Quotessence
Home / Quotes / H Quotes

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 thinks you're pretty." Genevieve yawned. "Guys always think you're pretty." "Well people think you look like me," I responded. "They're only being nice." Her voice was hurt as she curled closer to me. "They aren't being nice. You're beautiful, smart, and you know who you are. You're never afraid of saying what you believe in. I never want you to forget that, Genevieve," I spoke tenderly as I watched her eyes start to sag. "I love you, Genevieve.”

“He thinned his eyes into razor slits and took a step toward Constance Brandley. “Let us be clear, madam. ‘Company’ implies one who is invited, one who is welcome.” Of course the chit didn’t back away. She angled her chin up in a like, defiant fury, and his annoyance only burned hotter. “You, in fact, are neither. Not for me. And…” He flicked an icy stare over her. “I suspect not for anybody.” She gasped. He continued over that indignant outrage. “Furthermore, if you are very interested in exchanging lessons on propriety and manners, let your first one be to advise you against visiting bachelor gentlemen.” There was a beat of silence. “All bachelors.” He puzzled his brow. “It’s just, you said you’d advise me against paying visits to bachelor gentlemen.” As she prattled, he searched for—and failed to find—any indication that she jested. “When in actuality, a woman concerned with propriety should steer clear of not just gentlemen bachelors, but all bachelors.” The termagant worked her gaze up and down his person. “Your inability to acknowledge those men outside the peerage is no doubt a product of your ducal status. Of course,” she tacked on.”

“He thought about doing more reading. It seemed the most comforting activity to do, except for one issue. Unlike a new movie, there was no one to immediately turn and talk to about a book. All books are strays. Books were read at the same time they were unknown at the same time they were revived at the same time they were forgotten. There was no agreed-upon trend of a novel. People found them on their own and all at different stages of life. This was why it was special to have the same favorite authors as a stranger, since both souls were in need of and privately searching for the same thing. A chapter could mean so much. But because Andrei could not share his excitement with anyone without misunderstanding or respectfully feigned interest, he ruled out reading as an activity. And it takes too long to find someone who lived for the same page as you.”

“He thought about himself, and the whole earth Of man the wonderful, and of the stars, And how the deuce they ever could have birth; And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars, How many miles the moon might have in girth, Of air-balloons, and of the many bars To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies;— And then he thought of Donna Julia’s eyes. In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern Longings sublime, and aspirations high, Which some are born with, but the most part learn To plague themselves withal, they know not why: ’Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think ’twas philosophy that this did, I can’t help thinking puberty assisted.”

“He thought about it for a moment and laughed. Laughed this vibrant, spirited laugh that I wanted to hear on a loop for the rest of my days. It was the kind of laugh that you wanted playing from a stereo and having it on full blast while you drove in the car. The kind of laugh you wanted to be reminded of whenever you forgot it, which would be hard to forget, but in the case that you did, an instant reminder was in store. The kind that would never get old, no matter how many times you heard it. The kind of laugh that made your heart want to dance. That was his laugh. What his laugh was to me.”

“He thought about science, about faith, about man. he thought about how every culture, in every country, in every time, had always shared one thing. We all had the Creator. We used different names, different faces, and different prayers, but God was the universal constant for man. God was the symbol we all shared...the symbol of all the mysteries of life that we could not understand. The ancients had praised God as a symbol of our limitless human potential, but that ancient symbol had been lost over time. Until now.”

“He thought about the loss of humanity that was eating away at the world and the loss of the connection to the self that ate away at the consciousness which animated all into being. He thought about how the collective psyche was teetering on that knife’s edge between a desperation to live and a desperation to die. And here he was at the cusp of it himself.”

“He thought about the story his daughter was living and the role she was playing inside that story. He realized he hadn't provided a better role for his daughter. He hadn't mapped out a story for his family. And so his daughter had chosen another story, a story in which she was wanted, even if she was only being used. In the absence of a family story, she'd chosen a story in which there was risk and adventure, rebellion and independence.”

“He thought about this for a second. "True. But if you never really make friends, you probably don't have anyone to be your 2 a.m. Which would kind of suck. I just looked at him as he stirred his soup, carrots spinning in the liquid. "Your what?" "Two a.m." He swallowed, then said, "You know. The person you can call at two a.m. and, no matter what, you can count on them. Even if they're asleep or it's cold or you need to be bailed out of jail...they'll come for you. It's, like, the highest level of friendship.”

“He thought back on his family with deep emotion and love. His conviction that he would have to disappear was, if possible, even firmer than his sister's. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful reflection until the tower clock struck three in the morning. He still saw that outside the window everything was beginning to grow light. Then, without his consent, his head sank down to the floor, and from his nostrils streamed his last weak breath.”

“He thought back to dog sledding as a boy. During the day he scouted Doc’s property in wheeled sleds through thousands of acres of switchgrass, dirt, and live oaks. At night he sat with King by a small fire, even in the summer, and read books like the Call of the Wild, Winterdance, and Stone Fox. He read aloud to King the great adventures of Balto and the race to Nome, and stories of the un adulterated wild by John Muir.”