Claw Quotes

“She sheltered her colors in the dark, where others were blind to see; I caught a glimpse of her lastly when she gave me a chance, before disappearing into the day. There was beauty locked in her that unfolded like an umbrella's claw, her true self that desired compassion, trust, protection and the potential to soar. But I missed to late, that what I wasn't looking for, when she left her reasons in the rain.”
― Anthony Liccione

“Cold has its own taste. It tastes of a bitten tongue. It coils around you, a living thing, a beast that means to kill you, not with wrath, not with tooth nor claw, but with the mercy of surrender, with the kindness of letting you go gentle into the long night after such a burden of pain and misery.”
― Mark Lawrence, Prince of Fools

“A crazy certainty had arisen in his mind: a hand - or perhaps a claw - was going to swim up from the grayness of the Kindle's screen, grab him by the throat, and yank him in.”
― Stephen King, UR

“She wanted to claw the memory of their night together out of her brain, but she couldn't disremember.Or stop thinking about his tongue, the way he kissed and caressed her, almost like he wasn't a monster.”
― Rae Elle, Chained

“The best writers I've read possess oodles of self-doubt, yet claw their way up with each work and remain humble. Boastful ones, not so much.”
― Don Roff

“Nails can be varnished, But they also claw. (Ongles peuvent être vernis, - Mais ils griffent aussi.)”
― Charles de Leusse

“He had just lifted a finger to his lips when a massive shape materialized from the darkness, glinting as it stepped into the sunlight.
Emeline gaped up at it.
A silver sharp-toothed snout emerged first, elegant nostrils sniffing the air. The snout alone was roughly the size of Emeline's hatchback. The rest of a head emerged, revealing filmy white eyes and gray tufts where ears should be.
Was this... Claw?
If so, he was definitely awake.
His massive paws were tufted too and tipped in sharp nails, reminding Emeline of a lion. But his wings were like that of a snowy owl, tucked primly against his sides. Feathers and scales rippled over his body, the color of silver coins.
A watchdog, Hawthorne had said.
More like a watchdragon.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood