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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“He stopped, stood perfectly still, closed his eyes, breathed in the scent. He could catch the thinnest glimpse of a girl in the sliver of air between the curtain and the partition. She was small, dressed in art school standard-issue basic black, with an ass like an upside-down heart. But her hair. Oh, her hair. It cascaded in a fall of loose curls down her back, not red, not blonde, not brown, and yet all of them mixed together, trailing off at her waist. With a pang, he imagined the colors he would have used to paint it, in the years when he could still paint; golden ochre, terra rossa, raw sienna.”

“He stopped the flyers And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport. As weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obeyed And fell below his stem. His sword, Death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered The mortal gate o' th' city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioles like a planet. Now all's his, When by and by the dim of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Requickened what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he, where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting.”

“He stopped to rest at a cart selling nuts and candy, bought himself some Jelly Belly's, flirted just enought with the Mexican cutie working there to convince her pull out the banana-flavored one. Although he liked his Jelly Belly's mixed up, he didn't like banana, but, since it took too much effort to pull them out himself, he generally tried to talk someone else into doing it. If that didn't work, he just ate 'em. - Kenny Traveler”

“He stopped when he heard Wellsie's voice coming out of the study. "… some kind of nightmare. I mean, Tohr, he was terrified… No, he fudged when I asked him what it was, and I didn't press. I think it's time he sees Havers. Yes… UAH-Hugh. He should meet Wrath first. Okay. I love you, myhellren . What? God, Tohr, I feel the same way. I don't know how we ever lived without him. He is such a blessing.”

“He stops pacing. 'I know, Miranda, I did it because I—' 'Stop! Don't say it. I don't want to hear you say it.' 'I have to say it,' Noah says. 'No, you don't.' If I hear him say the word love, I don't know what I'll do. I still have my gun. Maybe one day I can forgive him, but all chance of that goes out the window if he claims he did it for love. If you love someone, the idea is respect them enough to trust them. Not to take away their freedom. Their life.”

“He stops rocking the cage. "Oh, come on, Callie. It won't be fun if we don't rock it. In fact, the more we rock it, the better it'll feel." His voice drops to a deep whisper. "We can rock it nice and slow or really, really fast."... "Do I have your permission to rock away and give you the ride of your life?" Why does it feel like he's secretly talking dirty to me? "Yeah, go ahead, rock it nice and hard," I say without thinking, then bite down on my lip as the dirty section of my brain catches up with me. Honestly, I didn't even know that side existed.”

“He strained his ears, and the darkness felt heavier than before. Oppressive. “We’re hungry.” That came from behind him. “They smell tasty,” a voice to his left hissed. “I don’t like this,” Andrew said, feeling like the world around them was spinning with voices, taunting, echoing them. “I don’t like this,” a voice parroted. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this. I don’t like this.”

“He strayed across the sun worn grounds among old lichened monoliths, touching and tracing the inscriptions. The pains taken with the lettering astonished him—the knowing hands of nameless artisans, themselves long buried, incising stone calligraphies in memory of strangers. The age of these granites, hewn from crusts heaved up into the sun by planetary fire from miles beneath the surface of the earth, stirred him and humbled him. In quest of eternity, the upright stones yearned toward the firmament, even as they too were gnawed minutely by the bloodless fungi and blind algae that worked with the wind and rain to obliterate man's scratchings.”

“He stretched out his hands as he sang, sadly, because all beauty is sad…The poem had done no ‘good’ to anyone, but it was a passing reminder, a breath from the divine lips of beauty, a nightingale between two worlds of dust. Less explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved.”

“He stretched out his long legs under the table, settled on his tailbone. He shook his foot, rotated his ankle, as if he'd sat too long. The movement caught the cat's attention. Archie's back arched, his tail swung, ready to pounce. A long lunge, and Cade stiffened. "Dude, I'm not a scratching post." "Archibald Reginald Rose," Amelia called him by his full name. She clapped her hands. "No!" Grace tipped on her chair, caught the action under the table. This was no sweet kneading from the Maine coon. He bared his claws on Cade's thigh, close to the man's groin. Cade inched back, avoided kicking the cat. His jeans were white-seamed and laddered. Archie swatted, then latched on to the loose, swaying threads. He tugged. Denim split, shredded, leaving a sizable hole. No underwear for this man. A shift of his weight, and Cade flashed Grace. Not purposely, yet she got an eyeful. In that moment, she learned more about him than she ever needed to know. He tucked left. His sex, substantial.”

“He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?”

“He strode briskly away, to do whatever it was the managers did. Have meetings, I guess. Make phone calls. It was hard for us on the technical side to understand why the company required so many managers. Engineers built things. Salespeople sold things. Even Human Resources I could understand, kind of. But managers proliferated despite performing very few identifiable functions.”

“He strode, nude, to his desk, and, bending over it, afforded her a quite scandalous view of his muscular bottom. He seemed to have a dark mark of some kind on the left cheek. Good God, it looked like a tattoo. What-? "I have the most lamentable taste sometimes. It probably would be better if a few of my things disappeared. Why, Mrs. Crumb," he drawled, and she snapped her gaze belatedly up to find that he'd turned back to her- damn it! "Were you ogling my arse?" She opened her mouth and then wasn't sure, exactly, what to say. Was he about to dismiss her or not? "I... I-" "Ye-es?" He took one long stride toward her. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of what she'd until now successfully ignored: He. Was. Nude.”

“He strode out of the bathroom naked. Lisa’s eyes widened when she saw him, then swiftly shut. He grinned as pink once more filled her cheeks. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sat on it. Her eyes flew open as her side of the mattress tilted up and rolled her toward him. Taelon rested a hand on her shoulder to steady her, then slipped beneath the covers and lay down. Silence fell. “Would you tell me about your planet?” she asked softly as she studied him in the dim light. He rolled onto his side to face her and eased forward until their heads shared the same pillow. “Of course.” He hoped one day to show it to her. If he succeeded in contacting Ari’k… Well, he wouldn’t leave Lisa here on this barbaric planet where more men and women like those at the base would hunt her. He just needed to convince her to take a leap of faith and join him when he departed. To that end, he began to describe the beauty of his world. Lasara, the moons that orbited it, his people, the other populated planets in his solar system. He kept his voice low, his words carefully modulated. And soon her long lashes lowered until they rested upon her cheeks. Her breathing changed, deepening as sleep claimed her. He gently brushed her soft hair back from her face, tucking it behind one delicate ear. Even her ears were cute. But the dark circles beneath her eyes were not. She needed this rest. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, Lisa.”

“He struggles to sit as straight as possible. And it is a struggle - I can see the fight for every single muscle fiber in his body. Sometimes I've felt he was too accepting, when all I wanted was for him to put up a fight. But right now I see the fire that flares up in his eyes. the look I've seen countless times when he was pushing me to be stronger and better.”

“He strummed a few chords and then sang: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away. Rick sang one more verse, and when he was done, he winked at Amelia and smiled.”

“He stuck the pencil over his ear, looking unconvinced. "Mmm. What position would you be the most comfortable for you?" I couldn't say aloud the answers that popped into my head at that question, but the flush that spread across my face like wildfire gave me away. He caught his lower lip in his teeth, and I was sure it was to contain a laugh. Most comfortable position? What about with my head stuck under a pillow?”

“He studied it, steepling his long fingers. I groaned. Enough was enough. “Why do you do that?” “Do what?” “That.” I mimicked his hands, flattened my brows and tried to make my eyes look somewhat insane. “I will have you know that it is my meditative pose.” “I will have you know that you look ridiculous.” “What about you?” he asked. He sucked in his cheeks and glowered, pointing at his face and then pointing at me. “What kind of meditative pose is that?” “It’s not a meditative pose at all,” I shot back. “My apologies. Is it your bellicose-let-me-drain-your-blood face? Could you not master an expression that looked less like an outraged cat?” “Better than steepling my hands and looking like an overgrown spider.” “An overgrown spider who is rarely wrong.” “My bellicose-let-me-drain-your-blood face has saved your life.” “And this overgrown-spider pose is about to save yours.”