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“With callused hands
i tasted
the softness of the moon

in the coldest winds
i discovered
my soul's
warmest fireplace

in the roughness
of his stubble
the tenderest love.”
― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

“He was a ruffled haired, stubble faced, woman's dream, tangled in sheets. So I stepped away from the Ryker and went for coffee instead.”
― Sarah Brocious, Provocation: a lesson in trust

“Well, anyway, this'll be easier than knocking an elf out of a tree. Trust me.'
'How many elves have you knocked out of trees, Stubble?'
'Duraden's bones! Have ye never heard of a figure of speech?”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“Friend, we are well met indeed. I think we are a pair of fools and that we should hasten to Nildren's Peak, where I shall buy ye such a dinner as even your great frame will find sufficient. And then we shall see who can drink the other under the table. Is that good by ye?”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“Hirsute? What does that mean?'
'Hair, you ninny, hair!”
― Carl Sargent, Firestorm

“By Duraden, I have trolls dancing in my head this morning!' Stubble grumbled, screwing his eyes into a squint at the bright morning light.”
― Carl Sargent, Firestorm

“I think this goat must have been fed on old boots,' Stubble complained as he chewed the last scraps of flesh from the bones littering his stew.”
― Carl Sargent, Firestorm

“Ye are a scoundrel, a black-hearted robber and a rogue,' Stubble said cheerily to the grumbling captain. It was his usual way of haggling, and he'd beaten down the riverman to a decent price for conveying himself and Anvar to Lankarn.”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“When he came to, the eels were still being removed from him and Anvar was congratulating one of the rivermen. The man had smashed open a barrel of eels and covered both dwarf and zombie with them.”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“Excuse me for a moment, will ye. I think I have to talk to the river,' he said unsteadily and flopped over the side-rail.”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“As grumblers go, Stubble was in a league of his own.”
― Ian Livingstone, Firestorm

“She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, licked the strong line of his jaw, the chin with a tiny cleft in the center. She liked his scratchy stubble, the erotic burning sensation it made on her skin as he licked and sucked the sensitive dip between her neck and her shoulder.”
― Sara Desai, The Marriage Game

“He looks at her as he listens, smiling when she's finished. She feels like touching the stubble of his beard with the tips of her fingers, smoothing her hands over his face the way she does with the covers of her books.”
― Hanne Ørstavik, °­Âáæ°ù±ô¾±²µ³ó±ð³Ù