H Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with H. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“He [Hugh Everton] picked up the pen and wrote: 'The reasonable man feels no passion. No passion of any kind.' He changed 'feels no passion' to 'is swayed by no passion.' Then he crossed out the whole statement.”
Source: The Widow of Bath
“He hugs me again. 'So long as when we're alone, I want you to be you".
I melt against him. "Deal".”
Source: Scions
“He hummed Under the Boardwalk and watched a log twisting in the foamy surf, unable to make up its mind whether to head out to sea. No one intentionally ends up in New Jersey, Mike thought. We all somehow just wash up on the shore.”
Source: of Paint and Pancakes
“He humphed and grabbed a carton of milk, then chugged directly from the cardboard spout. Mallory and I watched him, the same grimace on both our faces. Sure, I did the same thing with OJ, but he was a boy, and it was milk. That was just gross.”
Source: Friday Night Bites
“He hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself smaller in the seat. He wanted to disappear, to fade away, not to exist.”
Source: The Giver Quartet
“He hung his head. “Am I punished?” “Yes. I’m too mad to punish you right now. We’ll talk about it when we get home. Go brush your teeth, comb your hair, put on dry clothes, and get the guns. We’re going to Wal-Mart.”
Source: On The Edge
“He hung his head, sighing deeply as his hand tightened on mine. 'Feyre... I wish...' He shook his head and cleared his throat. 'I'm sending you home, Feyre.'
Something inside me splintered. 'What?'
'I'm sending you home,' he repeated, and though his words were stronger- louder- they trembled a bit.
...
My chest caved in. Leaving- free. 'Did I do something wrong-'
He lifted my hand to press it to his lower cheek. He was so invitingly warm. 'You did nothing wrong.' He turned his face to kiss my palm. 'You were perfect,' he murmured onto my skin, then lowered my hand.”
Source: A Court of Thorns and Roses
“He hung his head, sighing deeply as his hand tightened on mine. 'Feyre... I wish...' He shook his head and cleared his throat. 'I'm sending you home, Feyre.'
Something inside me splintered. 'What?'
'I'm sending you home,' he repeated, and though his words were stronger- louder- they trembled a bit.
...
My chest caved in. Leaving- free. 'Did I do something wrong-'
He lifted my hands to press it to his lower cheek. He was so invitingly warm. 'You did nothing wrong.' He turned his face to kiss my palm. 'You were perfect,' he murmured onto my skin, then lowered my hand.
'Then why do I have to go?' I yanked my hand away.
'Because there are... there are people who would hurt you, Feyre. Hurt you because of what you are to me. I thought I would be able to handle them, to shield you from it, but after today... I can't. So you need to go home- far from here. You'll be safe there.”
Source: A Court of Thorns and Roses
“He hung on her every word like a love struck teenager.”
Source: Broken Pieces of Tomorrow: Strong women don't give up...They find a way through tears and thrills to love again...
“He hung up on her. She'd just been hung up on by a disembodied brain in a jar. Fantastic.”
“He hungered for peace and there was no peace. Terror was his only food.”
Source: Backteria and Other Improbable Tales
“He hurried out into the yard in time to see the moon lit red, like some new sun swung into orbit.”
Source: Red Moon
“He hurt me more than any punch he could land. He broke me into a million pieces, and those fragments were still scattered on the wind. He would never be able to find them all and piece them back together.”
Source: Tuesday
“He hurt you. If I had been here then… I would tear him apart with my bare hands if he were still here, Maggie. Believe that.”
She trembled, then nodded slowly. “I… do.”
The duke nodded. “Good.”
Abruptly his face changed. An expression of shock came over him. She looked around the room, confused, then realized he had glanced down at her gown. And in that moment, Maggie realized she had let go of the robe. It hung open, revealing the plane nightdress beneath. Which would not have been so terrible had it not been so thin, so pale white, so clinging. It clung to every curve.
She clutched the robe, pulling it closed quickly, but she knew it was too late.
“Good God, Maggie,” the duke said, hoarsely. “Tell me you are not…”
He met her eyes. “Tell me I am being foolish. I am a man. I know little of such things. I am sorry to have even dared to look at you in such a way. I must be mistaken. But…Tell me, truly, am I mistaken?”
Maggie’s throat was dry. She felt frozen in place. Unable to even shake her head, though she wished to.
Then he took a step forward, towards her, and she let out a little cry—her arms raising protectively, instinctively.”
Source: A Duke for All Seasons
“He hurts but he heals.”
“He hurts me most who lavishly commends.”
Source: The Poems of Charles Churchill
“He ido encontrando tesoros en lugares que no queria buscar. He estado escuchando sabiduría de bocas que no quería escuchar. He ido encontrando belleza donde no queria mirar. Y he aprendido mucho de los viajes que no queria tomar. Perdóname; porque he estado cerrando los oídos y los ojos durante demasiado tiempo he aprendido que los milagros sólo son llamados milagros porque a menudo son vistos por sólo aquellos que pueden ver a través de las ilusiones de la vida. Estoy dispuesto a ver lo que realmente existe en el otro lado, lo que existe detrás de las persianas, y probar la fruta fea en lugar de la que parece bonita, y madura.”
Source: Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
“He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, "Let go of Frosty's leash. You're choking the life out of him."
Kat's eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. "He deserves to choke. He didn't keep little frosty in his pants this summer." the words snapped like a whip.
"He did." Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence.
"Not."
"Did."
"Not!"
"Did,"
"Not, not, not!" she shouted with a stomp of her foot.
"What are we five?" Cole said.
"Six.”
Source: Alice in Zombieland
“He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, "Let go of Frosty's leash. You're choking the life out of him." Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. "He deserves to choke. He didn't keep little frosty in his pants this summer." The words snapped like a whip. "He did." Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence. "Not." "Did." "Not!" "Did,"... "Not, not, not!" she shouted with a stomp of her foot. "What are we five?" Cole said. "Six."”
“he ill he real he might gotta deal”
“He illuminates the landscape of society with an intense, ultra sensitive light and brings out a strange, hyperreal relief - a coherent reading, precisely like the light of a laser.
The local is a shabby thing. There's nothing worse than bringing us back down to our own little corner, our own territory, the radiant promiscuity of the face to face. A culture which has taken the risk of the universal, must perish by the universal.
Exile always offers a marvellous - pathetic or dramatic - distance, a distance which aids judgement, a serenity orphaned by its own world. Deterritorialization, on the other hand, is a demented deprivation. It is like a lobotomy. It has in it something of agony, of the inconstancy and disconnection of circuits.
You need an infinite stretch of time ahead of you to start to think, infinite energy to make the smallest decision. The world is getting denser. The immense number of useless projects is bewildering. Too many things have to be put in to balance up an uncertain scale. You can't disappear any more. You die in a state of total indecision.
A frenzy of indifference in these times of 'speed'. In the same way as you can counter the acceleration of your molecules with an iced drink, you have to head off artificial euphoria by pulling on the brake of melancholy.
Science and technologies could have become extensions of our human faculties, as MacLuhan wanted. Instead, they have devoured them. They have become sarcastic, like the laugh of the same name which devours flesh or like the creatures on the banks of the Styx which destroy the substance of the mental faculties.”
Source: Cool memories
“He imagined a town called A. Around the communal fire they’re shaping arrowheads and carving tributes o the god of the hunt. One day some guys with spears come over the ridge, perform all kinds of meanness, take over, and the new guys rename the town B. Whereupon they hang around the communal fire sharpening arrowheads and carving tributes to the god of the hunt. Some climatic tragedy occurs — not carving the correct tributary figurines probably — and the people of B move farther south, where word is there’s good fishing, at least according to those who wander to B just before being cooked for dinner. Another tribe of unlucky souls stops for the night in the emptied village, looks around at the natural defenses provided by the landscape, and decides to stay awhile. It’s a while lot better than their last digs — what with the lack of roving tigers and such — plus it comes with all the original fixtures. they call the place C, after their elder, who has learned that pretending to talk to spirits is a fun gag that gets you stuff. Time passes. More invasions, more recaptures, D, E, F, and G. H stands as it is for a while. That ridge provides some protection from the spring floods, and if you keep a sentry up there you can see the enemy coming for miles. Who wouldn’t want to park themselves in that real estate? The citizens of H leave behind cool totems eventually toppled by the people of I, whose lack of aesthetic sense if made up for by military acumen. J, K, L, adventures in thatched roofing, some guys with funny religions from the eastern plains, long-haired freaks from colder climes, the town is burned to the ground and rebuilt by still more fugitives. This is the march of history. And conquest and false hope. M falls to plague, N to natural disaster — same climatic tragedy as before, apparently it’s cyclical. Mineral wealth makes it happen for the O people, and the P people are renowned for their basket weaving. No one ever — ever — mentions Q. The dictator names the city after himself; his name starts with the letter R. When the socialists come to power they spend a lot of time painting over his face, which is everywhere. They don’t last. Nobody lasts because there’s always somebody else. They all thought they owned it because they named it and that was their undoing. They should have kept the place nameless. They should have been glad for their good fortune, and left it at that. X, Y, Z.”
Source: Apex Hides the Hurt
“He imagined all the boys he wanted to know lying sleepless in their cramped and cluttered rooms, the curling posters and chipped trophies, the endless cords to defunct video game consoles, all of it once the feeble altar of teenage triumphs, now the detritus of adolescence. He wavered through the blocks, searching each window for a face and, finding none, lent his face to the overcast sky, a bowl so emptied it was hard to imagine it held anything at all, let alone entire flocks of geese.”
Source: The Emperor of Gladness
“he imagined fate as a goddess, capricious and fickle, or as a river, which could flood at any moment”
“He imagined her sitting in that overstuffed chair in the evening lamplight, reading while he read, listening while he told her how long the days would be if he did not almost believe she was with him there.”
Source: The Gilead Novels
“He imagined her upstairs in her room, lying in bed with her hair spread across the pillow, that nightgown with the pearl buttons down the front tangled around her legs, nothing beneath the delicate fabric but her softness and warmth. Desire pulsed through his body, hungry and hot and needy.
It was unbearable to want her with such intensity, unthinkable to need her with such desperate longing, dangerous to believe that she could somehow keep the demons away. He did not want to need her, for in need, there was dependence. He could not trust, for in trust, there was betrayal. Better never to see heaven at all than to catch a glimpse of it, grab for it, and lose it.
He went to his room. He slept with his demons, and he woke alone.”
Source: Conor's Way
“He imagined himself lying there, unable to sleep, thinking of his mother, separated from her by the unresponsive blankets tucked too tightly round him, feeling the ceaseless thumping of his heart in the silence of the night, the irrevocability of absence, the rigid stillness of repose, the agony of solitude and sleeplessness. If the room was a prison, the bed was a tomb.”
Source: Jean Santeuil
“He imagined that he was looking for her and couldn't find her anywhere, that the two of them were lost on a vast ship, sleep is a skilled magician, it changes the proportions of things, the distances between them, it separates people and they're lying next to each other, brings them together and they can barely see one another, the woman is sleeping only a few yards away from him and he cannot reach her, yet it's so very easy to go from port to starboard.”
Source: The Tale of the Unknown Island
“He imagined the pain of the world to be like some formless parasitic being seeking out the warmth of human souls wherein to incubate and he thought he knew what made one liable to its visitations. What he had not known was that it was mindless and so had no way to know the limits of those souls and what he feared was that there might be no limits.”
Source: All the Pretty Horses
“He imagined them sitting somewhere, just enjoying each other's company, her head on his chest, his arm around her. And he realized how desperately lonely he had become.”
Source: Tribulation Force
“He imagined what it must feel like to have mouths opening in your very flesh, gaping in a tongueless susurrus. When the eyes boiled out of the gashes, could you see what they saw? Did they give you a new appreciation of the lethality of light?”
Source: Revenant Gun
“He imagines a necessary joy in things that must fly to eat.”
“He imagines dancing with her, the two of them arm in arm under the stars. Silent, of course, but that is no matter. It is better that way. She is a dancing doll, his Coppélia, created at last.”
Source: The Dance of the Dolls
“He imagines Owens' body dotted with saltwater reservoirs just below the skin. An entire wetland, populated with tiny fish and birds, thriving in his agitation. A species of dwarf crocodile lazing beside an artery.”
“He imagines snapping his fingers, making all the people in the diner stand, at once, and become their better selves. The woman with the cragged oak-bark face throws off her hood and shakes her hair and her age drops off of her like bandages. The man with a monk's tonsure, muttering to himself, leaps onto a table and strikes music from the air. Out of the bowels of the kitchen the weary cooks, small brown people, cartwheel and break-dance, spinning like upended beetles on the ground and their faces crack into glee and they are suddenly lovely to look at, and the dozen customers start up all at once into loud song, voices broken and beautiful. The song rises and infiltrates the city and wakes the inhabitants, one by one, from their own dark dreams, and all across the island, people sit up in bed and listen to it lap around them, an ocean of kindness, filling them, making them forget all the evil leaching out of the world for a very long moment, making them forget everything but the song.”
Source: Arcadia
“He imagines the plane exploding as it touches down, ignited by one of its glints, in a ball of red flame shadowed in black like you see on TV all the time, and he is shocked to find within himself, imagining this, not much emotion, just a cold thrill at being a witness, a kind of bleak wonder at the fury of chemicals, and relief that he hadn't been on the plane himself but was instead safe on this side of the glass, with his faint pronged sense of doom.”
Source: Rabbit at Rest
“He imagines the water running in thick curving lines, like the drawings of the tree’s roots, cutting through stone and spilling over the earth. And then he reverses the flow of water, letting his imagination take over, and he sees the water racing north, uphill, towards the Catskills, weaving around towns, beneath bridges, rushing over stones and cutting through the trees, until it lands at the feet of Alice Pearson, who stands on the shore, looking out at the place where the water meets the sky.”
Source: The Singing Bone
“He immediately regretted ever being alive.”
Source: A Planet to Nowhere
“He immediately started charming my mom until she was nothing but a gooey puddle in the middle of the foyer.He loved her new haircut.She got one?I guessed her hair did look different.Like she'd washed it or something.Daemon told her that the diamond earrings were beautiful.The rug below the steps was really nice.And that leftover scent of mystery dinner-because I still hadn't figured out what she fed me-smelled divine.He admired nurses worldwide,and by that point,I couldn't keep my eye rolls to a minimum.Daemon was ridiculous.”
“He immediately turned to her as the carriage rocked into motion, wrapping her in his cloak and examined her. She had bruises on her shoulders and on her arms. Her wrists were bloodied- he growled under his breath as he examined them, picking away the remains of the ropes. Her plump little toes were muddied and cut and cold. He warmed them with his hands, crooning to them. She had quite a nasty bruise on her left side and he tenderly pressed his fingers around that, soft sounds leaving his lips helplessly. Oh, that he had been there when this had been done! He would have put their eyes out. He would have cut off their noses and made them eat them. He would have-
"Valentine."
He blinked and realized that she had the palms of her hands on his face and was looking at him. "Valentine. I'm all right."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, for he was no fool. They must've had her for several days to bring her here. "Are you, though?"
She looked at him very firmly. "Yes."
"They didn't rape you?"
"No."
"Or touch you in any way?"
She sighed. "They grabbed me when they took me. They tied me up."
He thought about that. He didn't like it. "Did they make you do anything you didn't want to?"
She hesitated.
He went icy cold. "Tell me."
"They..." She went a deep red and looked away. "They... when I needed to... to urinate they didn't turn away."
"Ah." Well. That settled that.
He wrapped his arms around her. "I am truly sorry you had to endure such horrific events, my Séraphine.”
Source: Duke of Sin
“He in any form was a drug to the addiction of being desired while she was always wanted.”
Source: Just the Way I Feel
“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.”
“He in my bosom with malicious zeal
For that fair image fans a raging fire;
From craving to enjoyment thus I reel,
And in enjoyment languish for desire.”
Source: Faust, First Part
“He in turn has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; and so she dances, and will dance the entire evening, and would dance forever, in ecstasy of bliss.”
Source: The Jungle / by Upton Sinclair. (1920) [Leather Bound]
“He in whom all this is destroyed, and taken out with the very root, he, when freed from hatred and wise, is called respectable.”
Source: The Dhammapada
“He in whom the love of repose predominates will accept the first creed, the first philosophy, the first political party he meets — most likely his father's. He gets rest, commodity, and reputation; but he shuts the door of truth.”
Source: Delphi Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson (Illustrated)
“He in whose heart the law was, and who alone of all mankind was content to do it, His sacrifice alone can be the sacrifice all-sufficient in the Father's sight as the proper sacrifice of humanity; He who through the Eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot to God, He alone can give the Spirit which enables us to present our bodies a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God. He is the only High-Priest of the universe.”
Source: Sermons Preached at Brighton
“He in whose mind is no anger, hatred, or envy, who never loses his balance, dies, or is born, who is he but God?”
Source: Addresses on Bhakti Yoga: Art of living
“He inched his way up the corridor as if he would rather be yarding his way down it, which was true.”
Source: The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
“He inches towards me, head shaking and eyes roaming as though overwhelmed by what he is seeing. "Oh, bu you are my undoing. My deliverance. My downfall disguised as a deity". Anther slow step. "You are my ruin."
I'm dazed, unable to do anything but let a smile tug at my lips. "Call us even. Call me crazy. I don't care. Just..." His eyes are pleading, brimming with emotion. "Just call me yours.”
Source: Reckless