Secret Of The Ooze Quotes

He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.

Watching me, judging me, smelling the crippling failure oozing from my skin, my desperation clawing and all-consuming panic drenching me as I gape in horror at the world and wonder why everyone is smiling and looking at me with secret knowledge of my aching shame.

He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore. —SIGMUND FREUD, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis

Marin can only imagine what the other woman is thinking. She can feel her judgment oozing through the phone line, because that’s what women do to each other. They judge.

In 1905, Freud wrote: “No mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips. Betrayal oozes out of him from every pore.

He remembered that, after digging for a little, the water oozes round your finger-tips; the hole then becomes a moat; a well; a spring; a secret channel to the sea.

It looked like a colour, but also... like a bruise or a secretion, like an oozing-and something else, an odour, for example, it melted into the odour of wet earth, warm, moist wood, into a black odour that spread like varnish over this sensitive wood, in a flavour of chewed, sweet fibre. I did not simply see this black: sight is an abstract invention, a simplified idea, one of man's ideas. That black, amorphous, weakly presence, far surpassed sight, smell and taste. But this richness was lost in confusion and finally was no more because it was too much.

Henry hooked his legs on the branch and flipped over gingerly, until he was hanging upside-down, grinning at Vlad. Then Henry's grin slipped. He fell to the ground several feet below with a thump, crying out as his body made impact. Vlad shimmied down the tree as fast as he could. "Henry ! Are you okay?" Henry sat up, clutching his wounded knee. He looked very much like he was going to start crying any second. A small, thin line of blood oozed from the scrape on his knee. Vlad's tiny fangs shot from his gums. Henry's eyes went wide, his injury all but forgotten. "What are those?" Vlad's small shoulders sank. He'd let his dad down. "They're my fangs." "Vlad, are you a vampire or something?" Henry's eyes were big, and Vlad was certain he saw fear in them. Not as much fear as when Henry had been falling from the tree, but close. He took a deep breath, glancing at the house. Then he sat down in front of Henry and said, "Yeah, Henry. I'm a vampire. But it's a secret. A very, very, very big secret and you can't tell anyone ever.

Sometimes you came across women who had every-thing going for them…looks, personality, smarts, and they had NO fucking idea what they were worth. How amazing and beautiful, they were, how they oozed sex and secrets. Then you had those women who knew they had what you wanted and used it. Repeatedly. Just to get what they wanted. It was an unbalanced universe.

The longer you define, the better you become at determining how close to a definition a citation falls and how far away it needs to be for it to be its own sense. Meaning is a spectrum; you are only describing the biggest data clusters on that spectrum. Madeline Novak puts it this way: “There’s a meaning there, and it could be sliced up any of a variety of ways, none of which really capture the whole thing. You’re going to be dissatisfied with it no matter what, so you’re kidding yourself if you think you’ve pinpointed it. There’s still stuff oozing around the edges.

He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.

We’re sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, emaciated young woman with a shaved head. Her flesh shows bruises and oozing scabs. Johanna Mason. Who actually knew rebel secrets. At least the one about me. And this is how she has paid for it.

The writer H. P. Lovecraft would later provide an example of the animosity Americans felt toward the newcomers in a letter to a friend in which he described immigrants from Italy crowded into the Lower East Side as creatures who “could not by any stretch of the imagination be call’d human.” Instead, “they were monstrous and nebulous adumbrations of the pithecanthropoid and amoebal; vaguely moulded from some stinking viscous slime of earth’s corruption, and slithering and oozing in and on the filthy streets or in and out of doorways in a fashion suggestive of nothing but infesting worms or deep-sea unnamabilities.

Become desert, the great silty gobs Rise up in whirlwinds and subsist under miasma Of sediments aloft: dust-storms inherit The powerful cells of the old gorals: The vacated seabed's stark unfinished frame Roils with lightnings and thunders down to the trenches Which despite centuries keep filling in With an oily ooze pressed from corpse Sargassos In a chain of trapdoor--bottom Dead Seas By mile-deep muds laid down as secret essence Of all the ingenuities fielded above. In them the newest become most ancient mires. Profound air clubs like a meteor-hammer The misfits weaned more in shallows, but the bones, The kraken carapaces, litter both Guys-slope and plain, can yon and domdaniel Rearing like cere brat ranges from the chat Of midge-mollusks uncountable, minor life..

He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore. —Sigmund Freud

We squeeze each other, oozing love (also secretions unheard of).

My lover’s alluring propensities took on a vivacity I had difficulty conceding. His passion magnified a thousand-fold within my consciousness as I closed my eyes to this wanton dexterity. I desired him, and he wanted me. Under this euphoric ecstasy, I relinquished my person to his coveted demands.               My Apollo, my Phoebus, who never failed to brighten my person and radiate my soul, had coiled me into his solicitous web of ardent devotion. My coverings fell away with every inhalation of his loving elixir. My lover had exposed my nakedness to the gazing eyes of the unseen voyeur and stalker. They alone were granted dispensation to witness the audacity between my lover and me.               Our fiery gazes never left or strayed from each other. Bewitched by his blueish-green eyes, my soul was bare to him. His oral stimulation had fostered me to arch my back in a balletic pose as his hands supported the small of my back. Watched through the submerged glass, we felt like Poseidon’s pleasure slaves, performing solely for his gratification. I was awed by our agility and reminded of a supple aquatic dance performance I had witnessed during my extensive travels. My former ballet training surged through me as I saw myself swirling and pirouetting across the room, and Andy’s thickness gyrated within the core of my being. The ecstasy and the agony of my dance pedagogy had transformed into the art of intercourse. The grace of movement and the beauty of love had merged into a seraphic epiphany – a unity of the Godhead within and without.               At the precise moment of our orgasmic exultations, I finally grasped my chaperone’s universal knowledge: that the divine and I are but one and the same. It was then I comprehended my guardian’s god-like comportment. Andy knew his birth-right, and he wore his divinity with pride and honour. All of that I saw in him as it came gushing to the forefront. He was indeed a Phoebus Apollo, a sun god beheld in a darkened chamber. There and then, I made a secret covenant to myself, like an apostle to the Son of God - I would follow in his footsteps.               My Valet’s sanctity swirled within me, flooding my kernel with beatific sows of celestial grace. Overjoyed by his tokens of affection, I too released my passion into his garnering gulf. Streams of my succulent splendour oozed from his enticing lips. It was only when we shared the final droplets of my luscious deposits that he liberated his engorgement from my sopping honeycomb. I supped at his dripping remains before sharing my fill with him, so we could both partake in this sexual liturgy of heavenly Eucharist.               We did not relinquish our performance after the lights and music had disappeared, but remained entwined in darkness, savouring the inseparable devotion that had once been the domain of Apollo and his beloved Hyacinth.

The Britishness oozes from the quaint pubs, from the fish and chips and pie shops, the afternoon tea with scones and clotted cream sold in cafés. It can be heard in the crack of cricket bats on the lawns of the Windsor Country Club, where rugby is also played by the men of the neighborhood, and where the cost of a membership could feed a small country.

Boyd was obsessed with uncovering the secrets of his inheritance and Mabel had the answers.  He was suddenly sure of it.  “Why did he leave me a kid’s book?”  He asked, his heart pounding.  Whatever the reason, it was important.  He sensed it. “Maybe he was going by your mental age.

The Jogger Killer is currently terrorizing women who are now too scared to go out running alone. And Rulandi Duval is a pit bull with a chip on her shoulder. She’s a woman in a position of power in a traditionally male environment, and she’s got something to prove. You and Tom also ooze privilege. You live in Story Cove. You own a boat. It’s moored at an exclusive marina. You belong to a country club.

that's the thing with secrets. They're leaky; you can't decide to share the bits that suit you without a million questions oozing out. You have to solder a part of yourself shut.

Africa known for its staggering beauty and a haven for every animal and beast known to mankind, the sounds of mating ooze from its hills and valleys and wondrous sounds fill the air. Roars, growls, chirps, whistles, Squawking, clicking, shrill screams, squeals and warbling echo through the land each animal can be identified by its own sound… Dwanhi carries those familiar sounds in his spirit and was very in tune to the sounds of mating even among his own kind…

Each time she emerged from his embrace, René sought over her person for the mark of a god. O knew that if he had betrayed her several hours before, it had been to provoke the inscription of additional, crueller marks. She also knew that whilst the reasons for provoking them might disappear, Sir Stephen’s for inflicting them would not. A pity. (But, secretly, she didn’t consider it a pity, but the contrary.) Stunned, René stared for a very long time at that slender body upon which thick purple welts ran like ropes across shoulders, back, buttocks, belly and breasts, two welts sometimes intersecting. Here and there a drop or two of blood oozed through the skin. ‘Ah, I love you,’ he murmured. His hands trembling, he undressed, turned off the light and lay down beside O, close to her. She moaned in the darkness all the while he possessed her.

A final note on this, one little secret: when you truly commit yourself to your dream, when you ooze enthusiasm and let your talents shine (however small or fledgling they might be at the start), you will often find that the money comes to you by default. But if you just chase the money, like a butterfly, it will often fly away. Follow the dream and let your talent thrive, better people’s lives, stick to it through thick and thin, and I bet you find out that money will be close beside you. So try not to worry about money, ever - instead focus on the journey. And certainly don’t waste time and energy accumulating just wealth. Follow your goals wholeheartedly and there will be enough to satisfy you. Just wait and see where your dreams can take you.