1
" All the Navel therefore and conjunctive part we can suppose in Adam, was his dependency on his Maker, and the connexion he must needs have unto heaven, who was the Sonne of God. For holding no dependence on any preceding efficient but God; in the act of his production there may be conceived some connexion, and Adam to have been in a moment all Navel with his Maker. And although from his carnality and corporal existence, the conjunction seemeth no nearer than of causality and effect; yet in his immortall and diviner part he seemed to hold a nearer coherence, and an umbilicality even with God himself. And so indeed although the propriety of this part be found but in some animals, and many species there are which have no Navell at all; yet is there one link and common connexion, one general ligament, and necessary obligation of all whatever unto God. Whereby although they act themselves at distance, and seem to be at loose; yet doe they hold a continuity with their Maker. Which catenation or conserving union when ever his pleasure shall divide, let goe, or separate, they shall fall from their existence, essence, and operations; in brief, they must retire unto their primitive nothing, and shrink into that Chaos again. "
― Thomas Browne , Pseudodoxia Epidemica: Or, Enquiries into Commonly Presumed Truths (Oxford English Texts)
2
" When I am an old man and I can remember nothing else, I will remember this moment. The first time my eyes beheld an angel in the flesh. “I will remember your body and your eyes, your beautiful face and breasts, your curves and this.” He traced his hand around her navel before dragging it lightly to the top of her lower curls. “I will remember your scent and your touch and how it felt to love you. But most of all, I will remember how it felt to gaze at true beauty, both inside and out. For you are fair, my beloved, in soul and in body, generous of spirit and generous of heart. And I will never see anything this side of heaven more beautiful tham you "
― Sylvain Reynard , Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno, #1)
4
" A woman’s magazine quiz:
Question: You decide to do the dread deed and just as things are starting to get hot he comes, rolls over, and asks, “Was it good for you?”
You:
a. Say, “God, yes! That was the best seventeen seconds of my life”
b. Say, “Sure, as good as it gets for me with a man.”
c. Put a Certs in your navel and say, “That’s for you, Mr. Bunnyman. You can have it on your way back up, after the job is finished "
― Christopher Moore , Bloodsucking Fiends (A Love Story, #1)
5
" This is very simple in the world of chicks: some are hoochies, some are not, and some should never try to be. It's no different from the idea of sports. Now, I can go on my little rowing machine for four times a week, twenty-two minutes a time, and I can feel as if I flirt with the sporting world. Similar to the idea that a woman can put on something cuter for her man, for those moments, and flirt with garments that a hoochie woman might be pushing. But never for one moment should you get confused. My little rowing machine and I cannot consider ourselves athletes. Wearing the same garment does not a hoochie woman make. So if you are a true hoochie woman, may garments below the navel always be in your future. If you are not, then please don't throw away your cotton zippy jacket. "
― Tori Amos , Piece by Piece
7
" This prayer in praise of Lord Vishnu be,
His incarnations graced earth constantly.
शान्ताकारं भुजगशयनं पद्मनाभं सुरेशं
विश्वाधारं गगनसदृश्यं मेघवर्णं शुभाङ्गम्।
लक्ष्मीकान्तं कमलनयनं योगिभिर्ध्यानगम्यं
वन्दे विष्णु भवभयहरं सर्वलोकैकनाथम्।
I bow to Vishnu, Master of Universe unquestionably,
Who rests on great serpent bed, peaceful perpetually,
From His navel sprouts Lotus of Creative Power surely,
He the Supreme Lord of cosmos undeniably does be.
- 146 -
He supports the entire universe and all-pervading be,
He dark as clouds with beautiful Lakshmi form glowingly,
He the lotus-eyed, whom yogis see by meditation only,
He destroyer of `Samsar’ fear – the Lord of all `loks’ be.
- 147 - "
― Munindra Misra , Chants of Hindu Gods and Godesses in English Rhyme
8
" As a Freudian, I'm not supposed to use words like evil; my business is with instinct, memory, and desire. Nevertheless, I've been wondering, lately, whether evil might exist. If it does, I've been thinking, it might be like what Freud called the navel of the dream, the place where all the lines of meaning the analyst has so carefully traced through the patient's life vanish into the unknown. But where the navel of the dream is essentially harmless phenomenon, a point where the dream's meaning is sufficiently understood, and further interpretation would be pointless, evil is a mystery with power. It reaches up into the world and makes everything mysterious. "
― Paul La Farge , The Night Ocean
9
" Muriah approached him with a new pair of khakis and a couple of T-shirts. “I guessed at the size so you might want to go try these on first.”
He took the clothes and slid his arm around her waist, maneuvering her toward the fitting room.
“Hey, I didn’t sign on to be your dresser.” She grumbled, but didn’t struggle.
He pulled the door closed and turned to meet her eyes. “It’s light in here and full of people. Apep will not be able to surprise us, and his serpents cannot spy. We need to talk.”
***
He stripped off the wet shirt, exposing his chiseled torso. She did her best not to choke on her tongue. His tanned skin and taut muscles tempted her, luring her to touch him. Turning around to give him privacy seemed like the right thing to do, but there wasn’t a hint of modesty in this Mayan god, and if he could handle getting this personal, then she could, too.
When he unzipped the wet pants, she held her breath. Would an ancient guy wear underwear? She was about to find out. He bent over to lower the wet slacks. When he straightened up, she realized he’d been talking, but she didn’t have a clue what he had said. Instead, all her attention was focused on a fine trail of dark hair leading from just below his navel and disappearing under the low-slung elastic band of his boxer briefs.
“Muriah?”
Her gaze snapped up to meet his. Thank the universe he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Did you hear my question?”
He stood two feet from her in only his underwear, and he thought she was listening? He was either completely unaware of his sex appeal, or he was way too accustomed to being obeyed.
Probably both.
She cleared her throat. “I must’ve missed it.”
A spark lit his eyes that told her he might have more than a clue to his sex appeal.
He picked up the T-shirt and pulled it on. “I asked if you knew of another hotel closer to the airport so we can get out of New York as soon as the sun sets tomorrow.”
“I’m sure I can find one.” She pulled out her phone, grateful to have something to pretend to focus on besides him tucking his package into the new khakis she pulled off the rack for him.
“I probably should’ve grabbed some dry underwear, too.”
“They are nearly dry now. I will be fine.” He popped the tags off, and she glanced up from her hotel search. “They’re not going to like you taking the tags off before you pay.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “They will be honored to take my money.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever not get your way?”
He stepped closer to her, his chest an inch from hers until her back pressed against the modular wall of the fitting room. “Rarely.” His dark gaze held hers, and the deep rumble of his voice sent heat through her body. “But some things are worth the extra effort. "
― Lisa Kessler , Night Child (Night, #3)