59 Quotes About Descriptive-prose

Her shoes were comfortable. They reflected her hope for the evening.

...because of the foulness of her mother's emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning...

The vampire moved as a unit, talons extended, fangs sprung free of their houses of flesh.They came to where the delectable smell of fresh blood was released. A quality without compare. It was as if a thousand year old bottle of wine lay breathing.On a cold stone floor, but paces away from consumption.

Here she was, harboring this pulsating lump of hatred burning in her stomach that had only gotten hotter and hotter in the years she had been robbed of a confrontation, an explanation, and yet still she did not have the courage to sink her knife right into Roma's chest, to get revenge in the only way she knew how.

Ooh! Oo-wooh!' groaned Henry, looking up to see that even Albert Einstein was willing him on. Amber grasped at lumps of his flesh and felt as if she were steering a rickety bus on a bumpy goat track.

She hit him in the best way, like a rainstorm after five years of drought, healing the parched earth with a gentle touch; and in the worst way,like an unexpected earthquake,leaving dust and debris in her wake. She was, in equal parts, a gift and a natural disaster. Her name was Juniper Jones.

A white December sky overly the Atlantic gloom. The message of Nature seemed to be that conditions were severe, that things were tough, very tough, and that people should console one another.

The city sky was clean and hard and bright the next morning, looking like an enchanted dome that would shatter at a tap or ring like a great glass bell.

...like a Lord of the Flies stage set, only taupe and with scatter cushions.