Favorite lines you've written

[Rob Lefebvre]

This is the first line from my WIP novel. First straight novel I am attempting to write. The line is as follows:

The urine burned with a fiery vengeance as it exited the tip of his penis.

[nathanrudy]

“You’re Lee Thurman,” said the strawberry blond facing me in the vestibule, softly but with conviction. Since I am Lee Thurman, I nodded.

[milly]

something I wrote last night:

Terminology had always fascinated Derek and with the drugs came a new language, malleable and secret. It was a world of verbal opportunity for a writer who’d lost his own words. He mastered the jargon, created his own, and his addiction to the drugs, to the thing that had given him a voice again, grew exponentially as each new phrase was coined or spoken or defined.

[Charlie Horse]

Sometimes I can almost come off as being smart...

Time is constant, unaffected by the perceiver's fleeting mood.

[milly]

something I wrote this morning:

As much as I belong to him, as he’d say, down to the last toenail, his every inclination toward kindness and his every expression of beauty belong to me. They live in his eyes, in the way they soften when my name is on his lips or in the fluttering of them when we’ve made love and he’s trying to catch his breath after.

[JayMan]

I like this set of passages from my WIP:

Barrett hated long goodbyes—seeing a friend off at the airport or saying farewell to Mama and Pop after a rare visit home, for instance. But he couldn’t exactly glance at the clock and ask Jonathan to wrap it up, could he? A man on his deathbed must be allowed certain privileges. Among them was that those present must be a polite set of ears. That was the way Barrett would want it. Not that he would be the type to ramble on and on; if he had anything to say, he believed in saying it while life clung to him instead of trying to squeeze it all out at the last minute. But at least he would have the right to go out rambling if he desired.

Barrett offered him a final courtesy, and the ease with which he said it—as if he were offering Jonathan the last slice of pizza at the end of a mellow Friday night—would have chilled most people to the bone. “If you want me to make the end easier, just say the word.”

[mobleyC]

From my novel

She's like a wild and out of control wind, but also the most beautiful storm I have ever seen.

[supercharge]

Here is a little something a wrote yesterday. You will have to excuse my bad language. English is not my first language, and I don't write in english either.

It was a very odd experience: Mr Lesky probably wouldn't even have noticed that he had dropped his head, if he hadn't been eating a sandwich just when it happened. Suddenly it was just nothing there to bite the three, mustard drowned, sausages: trapped between two thick slices of bread.

Mr Lesky, however, didn't bother to look for his head - which tends to be the usual reaction for people who loose them. It would probably turn up, he thought - or at least, perhaps he could buy another one? Maybe not as chivalrous and handsome as the one he had just lost; but when it comes to heads, there is really no reason to be picky.

[milly]

something I wrote about an hour ago:

With fires though there are never enough answers. Sifting and raking, snapping photos of everything from charred stuffed animals to melted toothbrushes to the silverware that even if the house is a total loss, always outlive the fires.

[Victoria]

FMC's trailer home is tumbling in a tornado. MC is an immortal, and he's doing is damndest to keep her alive.

Nathaniel kept her cocooned within his protective embrace as everything not nailed to the floor rained over them. Cora's heavy antique dresser free fell six feet, splitting apart against his back. It would have crushed her.

[adriansia]

"We will bury our doubts with their corpse."

~ Horo

“Smells like a sh*t’s vagina.”

~ Leaf

Regards,

Adrian

[randywrite]

(I'm going to post this favorite line/lines of mine in a series, so you can read them as they come in if you like. )

As they surfaced they looked at each other and laughed. They went into the pond muddy but surfaced clean, and immediately started splashing water in each other’s faces.
“I love you,” said Eli.
Everything froze. It seemed as if every noise had been sealed in a vacuum.

[Ed Panther]

Any man who thinks with his penis rather than his actual mind is lower on the scale of humanity than both racists and tattle-tells.

[underthecity]

She grinned and spread her arms out while still holding the mugs. She looked so silly I started laughing.

[Architectus]

This is a hard one because I don't like many of my own lines, and the ones I do like are hard to choose between.

“Fine,” Cole huffed. “Let’s go knock on the door to the big scary, witches' mansion, just like the stupid, blonde bimbos in horror flicks.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.”

“Who says I am being mellow? This is crazy.”

She entered the elephants' graveyard, fog snaking around her red shoes. Tall rib bones curved up to her shoulders as she walked around stained bones that protruded from dry, cracked earth. Nothing but the scraps of Death remained in that place. The maggots were long gone; the stringy meat consumed. Like spider webs, the deep cuts in the dirt beneath her feet splintered between the rotted bones of elephants.

My mother fucking house blew up. What the hell? Can you believe that shit? It just blew the hell up. Yeah, I was pissed. How often does your house blow the hell up? Yeah, never.

“Hurry up,” Gabe said, beads of sweat now prickling his forehead, and his heart thumped harder, louder, like a Native American drummer beating harder and harder on his drum playing the call to death.

It was a slow building storm, escalating onwards, pushing, grinding, quaking. Our thunder groaned. The rain pounded and pounded and rammed against the yielding earth. Drilling and grinding, the rain striped the goddess of her strength.

[MrFrankenstein]

This is my favorite sequence from my 'Depths of Deception' book, and despite appearances, the following extract is about emotional pain, not physical.
-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~~-=~

Deep wounds are an educational process. It begins with the realization that a piece of flesh is gone and will never return. The body knows it has been disfigured; the conscious mind must be restrained from self-disgust, and the continual pain must be perceived as merely signals from torn nerve receptors. The jagged perimeter of the wound and its exposed tufts of severed muscles flex perpetually – an internal forest of scratching claws. The nostrils enter the picture; one becomes accustomed to the metallic tang of an open wound.

Deep wounds require daily attention; their owner becomes intimate with its crevices. Few wounds are symmetrical, each has unique features. Lubricated with saline, the fingertips must slide into the wound and pat it with dressings to dry the exposed layers. From doing this, a familiarity comes. The glistening flesh becomes a landscape of points and indicators on a map. Here is blissful nothingness; there a stabbing pain makes the world darken. The secret artwork of the body’s interior is displayed in the wound: vermillion streaks of raw flesh, the tempura brilliance of exposed muscles and tendons.

The owner of a deep wound learns that skin itself is a liquid as the body attempts to seal deep holes with viscous fluid. But when too much flesh has been lost, the body gives up trying to use the seeping liquid. Dark-brown purple clots start gathering like barnacles around the wound’s perimeter. The slowly-shrinking wound resembles the iris of a camera lens, or a dark clotting sphincter. Finally, once this growth is complete, the body abandons the interior crater, a pocket of liquid hidden by a thin veneer. Some catastrophic wounds can never heal.

These are my scars. This is my blood. This is my body.

[Wayne K]

My MC is a reporter

On May 31st, 2010, Israeli commandos boarded the six ships of the Gaza Freedom Flotilla in the Mediterranean Sea. On the Turkish ship, MV Mavi Marmara nine people were killed, and many more were injured. I was drunk when the story broke.

[underthecity]

(Emily needs to talk to Stephanie.)

"Hey, Stephanie," I said.

“Emily Bell?” Stephanie popped up, pushing her glasses up her nose. With her round face she looked like an owl. “Hi! Is this about Biology? I’m afraid I haven’t finished the homework so I don’t think I could help. That is, if you need it. Not that you would need any help from me. If anything, I should be getting help from you. You’re so smart. And pretty. I love your shoes. And your hair. You’re an awesome cheerleader. Wish I could be like you. I really do.”

[ashlynnb]

"A lump formed in his throat and he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak at all, let alone provide the kind of explanation that could make any of this better."

[Saint09]

This is a great thread. Soooo many great lines. But hmm...does anyone else get the sneaking suspicion some of us went off to write "favorite" lines specifically for this thread? Cheaters I say! Cheaters!

Okay...most of my serious stuff is far too cheesy to be considered anything but embarrassing...so I'll leave those alone. I'd say my favorite is something that just sort of came out without much thought. From my Ultimate Adventurer's Guide...

Rics blinked. Then he blinked again. "I'm sorry, I was too busy not listening to pay attention."

This stuck in my mind, because the paragraph leading up to that I caught myself typing mindlessly while totally thinking about something else. I'd typed the same line twice.

[PoppysInARow]

From the prologue of my WIP:

He chuckles. “Don’t try to lecture a church boy about Hell, Thomas. When Lucifer fell from Heaven, he did so in defiance of God. He accepts the souls that God has cast aside. The church tells us that Hell is a place of torture, but tell me, why would Lucifer punish those God sees as unfit? Why would he not join forces with these heathens, who too have seen the folly of God’s ways?”

I wish Chris would pull the trigger.

“Hell is our utopia,” Chris tells me. “It’s just had a shit-ton of bad marketing.”

[randywrite]

I used to write these little love sketches for my wife.

As he lifted up her flowing golden hair, he gently startled the back of her neck with soft wet kisses. In warm butterfly patterns, he criss crossed her upper back until she blushed from the feel of his love.

[Filigree]

From the space opera I'm revising:

"The Antonins don’t have civil wars over who gets the Throne. Usually, it’s the one who didn’t run away fast enough."

[slcboston]

The supernatural are poster-children for the seven deadly sins.

Mine's wrath.

[Foozle]

From my WIP:

Screams came then, a torrent of fear gushing from her mouth. On and on she poured, until the last of the air in her lungs left her, and racking coughs forced Trysten to breathe once again.