People in love are rarely interesting--that is, flesh-and-blood people.
For the possession of a flesh-and-blood god, he exchanged his own liberty.
To him she was an ideal of womanhood rather than a flesh-and-blood woman.
“Me,” the flesh-and-blood Francis Pfleuger said, pointing proudly at the statue.
It never for a moment struck me that it was not a flesh-and-blood visitant.