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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“He was relaxing in his cabin after one particularly strenuous workout, sprawled facedown across his bunk, reading. The volume was one of Kirk's own cherished bound books. "The kind of book you can hold in your hands," as Sam Cogley had put it. The lawyer had introduced him to the hobby of collecting "real" books, and Kirk had found this remarkably well-preserved copy of an old favorite in an antique shop on Canpus IV. He was absorbed in the adventures of Captain Nemo and the Nautilus when the door signal flashed.”

“He was resentful against all those in authority over him, and this, combined with a lazy indifference toward his work, exasperated every master in school. He grew discouraged and imagined himself a pariah; took to sulking in corners and reading after lights. With a dread of being alone he attached a few friends, but since they were not among the elite of the school, he used them simply as mirrors of himself, audiences before which he might do that posing absolutely essential to him. He was unbearably lonely, desperately unhappy.”

“He was right. It didn't hurt. There was a feeling in the center of Molly's chest like falling, but it wasn't her that was falling. Instead, every sensation and emotion seemed to tumble out of her, up toward the machine. First her panic ebbed away into it, and then the discomfort of the harness digging into her back. Her fear for her family. Her fear for herself. Her exhaustion. The physical sensations from her body flickered out piece by piece, like someone turning out the lamps in a house. It never hurt, not for a moment. It was the single worst thing she had ever experienced.”

“He was right to fear. Patrick stood in the shadows, possessed by a rage so intense that it took every ounce of his control not to kill the bastard. He'd kissed his woman. Touched her. Held her in his arms. Patrick's fists clenched at his sides. Rage seethed inside him, filling his veins. Building and building until his muscles flexed and burned with the pressure to contain it. He wanted to be discovered. Wanted the excuse to vent his rage. Damn the consequences. After what he'd just witnessed, he'd probably lost what chance he had with her anyway.”

“He was ruining it. Five minutes before, he’d looked at her with desire and she’d thought finally. Finally, someone saw her. Finally, someone wanted her and she would know what it was like to be a woman. She would know what it felt like to have another person’s hands on her. But now he looked at her with misplaced compassion. As if she were so desperate to get laid she had missed something. As if there was some man waiting in the wings. There wasn’t. This was it, her final chance for pleasure and with every question, with every word, he ruined it.”

“He was safe for the moment, here in the playground, but people all over the world were suffering, starving, fleeing, killing one another as they waged their wars. How much energy they put into harming one another. How little into saving. Would it ever change? What would it take to make it change? He thought of Luxa's hand pressed into Ripred's paw. That's what it would take. People rejecting war. Not one or two, but all of them. Saying it was an unacceptable way to solve their differences. By the look of things, the human race had a lot of evolving to do before that happened. Maybe it was impossible. But maybe it wasn't. Like Vikus said, nothing would happen unless you hoped it could. If you had hope, maybe you could find the way to make things change. Because if you thought about it, there were so many reasons to try.”

“He was sailing over a boundless expanse of sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the angry waters, lashed into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every side. There was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the howling storm: her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast.”

“He was scared and he felt vulnerable and the last thing on earth he wanted was to try to make friends with these strangers. He wished with all his heart that Joyce were here with him. After all, it was always easier to meet new people if there were two of you. It gave you confidence and made you feel at ease. Look, it said to the world, I already have one friend so I can't be all that bad. And Joyce always made him feel like his best self anyway, so there would be no resisting him.”

“He was shaving when she stepped out of the shower. She ran a towel over her hair and body. She was generously applying lotion to her body as he splashed water on his face. “Fuck, you’ve got nice tits.” She watched his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were focused on her chest. His dick was hard. Very hard. “Do you want to fuck them?” He exhaled as he leaned against the vanity, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Well, I do now.”

“He was shockingly easy to follow. The pressure of his hand, the step of his foot, the angle of his frame... it was like reading his mind. When he leaned right, they turned in perfect unison. He swept her across the gallery in a quick three, a dizzying pace. Gilded frames and glass cases and the window blurred in her vision, and Azalea spun out, her skirts pulling and poofing around her, before he caught her and brought her back into dance position. She could almost hear music playing, swelling inside of her. Mother had once told her about this perfect twining into one. She called it interweave, and said it was hard to do, for it took the perfect matching of the partners’ strengths to overshadow each other’s weaknesses, meshing into one glorious dance. Azalea felt the giddiness of being locked in not a pairing, but a dance. So starkly different than dancing with Keeper. Never that horrid feeling that she owed him something; no holding her breath, wishing for the dance to end. Now, spinning from Mr. Bradford’s hand, her eyes closed, spinning back and feeling him catch her, she felt the thrill of the dance, of being matched, flow through her. ”Heavens, you’re good!” said Azalea, breathless. ”You’re stupendous,” said Mr. Bradford, just as breathless. “It’s like dancing with a top!”

“He was shot in the chest while sitting in a friend’s car in Scottsdale. The killing was somehow related to drugs, no one knows exactly how. Or maybe Sophia knows, but she’s not admitting to it. She talks about him in glowing terms, describes their relationship as “perfect”, and yet says he used to hit her. Things weren’t easy when he was alive, and they haven’t gotten easier since his death. She works in her family’s restaurant and doesn’t have much money, which is why she still lives in the barrio. She tells me about a time when she woke in the middle of the night and found a man in her bedroom. He’d broken in through a window. She screamed at him to get out, and he said, “It’s okay. It’s okay,” and left. She now keeps a gun under her bed.”

“He was showing how marriage is not a contract, involving merely an exchange of goods and services. Rather, marriage is a covenant, involving an exchange of persons. Kippley's argument was that every covenant has an act whereby the covenant is enacted and renewed; and the marital act is a covenant act. When the marriage covenant is renewed, God uses it to give new life. To renew the marital Covenant and use birth control to destroy the potential for new life is tantamount to receiving the Eucharist and spitting it on the ground.”