Sodden Quotes
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“A poetess is not as selfishas you assume.After months of agonising over her marriage of words—the bride—and spaces—the groom,she knows that as soonas she has penned the poem,it’s yours to consume.So, without giving it a think,she blows on the inkand the letters fly awaylike dandelions on a windy day,landing on hands and lips, on hearts and hips.But more often than not,you can easily spotthem trodden and forgotten,becoming sodden and rotten.Yet, she will continue to makewhat’s others to takebecause selfishness is not the mark of a poetess.”
Kamand Kojouri
“Seconds passed, then ... La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. ”
Kresley Cole, Dreams of a Dark Warrior“Flowers of sin, like some black sun,Bloom in my dreams Their perfume-sodden fragrance Spreading through each heartbeat.”
Shiv Kumar Batalvi“When I'd woken the next morning, I'd done so in a dislocated world of dimmed daylight and diluted colors, a sodden world, feeling like I was a castaway on an alien planet.”
Keith Houghton“My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.”
Robert Frost“A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky honeysuckle hedges in its sweet stagnation, your fight to hold on to reality is like a protestation against a first waft of ether.”
Zelda Fitzgerald, Save Me the Waltz“From the hills in the early dawn,Small, thin, mist-wreathed, she came upon him;Hair sodden to the brow,Eyes like agates,Lips apart, tongue flicking at words frozen in her head.Gliding to his feet, She caught his hand and said'come help me, mister, or she'll be dead.”
Catherine Cookson“I'll find you, Will!"Then the wind filled the big, square sail of the wolfship and she heeled away from the shore, moving faster and faster towards the northeast. For a long time after she'd dropped below the horizon, the sodden figure sat there, his horse chest-deep in the rolling waves, staring after the ship. And his lips still moved, in a silent promis only he could hear.”
John Flanagan, The Burning Bridge“Entering by the carré, a piece of mirror- glass, set in an oaken cabinet, repeated my image. It said I was changed: my cheeks and lips were sodden white, my eyes were glassy, and my eyelids swollen and purple.On rejoining my companions, I knew they all looked at me - my heart seemed discovered to them: I believed myself self-betrayed. Hideously certain did it seem that the very youngest of the school must guess why and for whom I despaired.”
Charlotte Brontë, Villette“A big wind came up and I hoped a storm would break the heat. But it just blew alot of dust around, and at sunset we had to bar doors and windows against mosquitoes. Itdidn’t do much for our comfort level, but—here’s where the Chemin takes you—we weregrateful. We were grateful because we had (albeit narrowly) escaped heatstroke; becausethe shelter, though unbelievably hot, was clean and quiet; and most of all, because it sleptsix but we had it to ourselves. No people to deal with at the end of your (and their)tether; no sodden bathrooms. No snoring. Pilgrim camaraderie was all very well, butsometimes it was too damn much.”
Denise Fainberg, Walking Through Sunflowers: Through Deepest France on the Road to CompostelaAll in One Creative & Marketing Platform to tell stories at scale
