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H Quotes

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

All H Quotes

“He felt the full warmth of that pleasure from which the proud shut themselves out; the pleasure which not only goes with humiliation, but which almost is humiliation. Men who have escaped death by a hair have it, and men whose love is returned by a woman unexpectedly, and men whose sins are forgiven them. Everything his eye fell on it feasted on, not aesthetically, but with a plain, jolly appetite as of a boy eating buns. He relished the squareness of the houses; he liked their clean angles as if he had just cut them with a knife. The lit squares of the shop windows excited him as the young are excited by the lit stage of some promising pantomime. He happened to see in one shop which projected with a bulging bravery on to the pavement some square tins of potted meat, and it seemed like a hint of a hundred hilarious high teas in a hundred streets of the world. He was, perhaps, the happiest of all the children of men. For in that unendurable instant when he hung, half slipping, to the ball of St. Paul's, the whole universe had been destroyed and re-created.”

“He felt the magic pouring through his body. The tattoo twitched and with a shout of pain Vasilli could not hold in, the creature pulled itself from his body. It flopped, bloody as a newborn onto the ground and stretched its wings. It started to cry and grew to the size of a horse before it turned to Vasilli and lowered itself in a bow. “How may I serve, Master?” Its voice rasped through a mouth of venomous fangs.”

“He felt the woman he devoted half of his life to slipping through his fingers: the pain lying in his desire for her, but the truth lying in his inability to love her. Sooner or later their sand castle built on beaches of make believe would crumble, washed away by the hungering tide of time and all he could do was watch it vanish, watching her fade out to sea.”

“He felt Ty's hand on his arm, rubbing comfortingly. Ty had been unusually tactile since the hospital, making up for Zane's lack of vision by touching him whenever he was able, as if he somehow knew how much it helped. Zane closed his eyes, grateful for it. He covered Ty's hand and squeezed gently. It was easy to think black thoughts when you were stuck in the dark, and Ty's touch helped him resist it.”

“He fights, night after night, to peel my onion soul without caring about it. I never see his tears but his eyes burn as they fill with the putrid smell of my insecurity, anger, and pain. He loves me in glorious bouts of unreserve, swearing I'm all he thinks about and all he wants. Those precious moments are worth the hatred he seems to have for me in the hours and days that come between.”

“He finally cleared his throat. "Well, huh." "Yeah," I said. "What now?" "Well"—he cleared his throat again—"I guess you and I go. I mean, unless you really don't want to." Why put it on me to bail out? "Do you want to?" I asked. "Yeah. I really do. I had to talk Dad into giving me the afternoon off. And since I don't usually go to a lot of trouble to fix lunch, it seems a shame to waste the effort. Besides, there's the thing I want you to see." He said all of this while staring at the door like he was talking to it. I almost expected it to respond.”

“He finally pulled it all back into his heart, sucking in the painful tide of his misery. In the Glade, Chuck had become a symbol for him—a beacon that somehow they could make everything right again in the world. Sleep in beds. Get kissed goodnight. Have bacon and eggs for breakfast, go to a real school. Be happy. But now Chuck was gone. And his limp body, to which Thomas still clung, seemed a cold talisman—that not only would those dreams of a hopeful future never come to pass, but that life had never been that way in the first place. That even in escape, dreary days lay ahead. A life of sorrow. His returning memories were sketchy at best. But not much good floated in the muck. Thomas reeled in the pain, locked it somewhere deep inside him. He did it for Teresa. For Newt and Minho. Whatever darkness awaited them, they’d be together, and that was all that mattered right then.”

“He finally returned my gaze, and held it. A knot lodged in my throat, because he was closer than I expected, and his eyelashes were darker than I expected, and long, and there was a gray rim around the inside of his irises that looked like crowns of storm clouds surrounding a peridot. His gaze made the butterflies in my stomach shake off their hibernation and want to remember how to flutter again. Oh yes, he had to be the main character. Book boyfriend material, once someone fixed him up. But then: Where was his heroine?”

“He finally understood his mother’s choice, saving her comrades at the cost of her own life. He got what Mars had been trying to tell him – Duty. Sacrifice. They mean something. In Frank’s chest, a hard knot of anger and resentment –a lump of grief he’d been carrying since the funeral –finally began to dissolve. He understood why his mother never came home. Some things were worth dying for.”

“He finds assurance in knowing that even in chaos, he walks on sacred ground. In the quiet hours, he senses God's love—the cosmic lullaby that cradles his spirit man to remind him of the beauty that exists beyond the stars.”