H Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with H. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“He was so much in love with me that I could have asked him for the moon and stars, and he would have gathered them for me.”
Source: Doomed Queen Anne: A Young Royals Book
“He was so much more dangerous when he wasn't angry.”
Source: Blue Lily, Lily Blue
“He was so narrow minded he could see through a keyhole with both eyes.”
“He was so narrow minded that if he fell on a pin it would blind him in both eyes.”
“He was so near the sacred and fearful grail of black manhood that any man of color who faced the threat of life with courage, and intellect, and wit, was his hero.”
Source: A Song Flung Up to Heaven
“He was so popular you could barely look at him without being blinded by cool.”
Source: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)
“He was so pumped, jumping up and down on the spot, showing off the taut lean muscles in his quads and calves so different to the bulkiness of a lot of the other players. He bristled with energy, shaking out his arms, flicking his fingers.
Flicking off invisible globules of testosterone so powerful she could feel their pull all the way up here.
He dropped his head from side to side to work his traps, bending at the waist right in front of the box to execute a perfect hamstring stretch.
Ooh la freaking la.”
Source: Playing With Forever
“He was so staggered that he started to laugh, but his laughter subsided almost at once, and in its place he felt a wave of fury and despair roll over him at the sheer inexorability of late-capitalist degradation not just of the environment, not just of civic institutions, not just of intellectual and political ideals, but worse, of his own expectations, of what he even felt was possible any more—a familiar surge of grief and helpless rage at the reckless, wasteful, soulless, narcissistic, barren selfishness of the present day, and at his own political irrelevance and impotence, and at the utter shamelessness with which his natural inheritance, his future, had been either sold or laid to waste by his parents’ generation, trapping him in a perpetual adolescence that was further heightened by the infantilising unreality of the Internet as it encroached upon, and colonised, real life—‘real life,’ Tony thought, with bitter air quotes, for late capitalism would admit nothing ‘real’ beyond the logic of late capitalism itself, having declared self-interest the only universal, and profit motive the only absolute, and deriding everything that did not serve its ends as either a contemptible weakness or a fantasy.”
Source: Birnam Wood
“He was so stark and male and beautiful that she hungered for him. Physically, to be sure. But also from someplace even more intimate, someplace where heart and soul melded into a yearning so strong, that she wanted to weep from it.”
Source: The Last Bride in Ballymuir
“He was so stocky. He was like a wheelie bin.”
Source: Clarke
“He was so tenacious he defied the distraction of women by refusing to have them in his presence, just as later in life he denied his blindness by calling for more and more candles.”
“He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized.”
Source: The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: Novels, Short Stories, Poetry, Articles, Letters, Plays & Screenplays: From the author of The Great Gatsby, The Side of Paradise, Tender Is the Night, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and many other notable works
“He was so textbook the textbooks were jealous of him.”
Source: The Beat Match
“He was so used to men's usage
and had so rejected women's ways
that little was lacking for him to be a man.
Whatever one could see was certainly male!
But there's more to this than meets the eye -
the he's a she beneath the clothes.”
Source: Silence: A Thirteenth-Century French Romance
“He was so very gentle, despite his power and size, his fingertips sliding over her in light, beguiling patterns. His focus on her, his awareness of every sound, pulse, shiver, was absolute. His low voice tickled her ear as he murmured how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how hard she made him... and all the while, the thick shaft kept sinking deeper and deeper.
By the time he filled her completely, she was feverish with need. A little sob of anticipation escaped her as he began to move. But every thrust was long and agonizingly slow, withholding the last bit of stimulation she needed. He held her more closely now, his weight on her from pelvis to breasts, while his hips rolled and circled, drawing up new surges of feeling. His mouth lowered to one of her breasts, licking and gently gnawing at the erect nipple. Squirming in frustration, she pushed her hips upward, but he pulled back reflexively.
"No, love. I could hurt you."
"You won't. Please... Keir..."
"Please what?"
"I need more."
His laugh, a smolder of a sound, could have come from the devil himself. "I dinna think you can take more than this, darlin'."
"I can." She strained against him.
"This deep?" he asked, reaching places in her that had never been touched before.
She shook at the pleasure of it. "Oh, God. Yes."
His hands grasped her hips, keeping them angled firmly upward as he pumped in a steady rhythm. Slow in... slow out...
"Faster," she said desperately.
"No' yet," he whispered.
"Please," she begged.
His low, dark voice curled in her ear. "There's a saying we have about whisky: Slow fire makes sweet malt."
She whimpered as he rolled his hips gently, his hardness caressing everywhere inside. The deliberate pace didn't alter, no matter how she tried to drive herself harder onto the rigid length of him. Every time she began to plead for more, his mouth came to hers in another one of those obliterating kisses.
None of this was what she'd expected. Her husband had been a considerate lover, doing everything she liked and giving her exactly what she wanted. Keir, however, was doing the exact opposite. He delighted in tormenting her until she didn't recognize herself in the frantic creature she'd become. He was absolutely wicked, shameless, making love to her in ways that felt unimaginably good, always holding satisfaction just out of reach.
"You give me so much pleasure, darlin'... more than a body can stand. The way you hold me so tight inside... like that... I can feel you pulling at me. Your wee, hungry body wants me deeper, aye? Put your hands on me... anywhere... ah, how I love your sweet touch...”
Source: Devil in Disguise
“He was so very large and so very gruff that he rather terrified her, but he always behaved correctly in public, and there was a lot to be said for a man who sported such well-tailored jackets---even if he did change into a ferocious beast once a month.”
“He was so. So dirty, and just moving in front of me, and cute. I was in love with him, especially because he was talking to me.”
Source: Palo Alto: Stories
“He was sobbing, it would have been said, as though his heart would break.”
Source: Giovanni’s Room
“He was some exotic planet and I was his favorite satellite. But he's no planet, just the final fading light of an already dead star.”
Source: The Sun Is Also a Star
“He was someone whom everyone admired and liked but whom nobody knew. He was like a book that you could feel good holding, that you could talk about without ever having read, that you could recommend.”
Source: Everything Is Illuminated
“He was somewhat of a loner by temperament--because though never wholly happy when alone, he was usually slightly more miserable when with other people.”
Source: The Wench is Dead
“He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.”
Source: Frankenstein
“He was sooty, muddy, and clearly exhausted, and his clothes reeked of smoke. "Poor old Buster," she said with a frown of concern. Luke had earned the affectionate family nickname as an energetic toddler, mowing down everything in his path and leaving broken teacups and vases in his wake.”
Source: Devil in Disguise
“He was sorry for himself as well, for he was doomed to find life and identity in death letters.”
Source: Hulaki
“He was sorry, genuinely sorry, for the pain she was in. Yet the revelation had caused certain other feelings—feelings he usually kept under tight rein, considering them both misguided and dangerous—to flex inside him, to test their strength against their restraining bonds.”
Source: Career of Evil
“He was sort of beautiful. In his own dark, depressing way, but still. She was going to miss that stupid fucking beautiful face.”
Source: Paper Souls
“He was sort of Kimmie’s boss. And he wasn’t just a thorn in General Mom’s side – he was a whole stinking rosebush. If the rosebush were six feet of hunky, cake-blaspheming, rich playboy.”
Source: Sugared
“He was sound asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the blessed fire blazing, an empty bottle of wine by his side. He hadn't been shaved recently, and he looked rumpled, dissolute and beautiful. Like a fallen angel. She moved to stand in front of him and pointed the pistol directly at his heart. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he murmured, and then he opened his extraordinary eyes. "It's always unwise to shoot the man you're in love with.”
Source: The Devil's Waltz
“He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time.”
Source: The Call of the Wild, White Fang, and Other Stories
“He was splattered with paint, his hair crusted with it, and his poor, beautiful wings... Those were my handprints on them.”
“He was spring. golden and bright. Envious Death would drink his blood, and grow young again.”
Source: The Song of Achilles
“HE was standing across the street, staring at her with a look of shock and dismay. One look in Oliver's eyes and she knew he knew. But how? How could he have known? The'd been so careful to keep their love a secret. The grief etched all over his face was too much to bear. Schuyler felt the words catch in her throat as she crossed the stree to stand in front of him. "Ollie...it's not..." Oliver shot her a look of pure hatred, turned on his heel and began to run away. "OLIVER, please,let me explain.”
“He was standing by the edge of a small pool- not more than ten feet from side to side- in a wood. The trees grew close together and were so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky. All the light was green light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the quietest wood you could possibly imagine. There were no birds, no insects, no animals, and no wind. You could almost feel the trees growing. The pool he had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of others- a pool every few yards as far as his eyes could reach. You could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. This wood was very much alive. When he tried to describe it afterwards Digory always said, "It was a rich place; as rich as plum cake.”
Source: The Magician’s Nephew
“He was standing in a far corner of the main hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The tall, elegant stranger.
The Goblin King.
He was the still point around which everything revolved. He was reality where everything else was a reflection. He stood out in sharp relief when everything else was muted, as though we were the only two alive and present in a world of illusion and shadow. He smiled at me, and every fiber of my being reached for him. His very grin could command my flesh to dance.”
Source: Wintersong
“He was standing leaning against the door frame; now he stood up straight. "How should I have kissed you? Is there an other way you like it?”
“He was standing right behind us, the epitome of stillness, one hand on the back of the sofa, dark hair slicked back from his face, his expression arrogant and cold. No surprise there. Barrons is arrogant and cold. He’s also wealthy, strong, brilliant, and a walking enigma. Most women seem to find him drop-dead sexy, too. Thankfully I’m not most women. I don’t get off on danger. I get off on a man with strong moral fiber. The closest Barrons ever gets to fiber is walking down the cereal aisle at the grocery store.”
Source: Bloodfever
“He was standing so close to her, all six feet plus inches of masculine strength. So solid and safe. Her valiant protector. It seemed only natural to seek the safe enclosure of his embrace. She ran into his arms, burying her head against the hard wall of his chest. He smelled ... wonderful. Warm. Of leather and pine needles and strength. Savoring the distinctly masculine scents, she closed her eyes. Only then did the tears start to fall.”
Source: Highland Outlaw
“He was standing so close to her that he detected the faint fragrance of lemons in her hair. He sensed rather than felt the stiffness of her body. Was she remembering the blistering heat of their lovemaking? He had suffered for hours afterward, his loins aching viciously, his hands itching for the feel of her soft, silken flesh. It had not been easy to leave her that night. Yet he hadn't been able to take her innocence under false pretenses.
Someday he would be back in her arms, with no deception between them. And the next time, no power in Heaven or hell would be enough to stop him.”
Source: Suddenly You
“He was standing very close to her, and she felt something like an electric current running through her body as he held onto her hand. She looked up into his face; long and narrow, except for those cheekbones jutting out of it. Wide, almond-shaped eyes, as pretty as a girl's. They were a shifting, indefinable hue, the color of smoke and shadows.”
Source: The Color of Light
“He was staring off into the night, where the palms whispered and the sea heaved a distant sigh, where insects clicked and hummed with restless wings. That way lay the unknown, where all tomorrow’s problems waited on the sun. Most men, Jack knew, did not venture far when the shadows grew long. Jack, for his part, had always been a great one for working by night. Much could be done in darkness to ensure a more pleasing tomorrow—an old friend had taught him that.”
Source: Darker Waters
“He was staring straight ahead, still breathing hard. “I have something I want to give you.” “I gathered that.” At that he jerked his gaze back to hers and almost reluctantly grinned. “Not that.”
Source: City of Lost Souls
“He was starting to change his mind about the old warrior code stuff knights and princes used. Usually when they were drunk and in need of spilling their words, and trying to justify their core behavior. Behave honorably and wish for a good death. He'd always dismissed it as self-serving bullshit frankly. Most of the people he'd been told were his betters were quite vainly dishonorable. Greedy bastards wanted more the more they got. While those that weren't like that were better behaved partly because they could afford to be. Was it more honorable to starve than to steal? People would say yes. Though rarely those who actually experienced an empty belly or a child whimpering with its own hunger. Was it more honorable to starve than to steal when others had the means to feed you but chose not to? Unless, you paid with money you did not have. He thought not. If you chose to starve you became your own oppressor, keeping yourself in line, harming yourself for the temerity of being poor. When by rights that aught to be a constables job. Show any initiative or imagination, then you were called lazy, shifty, crafty, or incorrigible. So he dismissed talk of honor. It was just a way of making the rich and powerful feel better about themselves, and the powerless and poverty-stricken feel worse. But once you weren't living hand to mouth and had some ease, you had the pleasure of contemplating what life was really about and who you really were, and given that you had to die, it made sense to seek a good death. Even these Culture people, bafflingly, chose to die even when they didn't have to. With freedom from fear and wondering where your next meal was coming from or wondering how many mouths you'd have to feed next year, and whether you'd get sacked by your employer, or thrown into jail for some minor indiscretion. With freedom from that you had the choice of living a nice, calm, peaceful, ordinary life and die with your nightshirt on and impatient relatives making lots of noise around you. Or, you could end up doing something like this, however scared your body might feel, your brain could appreciate the experience... Given that you had to die, why want a bad one?”
Source: Matter
“He was startled, but there was that about him which made it impossible to show what he felt, an instant and utter reflex of stillness to counteract all outward evidence of surprise, fear, anything.”
Source: The Player on the Other Side
“He was steps away from the revolving doors when he came to a stop. He hadn't looked at window displays the other times he'd been to the store. Not once. But here were crowds of people admiring them, pointing, taking pictures and raving. Children rushed from one window to another. They jumped up and down. There was so much joy and happiness around him. You could feel it in the air. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply soak it up. To drink it in. He'd been missing out on this because he'd decided as a young boy that it wasn't meant for him. (Chapter 12).”
Source: A Christmas Temptation
“He was still a kid inside. His body had grown, stretched, towered, tanned its skin, hardened its muscle, darkened its tawny shock of long hair, tightened its lines around jaw and eyes, thickened fingers and knuckles, but the brain didn't feel as if it had grown in sympathy with the rest. It was still green, full of tall, lush oaks and elms in summer; a creek ran through it, and the kids climbed around on its convolutions shouting, "This way, gang - we'll take a short-cut and head them off at Dead Man's Gulch!”
“He was still a mystery to me. And God, did I want to play Nancy Drew.”
Source: Losing It
“He was still alive. Which was the worst thing that could have happened.”
“He was still climbing. Here and there doors opened revealing vast rooms, dormitories with heavy joists where bells were sleeping. A vague feeling stirred within Borluut as he went over to them. They were not entirely at rest,just as virgins are never completely at rest. Their sleep was visited by dreams. He felt as if they were about to move, stretch, moan like sleepwalkers. The incessant murmuring among the bells! A noise that persists, like the sound of the sea in shells! They never empty themselves entirely. Sound forming like beads of sweat! A condensation of music on the bronze...”
Source: The Bells of Bruges
“He was still dazed, and though she hated to admit it, he was actually rather attractive. If a girl happened to like that square-jaw, bright-blue-eyes, devilish-dimples kind of thing. Although he was in desperate need of a haircut and a good shave.”
“He was still experimenting with kissing girls even though he said he'd rather be kissing boys. That's exactly what he said. I didn't know exactly what to think about that, but Dante was going to be Dante and if I was going to be his friend, I would just have to learn to be okay with it.”