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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 kisses me, the taste of sugar on my lips, and salt and spice on his. This is my heart, says the warm sugar of the vanilla. This is the inside of me, murmurs the cinnamon. This is everything that hurts, confesses the bright edge of chili powder, and everything I miss and everything I hope for. This is everything I do not say but that I hold in me, whispers that breath of salt at the end. This is my hidden heart of color and sugar, the things you might miss if I did not show you they were there.”

“He kneels beside her, does the things we instinctively do: lowers an ear to her lips; checks her wrist for a pulse. But it only confirms what he already knows. He brings her still-warm hand to his cheek and weeps. Because they have not had long enough. Because he is not ready for their shared life to be at it's end. He sits with her as the light fades, as the chill starts to creep in through the open door, as her cooling body sets in place. He sits with her through the night, not ready to move on to the next phase he knows must come. One of phone calls and condolences. And her absence. For now, for just a little while longer, it will be just the two of them.”

“He kneels beside her, does the things we instinctively do: lowers an ear to her lips; checks her wrist for a pulse. But it only confirms what he already knows. He brings her still-warm hand to his cheek and weeps. Because they have not had long enough. Because he is not ready for their shared life to be at its end. He sits with her as the light fades, as the chill starts to creep in through the open door, as her cooling body sets in place. He sits with her through the night, not ready to move on to the next phase he knows must come. One of phone calls and condolences. And her absence. For now, for just a little while longer, it will be just the two of them.”

“He kneels bide her, does the things we instinctively do: lowers an ear to her lips; checks her wrist for a pulse. But it only confirms what he already knows. He brings her still-warm hand to his cheek and weeps. Because they have not had long enough. Because he is not ready for their shared life to be at it's end. He sits with her as the light fades, as the chill starts to creep in through the open door, as her cooling body sets in place. He sits with her through the night, not ready to move on to the next phase he knows must come. One of phone calls and condolences. And her absence. For now, for just a little while longer, it will be just the two of them.”

“He knelt down beside her and slowly rubbed a soft, muculent mix on her bare skin like a sculptor at work. It carried the pleasurable smell of wet earth. With his fingertips, he gently stroked every part of her body; and with every stroke, she groaned softly. She felt the pain that filled every bone in her body, yet she also felt the immense sensation of pleasure and comfort that was so foreign to her”

“He knew Alec enough by now to know the conflicting impulses that warred in him. He was conscientious, the kind of person who believed that the others around him were so much more important than he was, who already believed he was letting everybody down. And he was honest, the kind of person that was naturally open about all he felt and wanted. Alec's virtues had made a trap for him; these two good qualities had collided painfully. He felt he could not be honest without disappointing everyone he loved. It was a hideous conundrum for him. It was as if the world had been designed to make him unhappy.”

“He knew and felt only that what was taking place was similar to what had taken place the previous year at the deathbed of his brother Nikolay in the hotel of the provincial town. But that grief and this joy both lay equally outside all of life's usual conditions, and were like apertures in this ordinary life through which something higher could be glimpsed. What was taking place was proceeding equally painfully and agonisingly and, as it perceived this higher something, his soul was ascending equally incomprehensibly to a height it had never understood before and with which his intellect could no longer keep pace.”

“He knew another place, a wood, And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs; And if he stood on one of these, 'Twould be among the tops of trees, Their upper branches round him wreathing, Their breathing mingled with his breathing. If-if he stood! Enough of ifs! He knew a path that wanted walking; He knew a spring that wanted drinking; A thought that wanted further thinking; A love that wanted re-renewing. Nor was this just a way of talking To save him the expense of doing. With him it boded action, deed.”

“He knew by heart every last minute crack on its surface. He had made maps of the ceiling and gone exploring on them; rivers, islands, and continents. He had made guessing games of it and discovered hidden objects; faces, birds, and fishes. He made mathematical calculations of it and rediscovered his childhood; theorems, angles, and triangles. There was practically nothing else he could do but look at it. He hated the sight of it.”

“He knew clearly enough that his imagination was growing traitor to him, and yet at times it seemed the ship he sailed in, his fellow-passengers, the sailors, the wide sea, were all part of a filmy phantasmagoria that hung, scarcely veiling it, between him and a horrible real world. Then the Porroh man, thrusting his diabolical face through that curtain, was the one real and undeniable thing. At that he would get up and touch things, taste something, gnaw something, burn his hand with a match, or run a needle into himself. ("Pollock And The Porrah Man")”

“He knew Doms who never sucked off their subs, claiming that it upset the power dynamic too much, tangled the lines drawn. To his mind, that was nonsense. He was in complete control here, just like he would be when it was Sterling's mouth on his cock, fervent, worshipful, obedient. Hell, if he ever wanted to, he could order Sterling to spank him and still be clearly, unmistakably, the one calling the shots”

“He knew, even back then, that she was prone to bouts of melancholy. It came to her in successive waves, an ebb and flow. When the first wave arrived, barely touching her toes, it was so light and translucent a ripple that you might be forgiven for thinking it insignificant, that it would vanish soon, leaving no trace. But then followed another wave, and the next one, rising as far as her ankles, and the one after that covering her knees, and before you knew it she was immersed in liquid pain, up to her neck, drowning. That's how depression sucked her in.”

“He knew he could never jingle change in his pocket or park his car like a confident adult, he was the Adrian he had always been, casting a guilty look over a furtive shoulder, living in eternal dread of a grown-up striding forward to clip his ear. But there again, when he sipped at the whiskey his eyes failed to water and his throat forgot to burn. The body shamelessly welcomed what once it would have rejected. At breakfast he demanded not Ricicles and chocolate spread, but coffee and unbuttered toast. And if the coffee was sugared he leapt from it like a colt from an electric fence. He ate the crust and left the filling, guzzled the olives and spurned the cherries. Yet inside he remained the same Adrian who fought down the urge to stand and shout 'Bullocks' during church services, smelt his own farts and wasted hours skimming through National Geographic on the off-chance of seeing a few naked bodies.”