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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“He looked like the prime definition of someone who was at peace. At peace within themselves, at peace within the world. Caspian Marks was at peace, and I knew at that moment that he would be all right and would continue to be at peace whenever I left this world. Seeing him like that, right then and there, I think gave me every bit of reassurance I ever needed. Reassurance I wasn’t aware I needed in the first place.”

“He looked more at ease, more sure, like all this time I'd only ever come face-to-face with his shadow. Standing there in that moment, I felt like I'd stumbled upon something sacred, more intimate even than what had passed between us in the house. Like Gus had pulled back the curtains in the window of a house I'd been admiring, whose insides I'd been dreaming about but even so, underestimated. I liked seeing Gus like this, with the people he knew would always love him. We'd just had sex like the world was burning down around us, but if I ever got to kiss Gus again, I wanted it to be this version of him. The one who didn't feel so weighed down by the world around him that he had to lean just to stay upright.”

“He looked nearly inconspicuous, a handsome man in faded Levi’s and tennis shoes. A Yankees baseball cap covered his dark hair, the bill shadowing his features. Casual. Beautiful. A day’s growth of beard on his jaw did little to detract from his excruciating attractiveness. “She’s eight months old, but she knows how to flirt,” the baby’s mother said. “Let go of the nice man’s shirt, Gabbi.” She dislodged the child’s hand, then told Adrian, “I’m sorry. She must like the colors on your T-shirt.” Eight-month-old Gabbi’s big blue eyes were fixed on Adrian’s face, not on his T-shirt. Billie released a shaky breath. Good God. Even babies weren’t immune.”

“He looked pained. “I don’t eat peanut butter.” That genuinely shocked her. “Who doesn’t eat peanut butter? It’s the perfect food.” He shuddered. “Even to make up for all the things I’ve done wrong, I don’t think I can do it.” “For a man who carries around as many weapons as you do, you’re a bit of a baby.” “It isn’t being a baby not to eat peanut butter. I don’t think babies eat the stuff.” “That’s un-American.” “I’m not certain I am American,” he pointed out. She had to agree with him there. “Fine. You can put peanut butter on waffles. Blythe bought some of those frozen thingies that you put in the toaster. I’m not sure how old they are. Do frozen foods last like four years or more?” He groaned and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair, pushing his head into his hands. “Death by peanut butter. I never thought I’d go that way.” Rikki found herself laughing. Nothing made her laugh, not out loud, not hurt-her-tummy laughing, not like this. He looked so dejected— a big, tough man done in by peanut butter.”

“He looked resigned, as though he knew that wretched door--to where? Home? Heaven? Peace?--would never open, and at the same time he seemed resolved, ready to do his bit even though he couldn't possibly know what sacrifices that would require. Had he been kept here, too--in a place he didn't belong, serving in a war in which he hadn't enlisted, to rescue sparrows and soldiers and shopgirls and Shakespeare? To tip the balance?”

“He looked right into her eyes; didn’t she know the way she was? She had always treated him like that, his eyes argued. She did not agree—she had never treated him like this, he had spent his lifetime criticizing her. That was only true because she had spent her lifetime criticizing him—and that was how they always came back here, sometimes a wordless moment, their eyes glancing at each other like in a fencing match, each of them accusing the other of playing the role of the victim, portraying each other as the enemy to justify their self-inflicted wounds. She had turned into an uneducated woman (he would argue). He was evil (she would say), he was unable to recognize and acknowledge the good things people tried to do for him.”

“He looked sharply towards the pollarded trees. 'Yes, just there,' he said. 'I saw it plainly, and equally plainly I saw it not. And then there's that telephone of yours.' I told him now about the ladder I had seen below the tree where he saw the dangling rope. 'Interesting,' he said, 'because it's so silly and unexpected. It is really tragic that I should be called away just now, for it looks as if the - well, the matter were coming out of the darkness into a shaft of light. But I'll be back, I hope, in thirty-six hours. Meantime, do observe very carefully, and whatever you do, don't make a theory. Darwin says somewhere that you can't observe without theory, but to make a theory is a great danger to an observer. It can't help influencing your imagination; you tend to see or hear what falls in with your hypothesis. So just observe; be as mechanical as a phonograph and a photographic lens.' Presently the dog-cart arrived and I went down to the gate with him. 'Whatever it is that is coming through, is coming through in bits,' he said. 'You heard a telephone; I saw a rope. We both saw a figure, but not simultaneously nor in the same place. I wish I didn't have to go.' I found myself sympathizing strongly with this wish, when after dinner I found myself with a solitary evening in front of me, and the pledge to 'observe' binding me. It was not mainly a scientific ardour that prompted this sympathy and the desire for independent combination, but, quite emphatically, fear of what might be coming out of the huge darkness which lies on all sides of human experience. I could no longer fail to connect together the fancied telephone bell, the rope, and the ladder, for what made the chain between them was the figure that both Philip and I had seen. Already my mind was seething with conjectural theory, but I would not let the ferment of it ascend to my surface consciousness; my business was not to aid but rather stifle my imagination. ("Expiation")”

“He looked so strange without his guns. So wrong. 'Okay? Now that the numb-fuck apprentices have the guns and the master's unarmed, can we please go? If something big comes out of the bush at us, Roland, you can always throw your knife at it.' 'Oh, that,' he murmured. 'I almost forgot.' He took the knife from his purse and held it out, hilt first, to Eddie. 'This is ridiculous!' Eddie shouted. 'Life is ridiculous.' 'Yeah, put it on a postcard and send it to the fucking Reader's Digest.' Eddie jammed the knife into his belt and then looked defiantly at Roland. 'Now can we go?' 'There is one more thing,' Roland said. 'Weeping, creeping Jesus!' The smile touched Roland's mouth again. 'Just joking,' he said Eddie's mouth dropped open. Beside him, Susannah began to laugh again. The sound rose, as musical as bells, in the morning stillness.”

“He looked up from the paper he was scribbling on and offered her a lopsided grin. “Hey, sweet pea. You bring me anything special?” The lopsided bit wasn’t odd, but there was something forced about it. “Got a fresh bag of cat food outside.” Cat food that she’d bought with the twenty he’d left to pay for his ice cream. He pushed his makeshift drum set aside and rose with a stretch. “Words every man dreams of hearing. Make my night if you say you got catnip too.” She tried not to giggle. She tried hard. But she couldn’t help herself. “Extra strength,” she said. This time, his grin came out bigger, less forced. “Woman of my dreams.” “In your dreams,” she said.”

“He looked up. “Is it time already?” She nodded. He rose and waited as she gathered her things. The dog followed them out the door, but then he bounded down the stairs to the drive. The animal sniffed intently at something on the ground and then rolled, happily rubbing his head and neck in whatever it was. Lord Swartingham sighed. “I’ll have one of the stable boys wash him before he enters the Abbey again.” “Mmm,” Anna murmured thoughtfully. “What do you think of ‘Adonis’?” He gave her a look so full of incredulous horror that she was hard-pressed not to laugh. “No, I suppose not,” she murmured.”

“He looked up to the gods but never accepted their eternal superiority. For better or worse, plotting their overthrow was the only aspiration that stoked the fires of destiny. Such an exalted ambition was worthy of a man who had long accomplished the chore of dominating human minds. A man so terrified of finding himself alone in a stratosphere where no one could understand just how exceptional he was. In that place, the presumed existence of gods was a great comfort, especially in a profession in which his rivals were mere mortals.”