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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's all dark and light. His perfectly mussed brown hair, lighter than mine because he's half-Japanese, half-Italian. His eyes that have specks of light brown, but shades of darkness, too. The tan of his skin from playing tennis on the school team. His slightly crooked nose from when we were kids and went ice skating at Winter Lodge, chasing each other around the rink, and he tripped over a bump in the ice. Somehow, it works on him. He's gorgeous. And I hate him.”

“He's all right. His hair is cute." Jonas froze, his lobster fork halfway to his mouth. " Oh my God, you're in love." "I'm not in love." "'his hair is cute'? You never say anything nice about anyone. Coming from you, cute hair is a mating call." " I talked to the guy for thirty seconds. And then he waved at me while i was in the tank." "Holy fuck, you're getting married, aren't you!" " Will you simmer. I certainly am not.”

“He's already been president. We know his policies, his jurist picks, and all his methodologies. We know who he cozies up to and who he leaves out in the cold and diseased air... He's become a Used Trump Salesman. And all his marketers, campaign officials, and media strategists are Used Trump Salesmen with a desperate, deteriorating Used Trump they're equally as desperate to sell.”

“He's an egotistical dickhead who's going to chew you up and spit you out; and you have a really awful history of falling for assholes that you ought to run screaming from; and I don't feel like sitting around listening to you try to convince yourself you don't still feel something for Campbell Alexander when, in fact, you've spent the past fifteen years trying to fill in the hole he made inside you.”

“He’s as tense as I am, maybe even more so, but it’s so hard to reconcile that with the serenity of weightlessness. His faux-blond hair is floating out away from his head. He’s wearing a worn, much-mended, and too-large shirt his friend in town must’ve found for him to help him blend in. He looks nothing like the Romeo who dragged me off the base, nothing like the Cormac who threw himself between his own people and me. It’s like that guy’s gone, and I killed him.”

“He’s become my best friend the way the others did: bit by bit, sand passing through an hourglass so slowly, it’s impossible to pin down the moment it happens. When suddenly more of my heart belongs to him than doesn’t, and I know I’ll never get a single grain back. He’s a golden boy. I’m a girl whose life has been drawn in shades of gray. I try not to love him. I really try.”

“He’s becoming useless. Worse than useless,” Sam said. Then, relenting, he said, “We’ll get past it.” “You mean you and Quinn?” “Yeah.” Astrid considered just keeping her mouth shut, not pushing it. But this was a talk she needed to have with Sam sooner or later. “I don’t think he’s going to get over it.” “You don’t know him that well.” “He’s jealous of you.” “Well, of course I am so terribly handsome,” Sam said, straining to make a joke of it. “He’s one kind of person, you’re another. When life is going along normally, you’re sort of the same. But when life turns strange and scary, when there’s a crisis, suddenly you’re completely different people. It’s not Quinn’s fault, really, but he’s not brave. He’s not strong. You are.”

“He's begun a new sword for Madoc.' 'I wouldn't mind ruining that before it's put to my throat,' says Cardan. 'Look for the big one,' I say. 'That'll be it.' The Roach gives me a frown. I can't help not having a better description; the last time I saw it, it was barely more than a bar of metal. 'Really big,' I say. Cardan snorts.”

“He's blessedly de-quipped with ideas having to do with the subconscious mind or the id, but has already begun to think in metaphor, and the answer comes to him in a divine, happy flash. He races up the stairs as fast as his small legs will carry him, hair flying back from his tanned and grimy forehead. He goes to his bed in the room he shares with Paul, looks beneath his pillow, and sure enough, there is his bottle of RC Cola - a tall one! - along with a final slip of paper. The message on it is the same as always:”

“He's changing. Every day more remote, protected, distant. He builds fests now for the soulmate he hasn't found, bricking wall and maze and mountain fortress, dares her to find him at the hidden center of them all Here's an A in self-protection from the one in the world he might love and who might someday love him.”

“He's clearly not suited to the public rigors of this role. Encouraging the delusions of a mentally ill---" Johnny had finally reached his limit. "That's it." Releasing Rosie, he walked to the door and pulled it open. "Your Highness. Lancier. Get out." Sylvie couldn't repress an instinctive snort at the look on the duchess's face. Every affronted, outraged GIF in history had just come to life in this room. If the Prince of Wales never had a child, it was possible that the Duchess of Albany could one day become Queen Consort. At the very least, she would hopefully much sooner become Johnny's mother-in-law. He did not give one single shit. "Out," he said again, his entire demeanor brooking no opposition. The duchess was the most stereotypical type of bully. When faced with a dose of her own medicine, she retreated. With a malevolent glare at the offspring who'd foisted this man on her.”