Top Crisp Air Quotes

Browse top 23 famous quotes and sayings about Crisp Air by most favorite authors.

Favorite Crisp Air Quotes

1. "DeLois lived up the block on 142nd Street and never had her hair done, and all the neighbourhood women sucked their teeth as she walked by. Her crispy hair twinkled in the summer sun as her big proud stomach moved her on down the block while I watched, not caring whether or not she was a poem."
Author: Audre Lorde
2. "No AbsolutesThe sound of the human voice like the bell ring of metal and crisp air under grey skies—romantic yet ominous—Don't worry about contradictions. No one is innocent.No one is guilty.We are all misunderstood even by ourselves.Yet when we know lovewe know everything."
Author: Belinda Subraman
3. "The air delighted her nose—fresher and crisper compared to the air in the grimy ghetto, even better than in the city. She rubbed her chest where the dart had hit. Her heart beat powerfully inside her—fueled by fear. It felt as if it would burst, and she mentally tried to slow it down. Strange, she thought, these may be some of its last beats in her chest. Was that why it beat so fiercely?"
Author: Cate Campbell Beatty
4. "Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day."
Author: Catherynne M. Valente
5. "À une passanteLa rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait.?Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse,?Une femme passa, d'une main fastueuse?Soulevant, balançant le feston et l'ourlet;Agile et noble, avec sa jambe de statue.?Moi, je buvais, crispé comme un extravagant,?Dans son oeil, ciel livide où germe l'ouragan,?La douceur qui fascine et le plaisir qui tue.Un éclair . . . puis la nuit! — Fugitive beauté ?Dont le regard m'a fait soudainement renaître,?Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l'éternité?Ailleurs, bien loin d'ici! trop tard! jamais peut-être!?Car j'ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,?Ô toi que j'eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais!"
Author: Charles Baudelaire
6. "Tally yanked her hand away and stuck it behind her back. "God. I am so sorry." She'd touched him. Felt the heat of his tanned skin, felt the crisp hairs at his groin...felt...oh, man."Nice try, but no cigar. Want to go for two out of three?"Tally closed her eyes and blew out a breath. "Oh, this day just gets better and better.""It's certainly looking up for me." With an amused glance, the pirate hitched his shorts back over the sharp angle of his hipbones. There'd been so sign of a tan line."
Author: Cherry Adair
7. "Stale beer sticks to wobbling tables. The cigarette machine flashes in the corner, mocking smokers who never have any change on them. There's no natural light in this pub, so it's dark and gloomy. The pain on the face of the staff tells its own story: overworked, underpaid, exploited and treated as expendable. I feel at home with them. They're so scared they will be fired from their terrible jobs, every time I order a beer they ask me if I want any peanuts or crisps, in case between drinks I've turned into the dreaded mystery shopper. The air is chewy and weighs heavy on the skin. The fruit machines in the corners don't make a sound, aware this is the last stop saloon for the drunk few who can't afford to gamble properly. Everyone here is down to their last pint and pound."
Author: Craig Stone
8. "The six elephants stood, roped each by the foreleg side by side in the vast thirty-foot tent put up several days since for their comfort; their trunks peacefully swaying as the cowardie scuttled back and forth with limp forkloads of hay. Small puffs of steam came from their mouths. Their breath was sweet, filling the sun-warmed, crisp air; and their hides, soothed, clean and lustrous from the water, lay calm on their great hips like the skin of the moon. Only at the end of the line the great bull stirred a little, the towering back swathed and padded and the knowing eye blurred."
Author: Dorothy Dunnett
9. "I Hate This FeelingLike I'm here, but I'm not.Like someone cares.But they don't.Like I belong somewhereelse, anywhere but here,and escape lies just pastthat snowy window,cool and crisp as the Februaryair. I consider the streetsbeyond, bleak as the bleachedbones of wildernessscaffolding my heart.Just a stone's throw away."
Author: Ellen Hopkins
10. "Isn't it ironic . . . we ignore those who adore us, adore those who ignore us, hurt those who love us, and love those who hurt us.Every flaw he held and every perfection he flaunted made her love him even more."I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air."
Author: Ellen Hopkins
11. "Comprehensive climate legislation must be passed so that we can ensure a world where this and future generations can experience the bliss of breathing clean crisp air, while fishing in the Adirondacks... and being able to eat the fish afterwards."
Author: Gloria Reuben
12. "He had a fund of small talk, a pleasant voice, a caressing glance and his moustache was irresistible. Crisp and curly, it curved charmingly over his lip, fair with auburn tints, slightly paler where it bristled at the ends."
Author: Guy De Maupassant
13. "I first tasted under Apollo's lips,love and love sweetness,I, Evadne;my hair is made of crisp violetsor hyacinth which the wind combs backacross some rock shelf;I, Evadne,was made of the god of light.His hair was crisp to my mouth,as the flower of the crocus,across my cheek,cool as the silver-cresson Erotos bank;between my chin and throat,his mouth slipped over and over.Still between my arm and shoulder,I feel the brush of his hair,and my hands keep the gold they took,as they wandered over and over,that great arm-full of yellow flowers."
Author: H.D.
14. "She breathed in the crisp autumn air, hoping the loveliness of nature would somehow cleanse her soul and overshadow her sorrow."
Author: J.E.B. Spredemann
15. "But what Dakota most enjoyed about the beginning of winter was the crispness of the air (that practically demanded the wearing of knits) and the way that tough New Yorkers - on the street, in elevators, in subways - were suddenly willing to risk a smile. To make a connection with a stranger. To finally see one another after strenuously avoiding eye contact all year."
Author: Kate Jacobs
16. "She relaxed, fitting perfectly into my body. In the crisp, cold February air, we swayed together, moving to our own personal beat. For one moment, we escaped hell. No teachers, no therapist, no well-meaning friends, no nightmares-just the two of us, dancing."
Author: Katie McGarry
17. "I adore my mother, but I fear for her. She seems helpless, caught in the vortex of my father's dark moods and unpredictable behavior. I try never to displease her. I love the scent of Juicy Fruit gum on her breath and the hint of Joy perfume on her neck, the crisp crinkle of her hair stiff with aerosol spray and the chipped pink polish on her nails."
Author: Kristen Iversen
18. "Travis Hunter's blood froze in his veins at the piercing female scream that echoed through the forest. He was moving just as the sharp scent of blood tinted the crisp mountain air mixed with the rancid smell of the rogue mutants."
Author: Lia Davis
19. "She was wearing a hat heavily trimmed with crisp pink ribbons which looked new, bought no doubt as tribute to the importance of the occasion. It would have been more impressive had it not sat atop a bush of bright yellow hair and from time to time she touched it as if unsure whether it was still on her head."
Author: P.D. James
20. "What was the golden motto embroidered on the hem of my baby's silk dress? We are kin to stars. I reach my hands toward them, spread my fingers and see those diamonds in the black V's between my fanning fingers. To think that I could gather them into my hands, stuff them in my pockets, is folly. But I can reach. It is I, myself, alive now, who reach into the night toward stars. Their light is on my hands. Their light is in my hands. I gasp in the crisp air of earth and know that I am made of what makes stars! Those atoms are burning bright--I lower my hands--why, they are here within me. I am as old as they and will continue as long as they, and after our demise, we will all be born again, eons from now. What atoms they have I cannot know. I cannot call their names, but they are not strangers to me. I know them in my being, and they know me. Little scrap, little morsel, the stars sing to me, we are the same."
Author: Sena Jeter Naslund
21. "The fruition of the year had come and the night should have been fine with a moon in the sky and the crisp sharp promise of frost in the air, but it wasn't that way. It rained and little puddles of water shone under the street lamps on Main Street. In the woods in the darkness beyond the Fair Ground water dripped from the black trees."
Author: Sherwood Anderson
22. "Next door but one is Quinlan Broddle, a Viceroy with a fear of gardens. So much so that he sold his garden to Virgin Atlantic and his erstwhile front lawn is now a runway where miniature helicopters and packets of crisps undertake sorties to 1940's Dresden where they have made several dozen unsuccessful attempts to rescue the Quaker Oats man, who is being held captive by the SS on the basis that his hair looks like ice cream."
Author: St John Morris
23. "Summer came whirling out of the night and stuck fast. One morning late in November everybody got up at Cloudstreet and saw the white heat washing in through the windows. The wild oats and buffalo grass were brown and crisp. The sky was the color of kerosene. The air was thin and volatile. Smoke rolled along the tracks as men began to burn off on the embankment. Birds cut singing down to a few necessary phrases, and beneath them in the streets, the tar began to bubble. The city was full of Yank soldiers; the trams were crammed to standing with them. The river sucked up the sky and went flat and glittery right down the middle of the place and people went to it in boats and britches and barebacked. Where the river met the sea, the beaches ran north and south, white and broad as highways in a dream, and men and babies stood in the surf while gulls hung in the haze above, casting shadows on the immodest backs of the oilslicked women."
Author: Tim Winton

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Solara: Do you really read the same book everyday?Eli: Without fail."
Author: Book Of Eli Movie

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