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“I'm always amazed that people will stand around books for hours and only look at the spine. I think I should write a book called "the power of having a spine" - #metaphor”
Richie Norton“Life is so spine chillingly beautiful.”
Amani Abbas“Can angels lie spine to spine?If not, how they must envy us humans”
Kamila Shamsie, Kartography“The more I did it―the more it owned me. It made things matter. It put a spine into my spineless life and that spine spread, into backbone, ribs, collarbone, neck held high.It was something. Don't say it wasn't.”
Megan Abbott, Dare Me“Seek more strength for weaker spine No grape grows on sinner’s vine”
Munia Khan“Do no drown me with mediocrity, give me passion, desire, make me inhale breaths of lust and love in the dark hours that tingle down my spine...”
Virginia Alison“I had hardly ever seen Great Granny Webster at that time, and yet her feelings interested me. She was little more to me than the silhouette of a formidable old woman dressed in black who appeared occasionally at family gatherings and made us feel that she was taking a dangerous risk with her upright spine when circumstances forced her to bend over and kiss her great-grandchildren.”
Caroline Blackwood, Great Granny Webster“Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breathNo spine to shiver, no heart talks At life’s craving poverty mocksFrom the poem 'Exhumation”
Munia Khan, To Evince the Blue“Wait-a-minute!Reality kicked in after marking its spot `position vacant’ for the short and pleasant while. He groaned mournfully as he found himself staring at the inside of his own eyelids. The first thing that occurred to him was the terrible bone-wracking pain running up and down his spine. Pain? No, curiously enough. It was the memory of it that seemed to hurt so much. Maybe that’s what scared him. Or maybe it was the creaking of the ship around him…”
Christina Engela, Blachart“And the Flatline aligned the nose of Kuang's sting with the center of the dark below. And dove. Case's sensory input warped with their velocity. His mouth filled with an aching taste of blue. His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sounds of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine spines. The spines split, bisected, split again, exponential growth under the dome of the Tessier-Ashpool ice.”
William Gibson, Neuromancer