fever

A ten-year-old Amanda wandering around the sights and sounds of a carnival. Trying to take it all in as such an event was much larger than the backroads of isolated territory from whence she grew up. She could not imagine this many people assembled in one place. It was made more disturbing by the fact none of them seemed familiar. Short for her age, she wandered unnoticed among the crowds and began to feel the first stirrings of fear. The loud talk, the screaming children, the long lines of procession, along with the myriads of odors created a miasma that she wanted to flee. The laughter and the faux expressions of joy on the faces of people, took on the maroon tones of a nightmare. She could imagine underneath the laughter, were horrid screams about to erupt.

There is no darkness like that of a confined space.

But as in the degrees of sickness thou art to submit to God, so in the kind of it (supposing equal degrees) thou art to be altogether indifferent whether God call thee by a consumption or an asthma, by a dropsy or palsy, by a fever in thy humours, or a fever in your spirits; because all such nicety of choice is nothing but a colour to a legitimate impatience, and to make an excuse to murmur privately, and for circumstances, when in the sum of affairs we durst not own impatience.__eremy Taylor__ __oly Dying_, extract from chapter IV.I (The Practice of Patience) para 5.

He looks at me, and I don't know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she's not here with us now, in this room. It's just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.

No amount of saying __ love you_ and __ trust you_ makes it true when it isn__.

Trust is the strongest weapon.

Words are just words. The evidence is in how you act, how you react.

With her eyes alone she could give this response, this absolutely erotic response, as if febrile waves were trembling there, pools of madness... something devouring that could lick a man all over like a flame, annihilate him, with a pleasure never known before.

He walks the soft grass, wet with fresh rain, jeans slung low on his hips and shirt hanging open, still dripping from the fevered maelstrom that set fire to the night sky. Fury in his step and passion furrowing his brow...He is my perfect storm...

The world was a sick animal, a sort of huge cancerous tumour, a thing of bubbling liquids, whitish patches, dribbling pus, fantastic pimples of dead skin that grew in all directions, swelled up, became more and more like fuzzy hair. The right thing would be to go away, to vanish for ever from the face of the sun.

If you meet an angel, you will have not peace, but a fever.

How beautiful are these bangles! But if you put them on a man, he will not like it because he has assessed his own worth. One cannot be the __hermometer (gauge)_ as well as the __ever_, both cannot be one.

You missed it when you pay more attention to the damaged car in the mechanic shop than the sick human being in the hospital.

Wedding fever is one of the scariest diseases I have ever seen.

I want a fever, in poetry: a fever, and tranquillity.

Ingo was a fever, and so far she hadn't found the antidote.

I want the fever to grab me forever and want you to be my fever.

It's best to let her go," he says.No, no, that's wrong. It's never right to give up on someone.