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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“He chose a certain path in life, it proved to be a misguided one, but there, he chose it, he can say that at least. As for myself, I cannot even claim that. You see, I trusted. I trusted in his lorship's wisdom. All those years I served him, I trusted I was doing something worthwhile. I can't even say I made my own mistakes. Really - one has to ask oneself - what dignity is there in that?”

“He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing), but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville’s parents, ever achieved.”

“He chose The Metamorphosis over The Trial, he chose Bartleby over Moby-Dick, he chose A Simple Heart over Bouvard and Pecuchet, and A Christmas Carol over A Tale of Two Cities or The Pickwick Papers. What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze paths into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.”

“He chucked her under the chin. The way he had at the Belian shrine. Everything about this moment carried echoes of before, painted in a new light. “I thought Queen Urduja might have told you what to write,” he admitted. “I assumed you told her about—about what my father—” “I didn’t,” she said quickly. Talasyn tried to step back. Tried to step away from Alaric and this jumble of emotions, this labyrinth. But she found herself frozen in place as relief softened his features, taking away the years. The corner of his mouth, mere inches from hers, lifted in what was almost a smile. “Write to me again, Tala.” There was a teasing lilt to his tone. “I’ll write back. I promise. We’ll endure your awkwardness together.” Her spark of annoyance was eclipsed by how close he was, close enough to kiss. And maybe she should kiss him, to erase some of that smugness …”

“He chuckled and dropped me to my feet. I blinked against the rain, watching him dig into his pocket for something. He pulled it out, pinching a vintage Victorian ring with a teardrop diamond and a platinum band encrusted with more jewels, encased by an ornate setting above and below. It was almost like three rings in one, and nearly an inch in width. “It’s very old,” Will said, slipping it onto my finger, his hand shaking. “It’s your family’s?” “It’s yours now.” He met my eyes. “It’s been yours for nearly ten years.”

“He chuckled. Even as he said my most private thoughts, even as I burned with outrage and shame, I trembled at the grip still on my mind. Rhysand turned to the High Lord. "I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?" "Let. Her. Go." Tamlin's face was twisted with such feral rage that it struck a different, deeper chord of terror in me. "If it's any consolation," Rhysand confided to him, "she would have been the one for you - and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She's more stubborn than you are.”

“He chuckled, the sound bouncing off the gray stones strewn across the forest floor like scattered marbles. “Cassian tried to convince me last night not to take you. I thought he might even punch me.” “Why?” I barely knew him. “Who knows? With Cassian, he’s probably more interested in fucking you than protecting you.” “You’re a pig.” “You could, you know,” Rhys said, holding up the branch of a scrawny beech for me to slip under. “If you needed to move on in a physical sense, I’m sure Cassian would be more than happy to oblige.” It felt like a test in itself. And it pissed me off enough that I crooned, “Then tell him to come to my room tonight.”

“He circles the shrines, scanning each of them. There's one made in exclusively soft shades of pink, with a bouquet of blush roses at the center. It's surrounded by oysters, each one nestling a pearl. Smooth, heart-shaped rose quartz surrounds the perimeter in a perfect circle. Sliced guava reveals its rosy flesh, next to clamshells full of cherry blossoms. Another is built from a large shell in the center, filled with water that reflects the moon. White magnolias float on the surface, along with golden glitter that sparkles like starlight. Oranges with long stems and blossoms surround the shell, paired with sliced mango drizzled with honey. I swear I know who some of these belong to. The one with green grapes and pears decorated with golden butterfly appliqué must be Genevieve's. Beside it is one crafted from fuchsia carnations and obnoxiously large peonies, with different berries in porcelain dishes painted with bright pink flowers. So obviously Amelia's.”

“He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings towards him hadn't changed one jot.”

“He clasped her hips. Dug his fingers into her soft flesh. Christ. She clutched his shoulders, her mouth growing more insistent. He wanted to consume her. He slanted his head, increasing their connection. Deepening the angle. Getting lost in her. Chloe. Fuck. He was kissing Chloe. His Chloe. His best friend. And it was incredible. He couldn't get enough. He swept his palms up her body, barely clothed in her tiny costume. He tangled his fingers in her hair, fisting the length to drag her closer. So much closer. She gasped and moaned, sliding her hips forward. When his cock slid between her thighs, he about lost his gad-damn mind. She rocked. He surged. The heat, the slide, the friction.”

“He clasped the amulet around her neck. "It's only a symbol," she said in a drowsy kind of way. "Only a symbol of the power inside me." "Then feel that power," Veto urged. She glanced at him. It was too late. But as she continued to stare into Veto's fading eyes something happened. She realized instinctively that the real power had always been inside her. It was something no one could steal from her. She could feel the energy building, pulsing through her like a jaguar in the night. Her gift of premonition and the amulet were only symbols. She understood now that Maggie had wanted her to realize this for herself; she had never stopped being a Daughter of the Moon. If Maggie had simply told her that she had the ability to stand against evil without using violence, or her gift, then she never would have found the self-confidence and faith that she felt rising in her now.”

“He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically. “Green grass breaks through snow. Artemis pleads for my help. I am so cool.” He grinned at us, waiting for applause. "That last line was four syllables.” Artemis said. Apollo frowned. “Was it?” “Yes. What about I am so bigheaded?” “No, no, that’s six syllable, hhhm.” He started muttering to himself. Zoe Nightshade turned to us. “Lord Apollo has been going through this haiku phase ever since he visited Japan. Tis not as bad as the time he visited Limerick. If I’d had to hear one more poem that started with, There once was a godess from Sparta-" “I’ve got it!” Apollo announced. “I am so awesome. That’s five syllables!” He bowed, looking very pleased with himself.”

“He cleared his throat. "Can I ask you, what does a woman mean when she says she needs space?" He put his hand to his chest. "I have lost my wife, she has left, and it hurts so deeply." I stifled a laugh, not because I thought he pain (or inebriation, if that's what it was) was funny, but because it was too ridiculous. After all this, to be happily sitting alone on a beach on my fortieth birthday and be called upon by a male stranger to answer for his aloneness.”

“He cleared his throat. “You need to pick a safe word.” “What on earth is a safe word?” He smothered a sigh. This was proving to be more work than he thought it’d be. “It’s a word you use when you want things to stop.” “How about I use the word ‘stop’?” She sounded sarcastic. “That’s not how it works. You need a word that you wouldn’t normally use during sex.” “Fine. How about ‘dumbass’?” “I don’t think you’re getting into the spirit of this.” “Really? You think?” “Fine. Dumbass it is.” There was no dealing with her when she was in this mood. “If you use your safe word, everything stops.” “Good.” She took a deep breath. “Dumbass,” she shouted. Andrew wasn’t sure what to do next. This was not going the way it did in the books.”

“He cleared his throat, "Zoe, i think you said you love me." "I did say it. I do love you with all my heart." "I see." There was a long pause, then he said, "For how long has this been going on?" "I don't know," she said, "Sometimes i think it started a long, long time ago." "You might have mentioned it." "I didn't want to encourage it," she said, "I thought it was a bad idea.”

“He clenched onto her, the way a 3-year-old kid would clench to his doll whenever someone tried to take it away from him. The doll was getting tore a bit every time the kid held it tighter. In the end, when they stopped trying to take it away from him, he looked at it with all the love he had for it. The doll wasn't the same anymore. It had lost all its beauty it had in the beginning. And the kid just wished in silence that if only he could let it go in the beginning.”