saliva drip from his mouth into mine. “Swallow your juices,” he rasps. And I do. My throat works as the unique taste blooms across my tongue. He growls deep in his chest before he crushes his lips to mine.
”
”
H.D. Carlton (Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse, #1))
“
He smiles. Shifts forward.
‘You’re fascinating,“ he whispers.
I nearly choke on my saliva.
”
”
Katy Evans (Mr. President (White House, #1))
“
Nuestros labios… No había suficiente piel, suficiente saliva, suficiente tiempo, nuestros labios estaban tratando de compensar todos estos años perdidos. Nos besamos. Se encendieron los interruptores de alta tensión.
”
”
Gayle Forman (Where She Went (If I Stay, #2))
“
Nothing physical from the body of a High Grade can heal. No matter if it’s blood or sperm or saliva or even a discarded hair or nail—as some fraudulent religious groups claim, taking advantage of Low Grades’ fascination with the living gods among them.
”
”
Misba (The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2))
“
If I could conceal from myself the impression that the life had been drained out of me like blood and saliva and mucus from a patient during an operation, maybe I could deceive Mario as well.
”
”
Elena Ferrante (The Days of Abandonment)
“
Your saliva smells like sardines.”
“Yeah, well. I’m a cat.”
“Now my face smells like sardines.”
“I don’t care. I’m a cat.
”
”
Jessica Townsend (Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow (Nevermoor, #1))
“
We sometimes make spiderwebs of smoke and saliva, fragile though-packets
Leave thinking to the one who gave intelligence
Stop weaving and watch how the pattern improve
”
”
Coleman Barks (The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing)
“
Cat saliva contains a natural deodorant which is why they lick themselves a lot. It’s been proven by zoologists that cats that lick the smell off themselves survive longer and have more successful offspring. It’s also their way of hiding themselves from predators like large snakes, lizards and other larger carnivorous mammals.
”
”
James Bowen (A Street Cat Named Bob: And How He Saved My Life)
“
Still cries at a good film,
Still kisses with saliva,
No longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick,
That's driven into frozen winter shit
(The ability to laugh at weakness),
Calm,
Fitter,
Healthier and more productive
A pig in a cage on antibiotics.
”
”
Radiohead
“
Lick your lips,"she says with a laugh, wiping her damp cheeks. "You might taste him. The instant he learned that your saliva would help him heal, he's been taking full advantage. He left less than an hour ago and kissed you at least five times while he was here.
”
”
Bethany Wiggins (Stung (Stung, #1))
“
To her, there was no touch as instantaneous and intuitive as the gaze. It was close to being the only way of touching without touch.
Language, by comparison, is an infinitely more physical way to touch. It moves lungs and throat and tongue and lips, it vibrates the air as it wings its way to the listener. The tongue grows dry, saliva spatters, the lips crack. When she found that physical process too much to bear, she became paradoxically more verbose.
”
”
Han Kang (Greek Lessons)
“
We got high together, got drunk, got off on saliva and skin, and still found no way to capture this feeling. It was so much bigger than us, so brutal. Even when we fucked as savagely as we could bear it was only the shadow of this thing between us. Killing each other would hint at a fraction of it. I couldn’t fuck it out of her, couldn’t bleed it out of myself, couldn’t purge, drug, numb it away. Like the dark seed in me, this was a drive so deep it was embedded in my core. I had never loved a girl like this. I had never loved.
”
”
Leah Raeder (Black Iris)
“
Your mother mentioned she had a little girl. These are for you, sweetheart. Just a little something, heh heh."
He handed me a wrinkled paper bag with a grease spot on it. I hate it when you could hear a person's saliva right in their laugh.
”
”
Wally Lamb (She’s Come Undone)
“
Her nausea increased, the dialect had become unfamiliar, the way our wet throats bathed the words in the liquid of saliva was intolerable. A sense of repulsion had invested all the bodies in movement, their bone structure, the frenzy that shook them. How poorly made we are, she thought, how insufficient. The broad shoulders, the arms, the legs, the ears, noses, eyes, seemed to her attributes of monstrous beings who had fallen from some corner of the black sky.
”
”
Elena Ferrante (My Brilliant Friend (My Brilliant Friend, #1))
“
Shit, the crazy bitch had bitten my cock. I was a vamp so sure I liked to be bit, but my dick: hell no. But then her Sventé saliva got to work in my system as she continued to suck and, Holy Mary Mother of God, I thought my entire cock would explode. “Oh fuck yeah.” I didn’t think it was possible for her to suck harder, but then she did. Only seconds later a loud, guttural groan left my throat as I erupted into her mouth.
”
”
Suzanne Wright (Here Be Sexist Vampires (Deep In Your Veins, #1))
“
I was afraid that if she went on much longer, her fingers would scrape away my skin, rip my flesh, crush my bones. The pillow was damp with saliva, and I wanted to scream.
”
”
Yōko Ogawa (Revenge)
Karen Cushman (Matilda Bone)
“
Ladies and gentlemen good evening
You've seen that seeing is believing
Your ears and your eyes will be bleeding
Please check to see if you're still breathing
”
”
Saliva
“
—No puedo hacer esto porque no puedo ser... —Tragó saliva—. No puedo ser el hombre que quiero ser al estar contigo. Y eso significa que todo esto —me miró a la cara— solo es... otro recordatorio de lo que no soy.
”
”
Jojo Moyes (Me Before You (Me Before You, #1))
“
Faced with a brass band that was positioned to drown out free speech, Russian activists reacted to the potential confrontation with lemons. With activists eating lemons or pretending to, involuntary saliva reaction of the band made it impossible for them to interrupt.
”
”
Masha Gessen (The Man Without a Face: The Unlikely Rise of Vladimir Putin)
“
-¿Qué puedo hacer para que entiendas que no voy a salir corriendo? ¿Qué puedo decir?
Me mira fijamente, expresando de nuevo todo su miedo y su angustia. Trago saliva.
-Puedes hacer una cosa
-¿Qué?
-Cásate conmigo -susurra
”
”
E.L. James (Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades, #2))
“
El cloroformo dilata el pecho a la primera inspiración; la segunda, inunda la boca de saliva; las extremidades hormiguean, a la tercera; a la cuarta, los labios, a la par de las ideas, se hinchan, y luego pasan cosas singulares.
”
”
Horacio Quiroga (Cuentos de amor de locura y de muerte)
“
What the hell is in swan saliva that burns so badly?
”
”
John Green (Looking for Alaska)
“
Music was a kind of penetration. Perhaps absorption is a less freighted word. The penetration or absorption of everything into itself. I don't know if you have ever taken LSD, but when you do so the doors of perception, as Aldous Huxley, Jim Morrison and their adherents ceaselessly remind us, swing wide open. That is actually the sort of phrase, unless you are William Blake, that only makes sense when there is some LSD actually swimming about inside you. In the cold light of the cup of coffee and banana sandwich that are beside me now it appears to be nonsense, but I expect you to know what it is taken to mean. LSD reveals the whatness of things, their quiddity, their essence. The wateriness of water is suddenly revealed to you, the carpetness of carpets, the woodness of wood, the yellowness of yellow, the fingernailness of fingernails, the allness of all, the nothingness of all, the allness of nothing. For me music gives access to everyone of these essences, but at a fraction of the social or financial cost of a drug and without the need to cry 'Wow!' all the time, which is LSD's most distressing and least endearing side effects.
...Music in the precision of its form and the mathematical tyranny of its laws, escapes into an eternity of abstraction and an absurd sublime that is everywhere and nowhere at once. The grunt of rosin-rubbed catgut, the saliva-bubble blast of a brass tube, the sweaty-fingered squeak on a guitar fret, all that physicality, all that clumsy 'music making', all that grain of human performance...transcends itself at the moment of its happening, that moment when music actually becomes, as it makes the journey from the vibrating instrument, the vibrating hi-fi speaker, as it sends those vibrations across to the human tympanum and through to the inner ear and into the brain, where the mind is set to vibrate to frequencies of its own making.
The nothingness of music can be moulded by the mood of the listener into the most precise shapes or allowed to float as free as thought; music can follow the academic and theoretical pattern of its own modality or adhere to some narrative or dialectical programme imposed by a friend, a scholar or the composer himself. Music is everything and nothing. It is useless and no limit can be set to its use. Music takes me to places of illimitable sensual and insensate joy, accessing points of ecstasy that no angelic lover could ever locate, or plunging me into gibbering weeping hells of pain that no torturer could ever devise. Music makes me write this sort of maundering adolescent nonsense without embarrassment. Music is in fact the dog's bollocks. Nothing else comes close.
”
”
Stephen Fry (Moab Is My Washpot (Memoir, #1))
“
I'll take off my clothes," I said before I could think about how that would play out. "And you guys check for bite marks"...
"Don't," Everson said hoarsely and I froze. "It won't be enough. Even without a bite mark, you could still be infected. Chorda's blood or saliva could have gotten in one of your cuts. We're going to have to wait it out."
"He's right." Rafe cast a sidelong look at Everson. "But you could have mentioned it after she took her off her shirt"
"It crossed my mind," Everson admitted.
”
”
Kat Falls (Inhuman (Fetch, #1))
“
Since Pawlow and his pupils have succeeded in causing the secretion of saliva in the dog by means of optic and acoustic signals, it no longer seems strange to us that what the philosopher terms an 'idea' is a process which can cause chemical changes in the body.
”
”
Jacques Loeb (The Mechanistic Conception of Life (The John Harvard Library))
“
Passionate kisses, the intoxicating exchange of breath and saliva - and something more intimate - something there was no real name for, like a spark catching between us and taking light.
How had I forgotten this? How had I been satisfied with anything else?
Guy...Mel...it was like choosing celluloid kisses over the real thing. The real thing was raw and powerful and dangerous...but it was the real thing. Had I really believed I could make do with safe substitutes?
”
”
Josh Lanyon (The Dark Tide (The Adrien English Mysteries, #5))
“
already thinking about the good and the bad and the deep human necessity of it all, and how anybody ever got anything done without family, and how someone could give that up in the amount of time it takes to seal an envelope, with the same saliva once used to seal a marriage.
”
”
J. Ryan Stradal (Kitchens of the Great Midwest)
“
I am like a little child naked in a strong wind. I have a fever, I shiver, I'm too hot or too cold. My lips retain the unusual fruity taste of your mouth, & the bitter taste of your saliva lingers on my tongue, making me find everything I eat bland, sickening since nothing is as good as your love.
”
”
Rachilde (The Juggler)
“
You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. ..It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.
”
”
Henry Rollins
“
For, in the end, Brearley did manage to create cutlery from stainless steel, and it’s the transparent protective layer of chromium oxide that makes the spoon tasteless, since your tongue never actually touches the metal and your saliva cannot react with it; it has meant that we are one of the first generations who have not had to taste our cutlery.
”
”
Mark Miodownik (Stuff Matters: Exploring the Marvelous Materials That Shape Our Man-Made World)
“
Wylan sat forward like a schoolboy eager to prove he had the answers. He drew a vial from his pocket. “This version works.”
“It’s a weevil?” Inej asked, examining it.
“A chemical weevil,” said Jesper. “But Wylan still hasn’t named it. My vote is for the Wyvil.”
“That’s terrible,” said Wylan.
“It’s brilliant.” Jesper winked. “Just like you.”
Wylan blushed daylily pink.
“I helped as well,” added Kuwei, looking sulky.
“He did help,” Wylan said.
“We’ll make him a plaque,” said Kaz. “Tell them how it works.
Wylan cleared his throat. “I got the idea from cane blight—just a little bit of bacteria can ruin a whole crop. Once the weevil is dropped into the silo, it will keep burrowing down, using the refined sugar as fuel until the sugar is nothing but useless mush.”
“It reacts to sugar?” asked Jesper.
“Yes, any kind of sugar. Even trace amounts if there’s enough moisture present, so keep it away from sweat, blood, saliva.”
“Do not lick Wyvil. Does someone want to write that down?
”
”
Leigh Bardugo (Crooked Kingdom (Six of Crows, #2))
“
You walk up the aisle in a dress that doesn’t fit you. You’re trembling. He’s waiting at the other end. He looks at you like you’re a juicy, fattened pig, a marbled slab of meat for his purchase. He spreads saliva over his dry lips. He doesn’t look away from you throughout the entire banquet. When it’s over, he carries you to his bedroom. He pushes you onto the sheets. She shuddered. Squeezed her eyes shut. Reopened them and found her place on the page.
”
”
R.F. Kuang (The Poppy War (The Poppy War, #1))
“
A un certo punto ho sentito una sensazione a cui non sono mai riuscito a dare un nome. È un misto di malinconia, tristezza, insoddisfazione, ansia, felicità. Quando la sento mi commuovo. Mi succedeva spesso in passato. Era qualcosa che mi sfuggiva e che provavo soprattutto quando restavo solo o mi fermavo un po' a pensare. Sentivo che saliva come il dolore dopo che hai preso una botta.
”
”
Fabio Volo
“
A giant Pacific octopus—the largest of the world’s 250 or so octopus species—can easily overpower a person. Just one of a big male’s three-inch-diameter suckers can lift 30 pounds, and a giant Pacific octopus has 1,600 of them. An octopus bite can inject a neurotoxic venom as well as saliva that has the ability to dissolve flesh. Worst of all, an octopus can take the opportunity to escape from an open tank, and an escaped octopus is a big problem for both the octopus and the aquarium.
”
”
Sy Montgomery (The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness)
“
Never before had I felt trapped, seduced, and caught up in a story,' Clara explained, 'the way I did with that book. Until then, reading was just a duty, a sort of fine one had to pay teachers and tutors without quite knowing why. I had never known the pleasure of reading, of exploring the recesses of the soul, of letting myself be carried away by imagination, beauty, and the mystery of fiction and language. For me all those things were born with that novel. Have you ever kissed a girl, Daniel?'
My brain seized up; my saliva turned to sawdust.
'Well, you're still very young. But it's that same feeling, that first-time spark that you never forget. This is the world of shadows, Daniel, and magic is a rare asset. That book taught me that by reading, I could live more intensely. It could give me back the sight I had lost. For that reason alone, a book that didn't matter to anyone changed my life.
”
”
Carlos Ruiz Zafón (The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #1))
“
On days when the tragedy which had robbed him of his life was too much for him, he took out this letter, which he had not dated and which explained his desire to die. Then he laid the gun on the table, bent down to it and pressed his forehead against it, rolling his temples over it, calming the fever of his cheeks against the cold steel. For a long time he stayed like that, letting his fingers caress the trigger, lifting the safety catch, until the world fell silent around him and his whole being, already half-asleep, united with the sensation of the cold, salty metal from which death could emerge. Realizing then that it would be enough for him to date his letter and pull the trigger, discovering the absurd feasibility of death, he knew his imagination was vivid enough to show him the full horror of what life’s negation meant for him, and he drowned in his somnolence all his craving to live, to go on burning in dignity and silence. Then, waking completely, his mouth full of already bitter saliva, he would lick the gun barrel, sticking his tongue into it and sucking out an impossible happiness.
”
”
Albert Camus (A Happy Death)
“
Of course, it was a lie, and that bald man in a blue suit was definitely harassing her, teasing her with dirty, rude jokes. Nothing physical from the body of a High Grade can heal. No matter if it’s blood or sperm or saliva or even a discarded hair or nail—as some fraudulent religious groups claim, taking advantage of Low Grades’ fascination with the living gods among them. Though, the archive mentions a however as a footnote:
***However, when they pass strong prana (the energy controllable by the evolved, High Grade humans) to the sick or wounded, it heals, no matter whether they are plants or animals. Their prana flows strongly when they feel strong emotions. Some people say their sperm heals, but it’s not the semen. It’s the strong prana-boosts the High Grades experience when they reach climax during intimacy …
Kusha felt a tinge of pride, exponentially multiplied by her Low-Grade inferiority complex, reading this footnote.
”
”
Misba (The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2))
“
- O vento também é eterno. Nunca acaba. Quando o vento entra no nosso corpo, nascemos, e, quando sai, é porque morremos, por isso temos de ser amigos do vento.
- E...este...
- Já nem sabes o que perguntar. É melhor guardares silêncio, não gastes a tua saliva. A saiva é água sagrada que o coração cria. A saliva não deve gastar-se em palavras inúteis porque então estaremos a desperdiçar a água dos deuses e olha, vou dizer-te uma cois que não deves esquecer: se as palavras não servirem para humedecer os outros a lembrança e conseguir que aí floresça a memória de deus, não servem para nada.
”
”
Laura Esquivel (Malinche)
“
Avendo perso uno degli inseguiti, Ivan concentrò la sua attenzione sul gatto, e vide quello strano animale avvicinarsi al predellino del vagone di testa del tram A immobile alla fermata, spingere via con insolenza una donna, afferrare la maniglia e tentare perfino di dare una moneta da dieci copeche alla bigliettaria attraverso un finestrino aperto per l'afa.
Il comportamento del gatto sbalordì talmente Ivan da lasciarlo immobile davanti alla drogheria sull'angolo; e subito una seconda volta, ma con molta più forza egli fu sbalordito dal comportamento della bigliettaria. Questa, non appena vide il gatto che saliva sul tram, gridò con una rabbia che la scuoteva tutta:
- È vietato ai gatti! È vietato portare gatti! Passa via! Scendi, se no chiamo la polizia!
Né la bigliettaria né i passeggeri furono colpiti dalla cosa principale: non dal fatto che un gatto salisse sul tram, questo poteva ancora passare, ma dal fatto che volesse pagare il biglietto!
Il gatto si dimostrò animale non soltanto solvibile, ma anche disciplinato. Alla prima sgridata della bigliettaria cessò l'attacco, si staccò dal predellino e si sedette alla fermata, soffregandosi i baffi con la monetina. Ma non appena la bigliettaria diede il segnale e il tram si mosse, il gatto si comportò come chiunque sia cacciato da un tram, sul quale deve viaggiare per forza. Dopo essersi lasciato passare davanti tutte e tre le vetture, balzò sulla parte posteriore dell'ultima, si afferrò con la zampa a un tubo che usciva dal veicolo e filò via, economizzando in tal modo il prezzo della corsa.
”
”
Mikhail Bulgakov (The Master and Margarita)
“
Al rallentatore, Vishous chinò la testa bruna e Butch sentì come una carezza vellutata quando il pizzetto gli sfiorò la gola. Con precisione millimetrica, V premette le zanne contro la vena che saliva dal cuore dell'amico, poi lentamente, inesorabilmente, lo trafisse. I loro petti si toccarono.
Butch chiuse gli occhi, assaporando quella sensazione, il calore dovuto alla vicinanza fisica, la morbidezza dei capelli di V sulla mascella, la potenza del braccio virile che gli scivolava intorno alla vita. Quasi animate da volontà propria, le sue mani si staccarono dai pioli posandosi sui fianchi di V, stringendo con forza quella carne soda, unendo i loro corpi dalla testa ai piedi. Un fremito percorse uno dei due. O forse... merda, forse erano rabbrividiti entrambi.
E poi basta. Chiuso. Finito. Da non ripetersi mai più.
”
”
J.R. Ward (Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #4))
“
...This was probably my biggest mistake: to think that the truth could be captured externally and simply with one's eyes, to imagine a truth exists which can be grasped at once and thereafter remain still and at peace, just like a statue, a truth which contracts and expands depending on the temperature, a truth which eventually erodes, not only modifying the surrounding space but subtly altering thhe composition of the ground on which it stands, shedding minute particles of marble, just as we shed hairs, nail clippings, saliva and the words we speak.
”
”
José Saramago (Manual of Painting and Calligraphy)
“
She thought of the women at Chicken Little's funeral. The women who shrieked over the bier and at the lip of the open grave. What she had regarded since as unbecoming behavior seemed fitting to her now; they were screaming at the neck of God, his giant nape, the vast back-of-the-head that he had turned on them in death. But it seemed to her now that it was not a fist-shaking grief they were keening but rather a simple obligation to say something, do something, feel something about the dead. They could not let that heart-smashing event pass unrecorded, unidentified. It was poisonous, unnatural to let the dead go with a mere whimpering, a slight murmur, a rose bouquet of good taste. Good taste was out of place in the company of death, death itself was the essence of bad taste. And there must be much rage and saliva in its presence. The body must move and throw itself about, the eyes must roll, the hands should have no peace, and the throat should release all the yearning, despair and outrage that accompany the stupidity of loss.
”
”
Toni Morrison (Sula)
“
But for now, I would be the happiest of men if I could just swallow the overflow of saliva that endlessly floods my mouth. Even before first light, I am already practicing sliding my tongue toward the rear of my palate in order to provoke a swallowing reaction. What is more, I have dedicated to my larynx the little packets of incense hanging on the wall, amulets brought back from Japan by pious globe-trotting friends. Just one of the stones in the thanksgiving monument erected by my circle of friends during their wanderings. In every corner of the world, the most diverse deities have been solicited in my name. I try to organize all this spiritual energy. If they tell me that candles have been burned for my sake in a Breton chapel, or that a mantra has been chanted in a Nepalese temple, I at once give each of the spirits invoked a precise task. A woman I know enlisted a Cameroon holy man to procure me the goodwill of Africa's gods: I have assigned him my right eye. For my hearing problems I rely on the relationship between my devout mother-in-law and the monks of a Bordeaux brotherhood. They regularly dedicate their prayers to me, and I occasionally steal into their abbey to hear their chants fly heavenward. So far the results have been unremarkable. But when seven brothers of the same order had their throats cut by Islamic fanatics, my ears hurt for several days. Yet all these lofty protections are merely clay ramparts, walls of sand, Maginot lines, compared to the small prayer my daughter, Céleste, sends up to her Lord every evening before she closes her eyes. Since we fall asleep at roughly the same hour, I set out for the kingdom of slumber with this wonderful talisman, which shields me from all harm.
”
”
Jean-Dominique Bauby (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death)
“
...
'He's black, you see that! I thought he would be all along.' Harelip's voice trembled with excitement. 'He's a real black man, you see!'
'What are they going to do with him, shoot him?'
'Shoot him!' Harelip shouted, gasping with surprise. 'Shoot a real live black man!'
Because he's the enemy,' I asserted without confidence. 'Enemy! You call him an enemy!' Harelip seized my shirt and railed at me hoarsely, spraying my face with saliva through his lip.
'He's a black man, he's no enemy!
”
”
Kenzaburō Ōe (Teach Us to Outgrow Our Madness)
“
The Chinese food arrives. Delicious saliva fills his mouth. He really hasn’t had any since Texas. He loves this food that contains no disgusting proofs of slain animals, a bloody slab of cow haunch, a hen’s sinewy skeleton; these ghosts have been minced and destroyed and painlessly merged with the shapes of insensate vegetables, plump green bodies that invite his appetite’s innocent gusto. Candy. Heaped on a smoking breast of rice. Each is given such a tidy hot breast, and Margaret is in a special hurry to muddle hers with glazed chunks; all eat well. Their faces take color and strength from the oval plates of dark pork, sugar peas, chicken, stiff sweet sauce, shrimp, water chestnuts, who knows what else. Their talk grows hearty.
”
”
John Updike
“
Dear Pen Pal,
I know it’s been a few years since I last wrote you. I hope you’re still there. I’m not sure you ever were. I never got any letters back from you when I was a kid. But in a way it was always therapeutic. Everyone else judges everything I say. And here you are: some anonymous person who never says “boo.” Maybe you just read my letters and laughed or maybe you didn’t read my letters or maybe you don’t even exist. It was pretty frustrating when I was young, but now I’m glad that you won’t respond. Just listen. That’s what I want.
My dog died. I don’t know if you remember, but I had a beagle. He was a good dog. My best friend. I’d had him as far back as I could remember, but one day last month he didn’t come bounding out of his red doghouse like usual. I called his name. But no response. I knelt down and called out his name. Still nothing. I looked in his doghouse. There was blood everywhere. Cowering in the corner was my dog. His eyes were wild and there was an excessive amount of saliva coming out of his mouth. He was unrecognizable. Both frightened and frightening at the same time. The blood belonged to a little yellow bird that had always been around. My dog and the bird used to play together. In a strange way, it was almost like they were best friends. I know that sounds stupid, but… Anyway, the bird had been mangled. Ripped apart. By my dog. When he saw that I could see what he’d done, his face changed to sadness and he let out a sound that felt like the word ‘help.’ I reached my hand into his doghouse. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but he looked like he needed me. His jaws snapped. I jerked my hand away before he could bite me.
My parents called a center and they came and took him away. Later that day, they put him to sleep. They gave me his corpse in a cardboard box. When my dog died, that was when the rain cloud came back and everything went to hell…
”
”
Bert V. Royal (Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead)
“
BOOK BEAUTY
Here's the end of that story about the old woman who wanted to lure a man with strange
cosmetics. She made a paste of pages from the Qur'an to fill the deep creases on her face and
neck with. This is not about an old woman, dear reader. It's about you, or anyone who tries
to use books to make themselves attractive. There she is, sticking scripture, thick with
saliva, on her face. Of course, the bits keep falling off. "The devil," she yells, and
he appears! "This is a trick I've never seen. You don't need me. You are yourself a troop
of demons!" So people steal inspired words to get compliments. Don't bother. Death comes
and all talking, stolen or not, stops. Pity anyone unfamiliar with silence when that happens.
Polish your heart with mediation and quietness. Let the inner life grow generous and handsome
like Joseph. Zuleika did that and her "old woman's spring cold snap" turned to mid-July. Dry
lips wet from within. Ink is not rouge. Let language lie bygone. Now is where love breathes.
”
”
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi (The Soul of Rumi: A New Collection of Ecstatic Poems)
“
You want to be clean. You think you came here covered with soap and you think you will go out covered with soap—and you do not want to stink, not even for five minutes, in the meantime.’ He grasped me by the collar, wrestling and caressing at once, fluid and iron at once: saliva spraying from his lips and his eyes full of tears, but with the bones of his face showing and the muscles leaping in his arms and neck. ‘You want to leave Giovanni because he makes you stink. You want to despise Giovanni because he is not afraid of the stink of love. You want to kill him in the name of all your lying little moralities. And you—you are immoral. You are, by far, the most immoral man I have met in all my life. Look, look what you have done to me. Do you think you could have done this if I did not love you? Is this what you should do to love?
”
”
James Baldwin (Giovanni’s Room)
“
Can I stay here?” She sucks in a deep inhale. “Only for the night? Until my parents are back?” “Of course.” My head darts to my shirtless brother in the kitchen. “Ryan, Indy is going to stay with us for the night.” Indy’s eyes follow mine, finding my brother. She quickly cleans up her face. “Who are you?” “Um...I’m Ryan.” He offers her an awkward wave. This has got to be uncomfortable for him, having a random crying girl in his living room, not to mention he’s shirtless right now. “Why? Who?” Indy turns towards me then back to my brother. “Why are you hot?” That causes a relieved laugh to escape me, but my brother awkwardly chokes on his saliva in response. “Indy, this is my twin brother, Ryan. Ryan, Indy.” “Jesus,” she huffs out. “What kind of voodoo did your parents do while you two were in the womb for you to both be so attractive?
”
”
Liz Tomforde (Mile High (Windy City, #1))
“
With the gun which was too big for him, the breech-loader which did not even belong to him but to Major de Spain and which he had fired only once, at a stump on the first day to learn the recoil and how to reload it with the paper shells, he stood against a big gum tree beside a little bayou whose black still water crept without motion out of a cane-brake, across a small clearing and into the cane again, where, invisible, a bird, the big woodpecker called Lord-to-God by negroes, clattered at a dead trunk. It was a stand like any other stand, dissimilar only in incidentals to the one where he had stood each morning for two weeks; a territory new to him yet no less familiar than that other one which after two weeks he had come to believe he knew a little--the same solitude, the same loneliness through which frail and timorous man had merely passed without altering it, leaving no mark nor scar, which looked exactly as it must have looked when the first ancestor of Sam fathers' Chickasaw predecessors crept into it and looked about him, club or stone axe or bone arrow drawn and ready, different only because, squatting at the edge of the kitchen, he had smelled the dogs huddled and cringing beneath it and saw the raked ear and side of the bitch that, as Sam had said, had to be brave once in order to keep on calling herself a dog, and saw yesterday in the earth beside the gutted log, the print of the living foot. He heard no dogs at all. He never did certainly hear them. He only heard the drumming of the woodpecker stop short off, and knew that the bear was looking at him. he did not move, holding the useless gun which he knew now he would never fire at it, now or ever, tasting in his saliva that taint of brass which he had smelled in the huddled dogs when he peered under the kitchen.
”
”
William Faulkner (Go Down, Moses)
“
Of course, it was a lie, and that bald man in a blue suit was definitely harassing her, teasing her with dirty, rude jokes. Nothing physical from the body of a High Grade can heal. No matter if it’s blood or sperm or saliva or even a discarded hair or nail—as some fraudulent religious groups claim, taking advantage of Low Grades’ fascination with the living gods among them. Though, the archive mentions a however as a footnote:
***However, when they pass strong prana (the energy controllable by the evolved, High Grade humans) to the sick or wounded, it heals, no matter whether they are plants or animals. Their prana flows strongly when they feel strong emotions. Some people say their sperm heals, but it’s not the semen. It’s the strong prana-boosts the High Grades experience when they reach climax during intimacy …
Kusha felt a tinge of pride, exponentially multiplied by her Low-Grade inferiority complex, reading this footnote. It worsened when ads started coming up on her HOME page after reading it. The ads had horrible titles:
Dream Youth For The Low Grades.
Alternate Longevity.
A Secret Pleasurable Way To Youth.
Get Your Dream Citizenship With Pleasing Pleasure Contract.
The last one is for non-citizens, of course. At least, she’s a citizen. But when Kusha discovered how many unevolved men and women enter such contracts just for citizenship, it made her face crease. As if she’d caught a nasty smell. For a moment, she even thought, she hated every High Grade in the world, including everyone in her adoptive family. Right now, standing in front of Meera, the hatred swells.
”
”
Misba (The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2))
“
They watch her when she comes to City Hall, they watch her at the social events, they watch the way she walks, hips rolling with no suggestion of provocation but with every sense that she knows more than any of the rest. A woman like that, they seem to be thinking, a woman like that has lived.
Their wives from Orange County, they come from Minnesota or Dallas or St.Louis. They come from places with families, with sagging mothers and fathers with dead eyes and heavy-hanging brows. They carry their own promise of future slackness and clipped lips and demands. They have sisters, sisther with more babies, babies with sweet saliva hanging and more appliance and with husbands with better salaries and two cars and club membership. They iron in housedresses in front of the television set or by the radio, steam rising, matting their faces, as the children with the damp necks cling on them, sticky-handed. They are this. And Alice… and Alice…
”
”
Megan Abbott (Die a Little)
“
Look at me
My depth perception must be off again
Cause this hurts deeper than I thought it did
It has not healed with time
It just shot down my spine
You look so beautiful tonight
Reminds me of how you laid us down
And gently smiled
Before you destroyed my life
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces (let me rest in pieces)
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces (let me rest in pieces)
Look at me
My depth perception must be off again
You got much closer than I thought you did
I'm in your reach
You held me in your hand
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces (let me rest in pieces)
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces (let me rest in pieces)
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces
Would you find it in you heart
To make this go away
And let me rest in pieces
”
”
Saliva
“
Girls mature faster than boys, cost more to raise, and statistics show that the old saw about girls not knowing about money and figures is a myth. Girls start to outspend boys before puberty—and they manage to maintain this lead until death or an ugly credit manager, whichever comes first.
Males are born with a closed fist. Girls are born with the left hand cramped in a position the size of an American Express card. Whenever a girl sees a sign reading, “Sale, Going Out of Business, Liquidation,” saliva begins to form in her mouth, the palms of her hands perspire and the pituitary gland says, “Go, Mama.” In the male, it is quite a different story. He has a gland that follows a muscle from the right arm down to the base of his billfold pocket. It's called “cheap.”
Girls can slam a door louder, beg longer, turn tears on and off like a faucet, and invented the term, “You don't trust me.” So much for “sugar and spice and everything nice” and “snips and snails and puppydog tails.
”
”
Erma Bombeck (Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession)
“
Ho riflettutto molto su come descriverlo, e questo è quel che ho deciso: «Nessuno l'ha mai definito un grande cane, o anche un buon cane. Era sfrenato come un ossesso e forte come un toro. Affrontava gioiosamente la vita, con un entusiasmo associato spesso a disastri naturali. È l'unico cane che sia mia stato espulso da un corso di aducazione all'obbedienza». Continuavo: «Marley era un divoratore di divani, un demolitore di porte a zanzariera, un dispensatore di saliva, un ribaltatore di coperchi di pattumiera. Quanto al cervello, lasciatemi dire che ha dato la caccia alla sua coda fino al giorno in cui è morto, apparentemente convinto di essere sull'orlo di una grossa svolta nel mondo canino». Ma c'era dell'altro in lui, e descrissi il suo intuito e la sua empatia, la sua dolcezza con i bambini, e il suo cuore puro.
Quelo che volevo realtmente dire era come quest'animale aveva toccato le nostre anime e ci aveva insegnato alcune delle lezioni più importanti della vita. «Una persona può imparare molto da un cane, anche da un cane strambo come il nostro», scrissi. «Marley mi ha insegnato a vivere ogni giorno con sfrenata esuberanza e gioia, a cogliere il momento e seguire il mio cuore. Mi ha insegnato ad apprezzare le cose semplici: una passeggiata nei boschi, una fresca nevicata, un sonnellino in un raggio di sole invernale. E mentre diventava vecchio e malandato, mi ha insegnato l'ottimismo di fronte alle avversità. Sopprattutto mi ha insegnato l'amicizia, l'altruismo e una profonda devozione.»
Era uno straordinario concetto che solo ora, sulla scia della sua morte, stavo assorbendo totalmente: Marley come mentore. Era un maestro e un modello di comportamento. Era possibile per un cane, qualsiasi cane, ma soprattutto un pazzo cane incontrollabile come il nostro, indicare agli umani le cose che contavano realmente nella vita? Direi di sì. Lealtà. Coraggio. Devozione. Semplicità. Gioia. E le cose che non contavano. A un cane non servono automobili lussuose o grandi case o vestiti di sartoria. Gli status symbol non significano niente per lui. Un bastone fradicio gli va altrettanto bene. Un cane giudica gli altri non dal colore, il credo o la classe ma da chi sono interioremente. A un cane non importa se sei ricco o povero, istruito o analfabeta, intelligente o stupido. Dagli il tuo cuore e lui ti darà il suo. Era molto semplice, eppure noi umani, così più saggi e più sofisticati, abbiamo sempre avuto difficltà a immaginare quel che conta e non conta realemente. Mentre scrivevo quest'articolo di addio a Marley, mi rendevo conto che era tutto lì di fronte a noi, se solo avessimo aperto gli occhi. A volte occorre un cane con un alito cattivo, pessime maniere, e intenzioni pure per aiutarci a vedere.
”
”
John Grogan (Io & Marley)
“
We will need to stay over two nights in a hotel on our trip home.”
Momentarily alarmed, I glanced at Ren. “Okay. Umm, I was thinking that maybe this time if you don’t mind, we could check out one of those bigger hotels. You know, something that has more people around. With elevators and rooms that lock. Or even better, a nice high-rise hotel in a big city. Far, far, far away from the jungle?”
Mr. Kadam chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I graced Mr. Kadam with a beatific smile. “Good! Could we please go now? I can’t wait to take a shower.” I opened the door to the passenger side then turned and hissed in a whisper aimed at Ren, “In my nice, upper-floor, inaccessible-to-tigers hotel room.”
He just looked at me with his innocent, blue-eyed tiger face again. I smiled wickedly at him and hopped in the Jeep, slamming the door behind me. My tiger just calmly trotted over to the back where Mr. Kadam was loading the last of his supplies and leapt up into the back seat. He leaned in the front, and before I could push him away, he gave me a big, wet, slobbery tiger kiss right on my face.
I sputtered, “Ren! That is so disgusting!”
I used my T-shirt to swipe the tiger saliva from my nose and cheek and turned to yell at him some more. He was already lying down in the back seat with his mouth hanging open, as if he were laughing. Before I could really lay into him, Mr. Kadam, who was the happiest I’d ever seen him, got into the Jeep, and we started the bumpy journey back to a civilized road.
Mr. Kadam wanted to ask me questions. I knew he was itching for information, but I was still fuming at Ren, so I lied. I asked him if he could hold off for a while so I could sleep. I yawned big for dramatic effect, and he immediately agreed to let me have some peace, which made me feel guilty. I really liked Mr. Kadam, and I hated lying to people. I excused my actions by mentally blaming Ren for this uncharacteristic behavior. Convincing myself that it was his fault was easy. I turned to the side and closed my eyes.
I slept for a while, and when I woke up, Mr. Kadam handed me a soda, a sandwich, and a banana. I raised my eyebrow at the banana and thought of several good monkey jokes I could annoy Ren with, but I kept quiet for Mr. Kadam’s sake.
”
”
Colleen Houck (Tiger's Curse (The Tiger Saga, #1))
“
He wet a paper towel, and took my chin, lifting and wiping my face.
"Derek? I'm not hurt."
"You're covered in blood."
"But it's not mine. Honest. It's from—"
"The werewolf. I know." He picked up my hand and started cleaning it. "That's why I have to get it off."
"Derek?" I leaned down, trying to see his face. "Are you okay?"
He kept scrubbing. "There are two ways to become a werewolf. Either you're born or you get bitten by one. If you get saliva in your bloodstream, it's like a virus."
"Blood, too?"
"Dad says no, it's just saliva. But he could be wrong, and you've got cuts and scrapes and blood all over."
I had a few cuts and scrapes, and I was only flecked with blood, but I kept my mouth shut and let him clean.
As he did, I tried to check out how badly he was hurt. His scraped cheeks were pitted with gravel. His nose was bloodied. Broken? One eye was already darkening. Was that blood in the corner? His lip was cut and swollen. Were any teeth loose? MIssing?
"Stop fidgeting, Chloe."
I couldn't help it. His injuries obviously needed more attention than mine, but here was no sense saying anything until he was done.
Finally, when he seemed to have scrubbed off every fleck of blood—and a few layers of skin—I said, "Okay, now on to you."
"Take off your jacket and sweatshirt."
"Derek, I'm clean. Trust me, I've never been this clean."
"You've got blood on your cuffs."
***
"Okay, now can we take care of the guy that was actually in the fight? There's a lot of blood. It seems to be mostly from your nose."
"It is."
"You got hit in the chest a few times. How are your ribs?"
"Maybe bruised. Nothing critical."
"Shirt off."
He sighed, like now I was the one fussing too much
”
”
Kelley Armstrong (The Awakening (Darkest Powers, #2))
“
It was a dead swan. Its body lay contorted on the beach like an abandoned lover. I looked at the bird for a long time. There was no blood on its feathers, no sight of gunshot. Most likely, a late migrant from the north slapped silly by a ravenous Great Salt Lake. The swan may have drowned. I knelt beside the bird, took off my deerskin gloves, and began smoothing feathers. Its body was still limp—the swan had not been dead long. I lifted both wings out from under its belly and spread them on the sand. Untangling the long neck which was wrapped around itself was more difficult, but finally I was able to straighten it, resting the swan’s chin flat against the shore. The small dark eyes had sunk behind the yellow lores. It was a whistling swan. I looked for two black stones, found them, and placed them over the eyes like coins. They held. And, using my own saliva as my mother and grandmother had done to wash my face, I washed the swan’s black bill and feet until they shone like patent leather. I have no idea of the amount of time that passed in the preparation of the swan. What I remember most is lying next to its body and imagining the great white bird in flight. I imagined the great heart that propelled the bird forward day after day, night after night. Imagined the deep breaths taken as it lifted from the arctic tundra, the camaraderie within the flock. I imagined the stars seen and recognized on clear autumn nights as they navigated south. Imagined their silhouettes passing in front of the full face of the harvest moon. And I imagined the shimmering Great Salt Lake calling the swans down like a mother, the suddenness of the storm, the anguish of its separation. And I tried to listen to the stillness of its body. At dusk, I left the swan like a crucifix on the sand. I did not look back.
”
”
Terry Tempest Williams (Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place)
“
We went through the Happy Valley to the little cove. The azaleas were finished now, the petals lay brown and crinkled on the moss. The bluebells had not faded yet, they made a solid carpet in the woods above the valley, and the young bracken was shooting up, curling and green. The moss smelt rich and deep, and the bluebells were earthy, bitter. I lay down in the long grass beside the bluebells with my hands behind my head, and Jasper at my side. He looked down at me panting, his face foolish, saliva dripping from his tongue and his heavy jowl. There were pigeons somewhere in the trees above. It was very peaceful and quiet. I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone. How commonplace and stupid it would be if I had a friend now, sitting beside me, someone I had known at school, who would say “By the way, I saw old Hilda the other day. You remember her, the one who was so good at tennis. She’s married, with two children.” And the bluebells beside us unnoticed, and the pigeons overhead unheard. I did not want anyone with me. Not even Maxim. If Maxim had been there I should not be lying as I was now, chewing a piece of grass, my eyes shut. I should have been watching him, watching his eyes, his expression. Wondering if he liked it, if he was bored. Wondering what he was thinking. Now I could relax, none of these things mattered. Maxim was in London. How lovely it was to be alone again. No, I did not mean that. It was disloyal, wicked. It was not what I meant. Maxim was my life and my world. I got up from the bluebells and called sharply to Jasper. We set off together down the valley to the beach. The tide was out, the sea very calm and remote. It looked like a great placid lake out there in the bay. I could not imagine it rough now, any more than I could imagine winter in summer. There was no wind, and the sun shone on the lapping water where it ran into the little pools in the rocks.
”
”
Daphne du Maurier (Rebecca)
“
Traces of historical associations can long outlast actual contact. In the dense, subtropical forests from India across to the South China Sea, venomous snakes are common, and there is always an advantage in pretending to be something dangerous. The slow loris, a weird, nocturnal primate, has a number of unusual features that, taken together, seem to be mimicking spectacled cobras. They move in a sinuous, serpentine way through the branches, always smooth and slow. When threatened, they raise their arms up behind their head, shiver and hiss, their wide, round eyes closely resembling the markings on the inside of the spectacled cobra’s hood. Even more remarkably, when in this position, the loris has access to glands in its armpit which, when combined with saliva, can produce a venom capable of causing anaphylactic shock in humans. In behaviour, colour and even bite, the primate has come to resemble the snake, a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Today, the ranges of the loris and cobras do not overlap, but climate reconstructions reaching back tens of thousands of years suggest that once they would have been similar. It is possible that the loris is an outdated imitation artist, stuck in an evolutionary rut, compelled by instinct to act out an impression of something neither it nor its audience has ever seen.
”
”
Thomas Halliday (Otherlands: Journeys in Earth's Extinct Ecosystems)
“
Passando fra gli insorti che si scostavano con religioso rispetto, [papà Mabeuf] continuò dritto verso Enjolras che indietreggiava impietrito, gli strappò la bandiera, e senza che nessuno osasse trattenerlo né aiutarlo, quel vecchio ottuagenario col capo vacillante, ma col piede fermo, salì lentamente la scala di pietre costruita nella barricata. Lo spettacolo era così serio che tutto all'intorno dissero: «Giù il cappello!». A ogni gradino che saliva diventava sempre più terribile: i suoi capelli canuti, il volto decrepito, l'ampia fronte calma e rugosa, gli occhi incavati, la bocca attonita e semiaperta, il vecchio braccio che sosteneva la bandiera rossa, uscivano dall'ombra e ingigantivano nel sanguinoso chiarore della torcia, e sembrava di vedere lo spettro del 1793 sorgere dalla terra inalberando la bandiera del terrore.
Quando fu all'ultimo gradino, quando quel fantasma tremante e terribile, ritto su quel mucchio di rovine dinanzi a milleduecento fucili invisibili, si drizzò in faccia alla morte come se fosse più forte di essa, tutta la barricata assunse nelle tenebre un aspetto colossale e soprannaturale. Vi fu uno di quegli istanti di silenzio che accompagnano i prodigi. In mezzo a quel silenzio il vegliardo sventolò la bandiera rossa e gridò:
«Viva la Rivoluzione! Viva la Repubblica! Fratellanza! Uguaglianza! E morte!».
”
”
Victor Hugo (Les Misérables)
“
Nel sole di marzo, mentre era seduto su una catasta di ceppi di faggio che scricchiolavano per il caldo, avvenne che egli pronunciasse per la prima volta la parola «legno». Aveva già visto il legno centinaia di volte, aveva sentito la parola centinaia di volte. La capiva anche, infatti d'inverno era stato mandato fuori spesso a prendere legna. Ma il legno come oggetto non gli era mai sembrato così interessante da darsi la pena di pronunciarne il nome. Ciò avvenne soltanto quel giorno di marzo, mentre era seduto sulla catasta. La catasta era ammucchiata a strati, come una panca, sul lato sud del capannone di Madame Gaillard, sotto un tetto sporgente. I ceppi più alti emanavano un odore dolce di bruciaticcio, dal fondo della catasta saliva un profumo di muschio, e dalla parete d'abete del capannone si diffondeva nel tepore un profumo di resina sbriciolata.
Grenouille era seduto sulla catasta con le gambe allungate, la schiena appoggiata contro la parete del capannone, aveva chiuso gli occhi e non si muoveva. Non vedeva nulla, non sentiva e non provava nulla. Si limitava soltanto ad annusare il profumo del legno che saliva attorno a lui e stagnava sotto il tetto come sotto una cappa. Bevve questo profumo, vi annegò dentro, se ne impregnò fino all'ultimo e al più interno dei pori, divenne legno lui stesso, giacque sulla catasta come un pupazzo di legno, come un Pinocchio, come morto, finché dopo lungo tempo, forse non prima di una mezz’ora, pronunciò a fatica la parola «legno». Come se si fosse riempito di legno fin sopra le orecchie, come se il legno gli arrivasse già fino al collo, come se avesse il ventre, la gola, il naso traboccanti di legno, così vomitò fuori la parola. E questa lo riportò in sé, lo salvò, poco prima che la presenza schiacciante del legno, con il suo profumo, potesse soffocarlo. Si alzò a fatica, scivolò giù dalla catasta, e si allontanò vacillando come su gambe di legno. Per giorni e giorni fu preso totalmente dall'intensa esperienza olfattiva, e quando il ricordo saliva in lui con troppa prepotenza, borbottava fra sé e sé «legno, legno», a mo' di scongiuro.
”
”
Patrick Süskind (Perfume: The Story of a Murderer)
“
The massage session ended with both of us soaked, covered in glittery dripping oil. I felt like a Greek salad sloppily drenched in extra virgin. But James was not going to stop. The kisses came thick and fast. And extra massages. “Lie back, wench,” he said.
I lay back and stared up at him and above his head at the striped white and blue awning, which was rippling under the pounding impact of the rain. I’d almost forgotten about the rain, though it was coming down heavier than ever, a glittering silver wall, just a few feet away from us.
James had decided that the most intimate p[art of my delicate self needed a delicate multi-facetted many-sided feathery back and forth up and down and sideways type of ecstatic slow-and-fast motion massage and which involved his index finger and his little finger and the palm of his hand and then his tongue, so and it began to build, and build …
“You are being quite intimate, Master,” I gulped, trying to put on a dignified face and control my panting, the deepening huski¬ness of my voice, and the flood of saliva that had filled my mouth and was dribbling out of one corner. I think, given the circum¬stances, that I did quite a good job.
“Really?” he glanced up at me, and then disappeared between my legs, back to work, his tongue darting, hither and thither, truly a busy little bee, harvesting honey here, there, and everywhere.
“Really …” I sobbed, in a choked desperate voice, “Very ex¬tremely intimate, oh, oh, oh ... Master, Master, Pity, Master …
”
”
Gwendoline Clermont (Gwendoline Goes To School)
“
The Sinsar Dubh popped up on my radar, and it was moving straight toward us.
At an extremely high rate of speed.
I whipped the Viper around, tires smoking on the pavement. There was nothing else I could do.
Barrons looked at me sharply. “What? Do you sense it?”
Oh, how ironic, he thought I’d turned us toward it. “No,” I lied, “I just realized I forgot my spear tonight. I left it back at the bookstore. Can you believe it? I never forget my spear. I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t. I was talking to my dad while I was getting dressed and I totally spaced it.” I worked the pedals, ripping through the gears.
He didn’t even try to pat me down. He just said, “Liar.”
I sped up, pasting a blushing, uncomfortable look on my face. “All right, Barrons. You got me. But I do need to go back to the bookstore. It’s . . . well . . . it’s personal.” The bloody, stupid Sinsar Dubh was gaining on me. I was being chased by the thing I was supposed to be chasing. There was something very wrong with that. “It’s . . . a woman thing . . . you know.”
“No, I don’t know, Ms. Lane. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
A stream of pubs whizzed by. I was grateful it was too cold for much pedestrian traffic. If I had to slow down, the Book would gain on me, and I already had a headache the size of Texas that was threatening to absorb New Mexico and Oklahoma. “It’s that time. You know. Of the month.” I swallowed a moan of pain.
“That time?” he echoed softly. “You mean time to stop at one of the multiple convenience stores we just whizzed past so you can buy tampons? Is that what you’re telling me?”
I was going to throw up. It was too close. Saliva was pooling in my mouth. How far behind me was it? Two blocks? Less? “Yes,” I cried. “That’s it! But I use a special kind and they don’t carry it.”
“I can smell you, Ms. Lane,” he said, even more softly. “The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb.”
My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Okay, that was one of the more disturbing things he’d ever said to me. “Ahhh!” I cried, letting go of both the wheel and the gearshift to clutch my head. The Viper ran up on the sidewalk and took out two newspaper stands and a streetlamp before crashing to a stop against a fire hydrant.
And the blasted, idiotic Book was still coming. I began foaming at the mouth, wondering what would happen if it passed within a few feet of me. Would I die? Would my head really explode?
”
”
Karen Marie Moning (Faefever (Fever, #3))
“
I once read the most widely understood word in the whole world is ‘OK’, followed by ‘Coke’, as in cola. I think they should do the survey again, this time checking for ‘Game Over’.
Game Over is my favorite thing about playing video games. Actually, I should qualify that. It’s the split second before Game Over that’s my favorite thing.
Streetfighter II - an oldie but goldie - with Leo controlling Ryu. Ryu’s his best character because he’s a good all-rounder - great defensive moves, pretty quick, and once he’s on an offensive roll, he’s unstoppable. Theo’s controlling Blanka. Blanka’s faster than Ryu, but he’s really only good on attack. The way to win with Blanka is to get in the other player’s face and just never let up. Flying kick, leg-sweep, spin attack, head-bite. Daze them into submission.
Both players are down to the end of their energy bars. One more hit and they’re down, so they’re both being cagey. They’re hanging back at opposite ends of the screen, waiting for the other guy to make the first move. Leo takes the initiative. He sends off a fireball to force Theo into blocking, then jumps in with a flying kick to knock Blanka’s green head off. But as he’s moving through the air he hears a soft tapping. Theo’s tapping the punch button on his control pad. He’s charging up an electricity defense so when Ryu’s foot makes contact with Blanka’s head it’s going to be Ryu who gets KO’d with 10,000 volts charging through his system.
This is the split second before Game Over.
Leo’s heard the noise. He knows he’s fucked. He has time to blurt ‘I’m toast’ before Ryu is lit up and thrown backwards across the screen, flashing like a Christmas tree, a charred skeleton. Toast.
The split second is the moment you comprehend you’re just about to die. Different people react to it in different ways. Some swear and rage. Some sigh or gasp. Some scream. I’ve heard a lot of screams over the twelve years I’ve been addicted to video games.
I’m sure that this moment provides a rare insight into the way people react just before they really do die. The game taps into something pure and beyond affectations. As Leo hears the tapping he blurts, ‘I’m toast.’ He says it quickly, with resignation and understanding. If he were driving down the M1 and saw a car spinning into his path I think he’d in react the same way.
Personally, I’m a rager. I fling my joypad across the floor, eyes clenched shut, head thrown back, a torrent of abuse pouring from my lips.
A couple of years ago I had a game called Alien 3. It had a great feature. When you ran out of lives you’d get a photo-realistic picture of the Alien with saliva dripping from its jaws, and a digitized voice would bleat, ‘Game over, man!’
I really used to love that.
”
”
Alex Garland