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D Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with D. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All D Quotes

“Do you remember,” he said, “when we first met and I told you I was ninety percent sure putting a rune on you wouldn’t kill you—and you slapped me in the face and told me it was for the other ten percent?” Clary nodded. “I always figured a demon would kill me,” he said. “A rogue Downworlder. A battle. But I realized then that I just might die if I didn’t get to kiss you, and soon.” Clary licked her dry lips. “Well, you did,” she said. “Kiss me, I mean.” He reached up and took a curl of her hair between his fingers. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his soap and skin and hair. “Not enough,” he said, letting her hair slip through his fingers. “If I kiss you all day every day for the rest of my life, it won’t be enough.”

“Do you remember how our mothers kept telling us that we should be proud of who we were because we’d have to live with that self every single day for the rest of our lives? How we should always be the masters of our thoughts, embrace everything, both positive and negative, but never let our judgement be clouded, still learn from our mistakes and experiences?”

“Do you remember how the sun, set On the occasion, we last conversed? First, it hid behind some lousy clouds As I was uttering my dying words Then, out it came with a shiny glare As I grasped the truth of your beauty ‘Twas nothing but my own reflection To my surprise and curiosity. Now the sun’s told our tale to this town And I heard how it had made you smile So if the thought of me drew a smile Then, I have mastered true lover’s guile”

“Do you remember how your mom would wrap the presents so well it’d take at least five minutes to find where you could rip the paper?” I snorted. “Yes, and they were wrapped so much it was like unwrapping a hundred packages from morning ‘til lunch. It was Mom’s way of extending Christmas.” “I loved that—it always built the excitement. Just when you thought you had it, you had to unroll it. I miss her—she was like a second mother to me.”

“Do you remember,” said Needle, “you said once that you thought you should have something important to do? Well, I think you’ve done it.” “I’m not sure,” said Urchin. “I mean, yes, I know I’ve done some thing. But it doesn’t feel finished. There’s more that I have to do. And more that I have to be. I mean, it’s not as if you can do one special thing, and that’s it. It’s what you go on being that matters. Come to think of it, I don’t know what I am anymore.”

“Do you remember that movie we saw when we were little?” I begin. “The Great Escape—we watched it with Dad at least seven or eight times. It was about these American pilots in a German POW camp who dig this long, long tunnel that runs the length of the compound. But, on the night of the escape, when they reach the end of the tunnel, they realize they’re six meters short of the forest. Their calculations had been off by six meters! They’ve got no choice but to risk their necks and make a run for it, in plain view of the guards. Do you remember?” “No,” she says indifferently. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is: Being with a woman is like sticking your head out of the tunnel and discovering that you’ve actually dug through those last few meters.”

“Do you remember that old TV series, Get Smart? Do you remember at the beginning where Maxwell Smart is walking down the secret corridor and there are all of those doors that open sideways, and upside down and gateways and stuff? I think that everyone keeps a whole bunch of doors just like this between themselves and the world. But when you're in love, all of your doors are open, and all of their doors are open. And you roller-skate down your halls together.”

“Do you remember the books from our childhood? Those were you could decide yourself what the character should do next? I always loved those books, getting to decide what will happen, being responsible for it. But did you ever decided for something, flipped to the page, read it and then thought: "No, I don't want this to happen!" And then you went back to where it all went wrong and just took a different path. It was always so easy with those books, if you didn't like what was happening you just chose a different path, like pressing rewind till it makes sense again and then hit play. It's not like I am always unhappy with my words, actions or decisions in a situation, but I can't stop wondering how everything would be right now if I had said something different at some point. I guess I will never know but it makes me question my words, decisions and actions right now, because what if I chose wrong and then I don't get what I wish for because of one word or one step?”

“Do you remember the classic example of chutzpah? It's the young man who kills his parents and then asks the judge for mercy on the grounds that he's an orphan. The Bush administration's updated version of that was starting a wholly illegal, immoral, and devastating war and then dismissing all kinds of criticism of its action on the grounds that 'we're at war.”

“Do you remember the first day that we met? It was- it was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends, and I just felt so alone and so scared…but I saw you on the swings, and you were alone, too. And I just walked up to you, and I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you remember the first time I met you?, In June in the bleak of winter. I looked at you at an acute angle, your eyes glued at Mark Rothko painting, I told you I am a fun of his painting, I told you how he committed suicide, I told you how he saw the world and you said I am speaking lies, you said I must work more on my dating skills, you said people who love painting are lacking romance, you told me people obsessed in painting are lacking emotions.... I told you I had found you statue glued thus means you slot the same line with me. You live in my light and compliment my deaths.....”

“Do you remember the first time we made love?" He touched his lips to hers as he said it. "We rode up in the elevator like this and couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't get to each other quick enough. I was mad for you. I wanted you more than I wanted to keep breathing. I still do." He deepened the kiss as the elevator doors opened. "It's never going to change.”

“Do you remember the kind of fear that you felt as a child, when you had the sense that anything was possible? Ghosts might be lingering in the shadows. A hand could reach out from underneath your bed and drag you down. Perhaps a vampire lurked in your attic, waiting for the moment when you were alone and defenseless to bare his fangs. As a grown woman, I had plenty to fear in the real world-a man walking too close behind me at night, a man yelling hateful things in people’s faces on the subway, a man coming through my window or revealing his true colors or doing any number of things.”

“Do you remember the mangoes?" she asked. She thought she was whispering but the scratching of the pen nib stopped. "You must remember them." She could hear him push the chair away from his desk, slowly stand and then lean against the wall. The floorboards creaked. "The mangoes?" she asked again. She could hear him breathing. He cleared his throat and then, quietly, said, "They were sweet, were they not?" "It was a sweetness more intense than anything I have ever known." And then the room fell quiet. The two sat listening to the familiar sound of each other's breath. Without words, there was comfort: a sonata, tone poem of silence and knowing. After a time, Escoffier said, "The Hindus believe that mangoes are a true sign that perfection is attainable." She thought of the mangoes with their smooth marbled skin, the carmine and field grass green of them, and then the flesh itself, that vivid orange, and then, each bite, the juice sliding down her arm.”

“Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead.”

“Do you remember the summer we signed you up for camp? And the night before you left, you said you've changed your mind and wanted to stay home? I told you to to get a seat on the left side of the bus, so when you pulled away, you'd be able to look back and see me there waiting for you." I press her hand against my cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. "You get that same seat in Heaven. One where you can watch me, watching you.”