Friend Quotes - Page 9

It only took a corny joke, but the smile I saw shone brighter than a glare, more profound than a star. And the best thing... it was so genuine. It was so her. I never thought I could fall more in love.

Hubert Martin

I realized the world around me was fragmented and broken... I had to be gentle enough not to scrape against the jagged pieces. I would not be cut today.

Hubert Martin

She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter. I could write a novel about the way she breathes.

Hubert Martin

She's an array of undiscovered words, of feeling beyond my threshold. I'm just a man, trying to hold himself together in her wake.

Hubert Martin

The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.

Hubert Martin

I gave her the world, the moon, the sun, the stars, the planets... I gave her my breath, my voice, my sight, my life... I gave her memories, dreams, happiness... I gave her care and compassion... I gave her everything... and with sickly curved words, venom dripping from her fingers, she whispered in a way that would shatter glass... between her poisonous lips and her barbed teeth, she told me a story of blackness and catastrophe... from her mind a story of corruption and infamy sprang, her first touch an eternal perversion of my vision of life, an absolute seduction from the face of unbearable desire herself... the chills of a dead soul are frosty, a clouded layer of ash fills my insides, specks of dust fill my veins, empty thoughts smother my mind... and in the final steps of our pitifully destructive dance, I will dip you low, caress you so closely, feel the softness of your neck with the skin of my lips and, for that single moment, lost in the promise in your eyes and the intoxicating scent of your taunt body, I saw a sort of perfection that in any other place and light I would only hopelessly attempt to imagine... a horribly curious vividly creative swirl of chaos and flesh eating light, a specter of glow, paint and sound whose first inhalation is the slow quiver of last exhale, my exhale, my final whisper... I only wish I could have done more... but so impossible was it to resist what made her, her...

Hubert Martin

It was her eyes. Soft, meadow-shade eyes with frostbitten edges. Every glance casually held gossamer infinity. Every stare revealed inky black abyss with a hint of divinity.

Hubert Martin

Stop the bleeding! Gauze the wound!" And his voice became much softer, "Those are the words... I've yet to write." He died with that exhale. He died in a steaming carmine pool of unwritten stories that incredibly cold night. He always thought his work would take the form of ink, pen and paper, but as the last glow dimmed in his eyes, he realized his most meaningful words were sloppily spilled and patched together using blood, bullet holes and concrete.

Hubert Martin

Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction.

Hubert Martin

She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.

Hubert Martin

With ravenous passion and reckless ambition he forged his thoughts into words, obsessed with the notion that dying would not be the last thing he would do.

Hubert Martin

He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce.

Hubert Martin

He gave up. No hint of ember behind his eyes nor life in his breath. He snipped the last, overstretched strand of hope, and nicked the strand of life by mistake. He did it with his hands.

Hubert Martin

She had the blood of the sun running through her veins and the dust of stars at her fingertips. Her every breath birthed new cosmos and her thoughts were the super moon of the darkest night. Every word was a supernova and every step an inescapable singularity. Her touch though...it was soft.

Hubert Martin

Spare parts lay scattered, every turn wrought with twisted dread, all over the ground, the rooftops, and they were still. Some moving, twitching, enough to almost see. Half cracked and shattered, but still visible and eerie, smiles spread wide and thin, teeth decayed and not, paralleled by hollowed, some missing or in other places, eyes of shades green and blue and some brown with red, but no white, just color portrayed, even if it may be dampened in every way. The beauty in the frivolity, the polished shining gears and cracked glass illuminated so brightly, create a portrait of terror and wonder, significance of a different sort, that only human eyes can see and human minds can feel, but all this is something only dreams, the ethereal concepts that fuse and mince chaos and order into a more paradoxical state, can create and fathom and fashion and make. And yet, doubts upon anxious contradictions, my fingers can feel the brokenness of what can be witnessed, an abyss within a void where deeper within the still lies a glow, a half pulse of a flutter, a vein of mimicry of the reverse of all I see, with concave eyes lost in the magnitude of image whole. Massive and monumental, my feet dragged behind me, cuts in the dirt and spiraling tracks. And then I awoke, half my world disappeared. So much empty within the whole, holes of sizes big and small and all between, the loss of, what it was to be called, my dream. And then my life ended, the holes and tears and cracks complete, empty eyes can still see so clearly, the nothingness that everything has become, shadow and matte a combination of dark on black, in the nothingness that all has become, it is all complete in a way opposite of what I know, a world different in every way and stretch I see, vision upon view of different and strange, only when empty eyes, longing for purpose dreading its meaning, gaze upon their own reflection will the last piece fall into place, a round puzzle of pieces triangular and square, the completeness in the nothingness can be seen, mind flooded with wonder, envisioning the antonym of a dream, and what, in this new beginning, this all could mean. With a blink it all changes, incomplete images appear, holes are wide and seen because you are back now, between death and dream, interwoven as an integral part of this necessary in between seam, and when you touch, worry creases the brow, their faces, half real and the other untouchable, your hand passes through their skin, penetration of the most intimate sort, holding their hearts as if for sport. The warmth, the beating, the crimson piercing blood, so beautiful, the engine that we run, pumping and pumping only to cause the most dreaded flood. Now I drown, and I see you drown too. Together, we are, for split seconds few, we are torn apart and disappear in this vast blood red hue.

Hubert Martin

And though they fell as ashes, their shadows drifted as leaves.

Hubert Martin

What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?

Hubert Martin

She was a mimicry of a facade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black crystal of many cuts and facets whose dark glow suffocated and entranced those it washed over. There was a pointlessness in her eyes and apathy in her stature, and further in, past the symphonies of nightmarish screams was a blinding light. All the capability she could ever ask for kept in a place she would never reach. She chose the ice rather than the fire, shivering and hard with heat sparse, for while a flicker can exist in freeze's cold, it's heat will not radiate, no matter how bold. She took my face in hands that would make ice seem warm and whispered a blizzard into my ear, a cascading song of fear after fear. The lies she spilled, mixed with regrets and appeal, were cloaked in the inferno of her rage, the anger, the only thing that really made her real. This was her one semblance of life, a bottomless and endless void of proportions vast with a calamity of fusion and fission streaking through, a mindless hue, an emotion with a face, a darling of her race. The cracks spew darkness from within her ever so pale skin. They congregated on her curves and flesh in black and churning rivers and streams. They flooded every dip with blackness. They filled every hollow with unstable curiosity, this is her release, this is when she is free. The faces of deceit always laugh, they never wallow for their lies are a pleasure tool, her insides are contorted in laughter the same way, just as slick, just as cruel. A crude combination of fascination, of animation, of the darkest demons of them all. She was poetry written in pen, scratched and scribbled again and again. Ink splattered across the page, and within those scrawled words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen, and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean...

Hubert Martin

Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.

Hubert Martin

If I tear the sun from the sky and bring all the stars cascading down, would that line of your lips curve to a smile or a frown? With my hands burnt to a crisp and prosthetics in their place, would you hold me close and allow comfort in your embrace? If I fashioned a band from that sun and those stars, would you kiss these lines on my flesh? These irrevocable scars? I've fashioned for you this band of infinite light! Yet upon your finger it is not nearly so bright... You are my stars, sun and light. You are blazing fire in hopeless night. You are a reflection of perfection if my soul stood a mirror. Your affection is my infection, if only you could be nearer. You stand as a darling of your race, while I lay as an emotion with a face. What I sought and seek is not easily found, Yet from your lips escapes the perfect sound. My name and yours, yours and mine, Not even softest silk could be so fine. And yet, I see you standing there, Indecisive and fiddling with your hair. Your eyes are downward cast and your tears and my tears flow, What I would do to see them glow…and for you to know.

Hubert Martin

And once the ripples still and the water returns to its unwavering calm, even the pebble that broke its surface will be forgotten. And the world will go on.

Hubert Martin

I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.

Hubert Martin

She was an echo masquerading as a shadow and she followed me just the same. The night and its moon were her favor while the sunrise and sunlight the daggers that sliced her to ribbons. She looked through half closed eyes at a blind world filled with wide eyes staring at walls. She felt pity with no care while around here steamed a burden too dense to bear. In the hours before dawn her tears slide to her jaw as a soft song escapes from between her cracked lips. A barbed song of glory and woe that hugs her tight and steals her breath, each line a quiver, every word a bind. A cage in her image meant to be broken. Destroy and recreate, scar after scar shallow and deep, her dreams were her life and the nightmares her sleep. Dark circles under eyes that truly see, time while awake moves more slowly. It trickles past her, eroding her being and pulling on her delicate seams. She unravels a little each day, tucking the threads back in every which way. In the night she is flawless and clear, the moonlight dancing in swirls, throwing half formed monograms against her wall. She traces these curves and whispers her story, an imprint in an ocean of churning shadows. Her imagination plays a scene of a teary-eyed embrace on the shores of a former dream, where droplets of her soul fell wildly below, where they and her became a part of a much larger whole. A smile rips her taunt and clenched face, the memory of the feeling of an unreal embrace. She holds herself tightly in a corner with no light and shudders with every pinprick of the downpour of night. Though muffled by the glass of her self imposed flask, she hears the birds singing their song, the natural alarm of impending light. She waits patiently for the sun, counting the half seconds and making time slow, her grey eyes less than aimless and staring at the clouds. With half closed eyes now shining a golden haloed blue, she watches the sky change colors from soft to brilliant hue. The flood of life and color takes her by surprise every day and which way. The rip cuts a little more, her restless thoughts take note and pause. She just wants to scream. To swallow the vibrant light and flood her veins with all the color ever seen, a strange desire to fix what is broken and yet wanting to break. She loses count of the seconds in the wrinkles of her palms, mere dust to wind, ashes to gale. She recites the deadly seven and stops at lust, how different from love while still the same in a twisted way. Her knees press against the worn, wooden floor with no intent to pray, she just wants the numbness and the pain. There are some things right and a few that are wrong, feeling the breath of freedom tapered against the need to belong, The sun now vomits its light across the cragged horizon, illuminating manmade lines and verdurous fuzz, her rip widens in distaste and her mind frowns in disgust. Her heart hangs limp as a shattered mirror reflecting its own cracks, each inaudible beat a glimmer of a glimpse of something more than her created deceit. This is hope. In a fragile and faceted way, the reflects are abyss and ascension portrayed intertwined with no ties holding them together. She is the half second of the transition of the beat, the moment her heart begins to flex and show more than bones and maneuverable meat. She wonders about the subtle difference between spirit and soul and whether she needs only one or both to be whole. Shaking her head as if to dislodge her thoughts, they steer from the tracks and tumble and crash, destruction and turmoil birthing creation and a new path. She thinks about the way she thinks and comes full triangle, it feels right to be so jagged rather than unburdened as a circle. With a sigh and a breath, she stands against the weight of her shoulders and the unbalance of her feet. Her half closed eyes slowly fade to grey as the light and color in the sky changes and decays. She is the moments before the sun rises and sets-1-2-3

Hubert Martin

...4-5-6: when time escapes the day in its most beautiful way. She starves for that beauty, she longs to quench her limitless thirst, but those moments are so fleeting and their limit is her unrest. Her bones are hollow and heavy as she takes a single step, and in that instant she is gone, blinded by the flash of a stray ray of light, her eyes close in that moment and stars flood her night. She falls forward slow, counting the half seconds of her descent. Her eyes stay closed, her thoughts are spent.

Hubert Martin

I'm lonely, Yes! I'm so lonely. I'm Just a sad tear that came out of the depths of pain. I have neither friend nor a lover. I live in an empty dark shell. Punctuated by the lights of my dreams.I hear a whisper. I hear an echo.Why everything I love in this world. It's expensive, or it makes me sad. Beyond my shell, there is an empty world.A world filled with hatred and lies. A world filled with vanity and treason. A world filled with injustice and selfishness. There is a noise in my silence, but I shout quietly.So as to your pure heart can hear me. I tried to escape from my bitter reality. A reality that walks against my dreams.I found out that sleep is my best shelter.Because life is easy when eyes are closed. So I give up my eyes, and went to sleep. Then suddenly!I felt a call, something tried to wake me up. I felt whispers caressing my soul.That together we stand, divided we fall.That you are the king of my thrown,And only beside you, I feel like I have everything.I love you my shell, my home.

Eyden I.

If you aren't destroying your enemies, it's because you have been conquered and assimilated, you do not even have an idea of who your enemies are. You have been brainwashed into believing you are your own enemy, and you are set against yourself. The enemy is laughing at you as you tear yourself to pieces. That is the most effective warfare an enemy can launch on his foes: confounding them.

Bangambiki Habyarimana

In a dog's world,would we be his best friend?

Anthony T.Hincks

A friend is a person whom you can love without judging and share your thoughts without fearing.

Debasish Mridha

When a friendship ends, people don't always give it the same amount of thought that they do relationships ... most of the time, friendships end in a different way - slowly, and without declarations. Usually people don't really notice until a friend has been gone for a while and then they just say they grew apart, or their lives became too different.

Jennifer Close

Tell me why you don't do it??"I can't..." what you can't "... It's too far"... why??(Sometimes you keep asking yourself why this friend don't stay out... he is going fast to home... but why and why??Why he don't want to stay with his best friend, why?So the school is important than friendship??Why?How?)...

Deyth Banger

Most people are willing to promise you a lot. A few are those who can promise you a little, just as much as they can.

Ljupka Cvetanova

The most reliable friend you have is your shadow.

Matshona Dhliwayo

Hey, GreenHollyWood the mistake was mine that I added you as a friend... I thought that you are my friend... but your irony doesn't end.

Deyth Banger

But I couldn’t comprehend this making friends business. My friends had always made me.

Colin MacLaughlin

A disloyal friend is no friend.

Wayne Gerard Trotman

For the first time in his life Faris felt happy and for only the second time in his life he felt he’d found a friend, and that was worth being crazy for.

Melanie Cusick-Jones

Your life is going to be influenced by friends you mingle with.

Israelmore Ayivor

You have to know who to keep near you and those you should be far away from.

Israelmore Ayivor

Living in the past is always a bad idea; yet, on some level I believe the ones we love, even though not part of our present, are the very definition of who we are, the driving force of what we aspire to be, and at the end of the day, the past we must look to in order to improve who we will become. After all, we do not learn from what has not happened, but what has been, and what we will choose to keep or leave behind. Friendship, true friendship is never blind, but it holds the value of forgiveness - separating what we may or may have not done within the realm of mistakes....seeking the outcome of making us into better people.

Tony C. Skye

Well, you’re not exactly social, are you, Mandy Valems?”“Oh yeah, sure, because I’m just surrounded by genius to be social with in this day and age,” Mandy replied with razor-sharp sarcasm. “Hey, I don’t need anyone else! I’ve got you, you’re my friend, and you’ll be with me forever!”“…You won’t be with me forever, though…” said Alecto cynically. “I’m like a spider’s web; anyone who is friends with me gets dragged into my troubles and eventually dies.”“…Poetic, dear friend,” Mandy sighed, shaking her head. “Morbid, but poetic.

Rebecca McNutt

What keeps [friends] together? Common history, some shared conquests, a delight in ideas and people and living. But they will also be distinguished by their ability to listen to you. They will not be uncritical, but they will understand and accept you. You will be interested in each other's happiness and well-being.

Margaux Bergen

Friends with whom you seriously fall out are death. Sometimes it will be completely your fault that this happens, and the shame and sadness of the parting will stay close for a long time.

Margaux Bergen

Rachelle choked on a laugh. “You were always stronger.”“You,” said Amélie, “were always foolish enough to think that mattered.

Rosamund Hodge

I did have a friend,' I said.'And your friend trespassed upon you,' the Wally replied.

Alexandra Kleeman

Friendship! That bond shared, not with the one you see every day but with the one that has got your back any day.Well, that seems so hard to find these days.So just be the best friend to yourself until you have found a best friend like yourself.

Olaotan Fawehinmi

A lonely soul is the best friend of itself

Munia Khan

Though I can make a friend in an hour, it will take a lifetime to cultivate a friendship.

Jeffrey Fry

Terrell is weeping soundlessly, and despite the guard’s objection, he raises his hand up to the glass. Geraldine mimics him, lining her fingers up with his. It’s lonely to think that one little sheet of glass could create such a thick distance between them, but all the same, regardless of what he’s done, he’s still one of the closest friends she has.

Rebecca McNutt

Share yourself with me. I will never judge you. I am here and I will stay here only to love you.

Kamand Kojouri

Friendship humanizes.

Jason Gay

I must be able to say, 'Percival, a ridiculous name'. At the same time let me tell you, men and women, hurrying to the tube station, you would have had to respect him. You would have had to form up and follow behind him. How strange to oar one's way through crowds seeing life through hollow eyes, burning eyes.

Virginia Woolf

Laugh, and the world longs to be your friend.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Nobody really wants to be your friend when they discover that you work with dead people.

Rebecca McNutt

You miss a lot of a person’s life when you don’t keep in touch. Maybe that’s the point.

Bryant A. Loney

It might even teach Murray that while finding true love was one of the most wonderful things that could happen to you in life, finding a friend was equally splendid.

Félix J. Palma

A friend is like a mirror: he’s the one who reflects your light most accurately. However, a close friend not only reflects your self but enhances and embellishes it.

Charbel Tadros

Unless we learn to criticize friends, we shall never find true ones.

Tarif Naaz

Why’d you call, boy? What did you want from me?""The company of a friend, I think.""Always a cheap treat.

James Sallis

She may be a bitch, but she's a genuine bitch with a heart

Emily Henry

The difference between a friend and an enemy is friendliness.

Frank Delaney

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Friend Quotes - Page 9

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