H Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with H. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“Helen Keller was blind and deaf when she graduated from college with honors. So what's your problem?”
“Helen likes Brussels sprouts. How can anyone trust her opinion?”
Source: Marrying Winterborne
“Helen looked around the room as though if he just looked too, he would see it. Would see the memories that she faced in every corner. She wanted to explain, but instead, her mind darted to the last time she had visited home, the Christmas before when she and her parents had only given gifts to fill the bomb shelter. The bleakness of war had penetrated their house that night, the depressing presents and rationed food nothing compared to the vacant seats around the table. The quietness had choked them. Now its fingers curled only around her throat.”
Source: The Ocean's Daughter :
“Helen Lowe writes wonderful stories, yes, but her work also speaks with lyricism to deeper questions of how we treat each other. With lovely prose that brings vivid life to her characters, she creates a universe with people we care about. This is an author with a gift for fantasy.”
“Helen?’ Lucas asked, his voice faint and breathy.
‘Make sound. If alive,’ he barley managed to say.”
Source: Starcrossed
“Helen, marvelling at Joyce's capacity for self-protection, often wondered at her choice of career. It had something to do with order, she decided; Joyce mistrusted books for their content, but liked the way they could be marshalled. The readers were simply an unlooked-for hazard.”
Source: Passing On
“Helen mi prese la mano, come se fosse impaurita. Mi ricordava lo sguardo di una bambina in cerca del proprio padre. Scossi la testa e la abbracciai. Lei era sola almeno quanto me, la comprendevo.”
Source: Gli ultimi giorni del Corvo
“Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep can play with the boys but there just aren't that many tour-de-force roles out there for women.”
“Helen Mirren is like the sexiest woman on the planet to me. She is. Just the way she goes about everything.”
“Helen Mirren is someone that I have really admired ever since I saw her in Excalibur. That was the first thing I said to her. "I loved you as Morgan Le Fay."”
“Helen of Troy Does Counter Dancing
The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.
I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worst suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshipers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretense
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slam of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meaning are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mothers was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.
Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look - my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.”
Source: Morning in the Burned House: Poems
“Helen of Troy's face started the Trojan war. Stupid as it is, Never forget the true power of your womanhood.”
“Helen of Troy, a hooker from Upstate New York. Never got a dinner!”
“Helen Rosevere was a British medical missionary in the Congo years ago during an uprising. Her faith was strong and her trust was confident, yet she was raped and assaulted and treated brutally. Commenting later, she said, "I must ask myself a question as if it came directly from the Lord, 'Can you thank Me for trusting you with this experience even if I never tell you why?'" What a profound thought. God has trusted each of us with our own set of unfair circumstances and unexplained experiences to deal with. Can we still trust in Him even if He never tells us why?”
“Helen's books were her friends, "the kind you invite for dinner in the middle of winter," she'd told him, " and spend all night talking and never go to bed.”
Source: The Roar
“Helen's gaze remained on her sister, as she noticed that Cassandra had recently lost the gangly, coltish look of childhood. She bore an astonishing resemblance to Jane, with the immaculate prettiness of her bone structure and bow-shaped lips, the sunlight-colored curls, and heavily lashed blue eyes.
Fortunately Cassandra was a softer, infinitely kinder version of their mother. And Pandora, for all her prankish high spirits, was the most sweet-natured girl imaginable.”
Source: Marrying Winterborne
“Helen's Saigon had always been about selling - chickens, information, or lovely young women, it didn't matter. It had once been called the Pearl of the Orient, but by people who had not been there in a very long time. Saigon had never been Paris, but now it was a garrison town, unlovely, a stinking refugee shantyville filled with the angry, the betrayed, the dispossessed, but she had made it her home, and she couldn't bear that soon she would have to leave.”
Source: The Lotus Eaters
“Helen’s secretary’s phone was ringing off the hook as Clavier and I passed through the antechamber and into the hallway. Once we were outside, I rounded on him.
“I’m not going to apologize. What you did to me was unconscionable, and now that Alexa is sick—” The urge to strike out at him welled up in me like a flash fire, and I braced my hand against the wall so as not to give in to the impulse. “I want access to everything. And your full cooperation. I am going to make this right, damn it, whatever it takes.”
He stared at me coldly. “Save your self-righteous invectives for someone who will be moved by them.”
I took a menacing step forward, despite my determination to remain poised. “Hoping for a repeat performance? You must get off on asphyxiation.” At the spark of anger in his eyes, I laughed. “The first thing that’s going to happen is that I am going to talk to Sebastian. And you are going to call whoever you need to call to make that happen. Right now.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned sharply and headed for the stairwell.”
Source: Nevermore
“Helen slipped her fingers into the top of his breeks and pulled on the cord holding them up.
An infant's cry squealed from inside the cottage.
Eoin touched his forehead to hers and chuckled. "It appears we timed things a bit late."
Helen took in a ragged breath. "Will you remember where we are until we're alone this eve?"
He nuzzled against her ear. "I'll be thinking of it every moment until then."
Maggie's cries rose until they bordered on panic stricken.
Helen gave him one last kiss. "Then I shall hold you to it.”
Source: Highland Knight of Rapture
“Helen slowly became aware of an unnerving red light. She lifted her head and looked around. The glow bounced off the cold stone walls and intensified quickly. It filled her with thoughts of despair and hopelessness. She tried to shake them off.
You have what’s mine! Where is it? I want it!
Helen shuddered violently. She recalled the inner voice that urged
her to use the stone to keep Prince Harnak from dying. That voice was
comforting and encouraging. This voice was oppressive and angry and
beat on her relentlessly.
“No!” she muttered. “Go away. I have nothing for you or anyone
else, not even me.”
The red light flickered out. Only the numbing cold and her utter
isolation, cheerless companions, remained.”
Source: Stoneslayer: Book One Scandal
“Helen stared at him "How do you do that? How do you figure everything out so quickly?"
"You may be all-powerful, but nothing beats plain old logic." He smiled at her”
Source: Goddess
“Helen Tse tells a gripping tale of struggle, laughter, love and food that marks Sweet Mandarin as a must read book. It is not only an immigrant account of life but also a universal touching story of survival that will move your soul as well.”
“Helen Vendler calls this kind of interrogation of a work "roads not taken," suggesting that it's useful, when writing critically, to consider what differences it makes to the work or the encounter with the work if changes are made. It's one way of better understanding your experience, comparing it to other possible experiences you can imagine having.”
“Helen was bewildered to find herself surrounded by air as warm as the breath of summer. Slowly she walked into a large gallery, constructed of thousands of flashing, glittering glass panes in a network of wrought-iron ribs.
It was a glasshouse, she realized in bewilderment. On a rooftop. The ethereal construction, as pretty as a wedding cake, had been built on a sturdy brickwork base, with iron pillars and girders welded to vertical struts and diagonal tiers.
"This is for my orchids," she said faintly.
Rhys came up behind her, his hands settling at her waist. He nuzzled gently at her ear. "I told you I'd find a place for them."
A glass palace in the sky. It was magical, an inspired stroke of romantic imagination, and he had built it for her. Dazzled, she took in the view of London at sunset, a red glow westering across the leaden sky. The clouds were torn in places, gold light spilling through the fire-colored fleece.”
Source: Marrying Winterborne
“Helen was happy for them, and disdainful, and jealous of them for getting more of each other while she got less of them, and, mostly, astonished-that life could actually move forward like this into adulthood.”
Source: The End of the Point
“Helen was lost and isolated, unable to participate with the rest of
the group. She was outside the circle with no sense of any connection
to a Creator, and no concept of what unconditional love might feel
like. If any type of God had indeed created her, then that Deity had
made a mistake too cruel to forgive.”
Source: Stoneslayer: Book One Scandal
“Helen Weaver’s book was a revelation to me! Although I was a young woman in the fifties, I was there, but I wasn’t there! This is the most graphic, honest, shameless and moving documentary of what the newly liberated women in cities got up to–how they lived, loved and created. Who knew? It is time they did! And here’s how.”
“Helen will never admit what she wants. She's spent her entire life trying not to be a bother to anyone. She'd marry the devil himself if she thought it would help the family- and she's well aware that Eversby Priory would stand to benefit."
"She's not a child. She's a woman of one-and-twenty. Perhaps you didn't notice just now that she behaved with far more composure than you or I." On a callous note, he added gently, "And although it might surprise you, a lifetime of living under your thumb may not appeal to her.”
Source: Cold-Hearted Rake
“Helen, you would just have to sit still, close your eyes and think of me, and I would turn the universe inside out to find you. I would go anywhere and fight anything to get to you—witches, dragons, and even pirates. If I have to pass through a hundred lifetimes, I will do it to find you. I may be an old man and you may be an old woman. You may not even recognize me by the time it happens, but you will know and I will know, because nothing can separate us. We will always be together. I promise you. Now stop worrying.”
Source: Where There Is Love
“Helen, your sinful deeds brought a bitter end
to Priam and his lovely children. They say
because of you holy Ilium was destroyed
by climbing fire.
But the son of Aiakos did not find such a wife
when he summoned the blessed gods to his wedding
and took the delicate sea nymph Thetis from
the watery palace
of Nereus, bringing her to the mountain cave
of the centaur Cheiron. There, the love of Peleus
for his sea-nymph led him to lie naked with
the untouched virgin,
and within the year she bore a son, Achilles;
bravest demigod and splendid driver of
tawny stallions. But for Helen, Ilium and
her people were destroyed.”
“Helena (Bonham Carter) is one of the coolest kindest women I've ever met. We had so much fun. She has the best sense of humor. I loved her fairy godmother. It came at a point during night shoots where I was exhausted. It was trippy, weird and cold ... and then Helena showed up. It was like this bright light on the horizon; it was wonderful.”
“Helena Bonham-Carter and I sat down to talk about [Cinderella movie] and she said, 'I really want to do it but only one thing I insist on and that's wings.' She had to have wings and [costume designer] Sandy Powell didn't want wings to begin with but had to be talked around, but that was fun.”
“Helena: Debemos terminar. Tú eres un hombre peligroso.
Antonio: ¿Peligroso?
Helena: Tú eres de los que aman pues.
Antonio: Es ¿Qué acaso tú no quieres ser amada?
Helena selló sus labios, lo miró con sus ojos temblando, montó en su moto y se marchó.
Frase de "OLLANTAYTAMBO, Una historia de amor en las alturas”
“Helena had been standing by her window looking out to sea, breathing in the fresh air and admiring the picturesque scene of a small ship sailing into the harbor.
She had not been able to think of anything other than Mikolas for days."
From LONGING the 3rd chapter of TRUE LOVE”
“Helena, hermosa flor púrpura, el tormento de toda una ciudad sacrificada a su belleza...”
Source: Il giuramento
“Helena: O weary night, O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east,
That I may back to Athens by daylight,
From these that my poor company detest:
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
Steal me awhile from mine own company.”
Source: A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Helena smiled to herself, knowing they were discussing her...
"Even though she makes me a farmer?"
"She makes you a happy farmer.”
Source: Norse Jewel
“Helene nodded thoughtfully. “What could have been so secret that you’d want to hide it from your own sister?” she wondered.
“Half-sister,” I corrected. “Thankfully, or we’d have been related to her too. How grim would that have been!”
“Rather grim,” Helene agreed.”
Source: Everything
“Helene straightened up from her trunk and pursed her already-drawn lips. “It’s a bit like Mr Holmes always said. ‘Pay attention to details. Everything is important’.”
“Actually I don’t think Mr Holmes ever did say that, not quite in those words at any rate! But I take your point. Anything might be important, therefore everything is important.” I glanced back towards the corner with the pile of burlap sacks thoughtfully. “Everything is important. Everything is a circle.”
“What?” Helene’s startled face appeared round a stack of old books that had an ancient spinning-wheel Miss Hurst had thrown out years ago reposing haughtily—albeit somewhat askew—on top.
“Oh, nothing.”
Source: Everything
“Helga never will admit that she is clever, yet I find she discovers from me what she wants to know, and I suspect hides successfully the small matters of which she in her wifely discretion deems I had best remain ignorant. Being thus able to manage me, she was equal to coping with the butler.”
Source: Rupert of Hentzau
“Helgarson won’t tell me, but it must have been bad. His fangs pop out if you just say ‘Thor’ aloud, and he hunts carpenters simply because they use hammers.”
Source: Hounded
“HELIANTHUS:
DARK MANUSCRIPT
(7 Luka Vincent, yang Tak Pernah Selesai Dibaca Cahaya)
I. Asal Cahaya
Kuning adalah luka paling tua
yang menetes dari tubuh matahari
ke nadi seorang lelaki
yang tak pernah sanggup
menanggung pagi.
Setiap tetesnya
menggores helai urat syaraf
retak dan denyut seperti
lonceng gereja yang kehilangan doa.
Arles memanggilnya
dengan suara serak
dari tembok lembab
sebuah rumah kuning
yang lebih mirip mulut cacing
yang menelan sepi.
II. Anatomi Sebuah Telinga
Di tubuhnya tumbuh seekor singa
yang menggigiti dagingnya
dari dalam ke luar.
Orang-orang menyebutnya “gila”
karena mereka takut pada binatang yang selalu lapar.
Namun ia tahu:
yang mengaum itu adalah cahaya
yang tak sanggup ia jinakkan.
Cahaya yang mengelupas kulit
seperti kuku Gauguin
yang meninggalkan jejak garam
di punggung.
Maka ia memotong telinganya
sebagai tumbal—
segumpal daging kecil
yang ia bungkus rapi
dalam sapu tangan putih
dan ia persembahkan
kepada suara yang ia kejar
sejak kanak-kanak.
III. Perjamuan Orang-Orang
yang Tak Selesai
Theo hanya memandangnya
seperti memandang sumur retak
tak berair.
Gachet mengukur nadinya
seperti menakar jarak
antara iman dan putus asa.
Gauguin menutup pintu
dan membiarkan lorong panjang itu
menjerit sendiri.
Di sudut café,
sebotol anggur pecah
seperti pecahnya bintang
di langit malam yang murung.
Nama-nama kalender
tergantung di dinding
seperti kepala-kepala
yang terpenggal.
Tak satu pun
cukup tajam
untuk menebas sunyi
yang bergema di benaknya.
IV. Kanvas yang Tak Menghendaki
Jiwa Pemiliknya
Ia menatap bunga-bunga matahari itu
yang rontok satu per satu
seperti gigi para martir.
Kuning di situ bukan warna.
Kuning adalah jeritan.
Kuning adalah mimpi buruk
yang merayap ke pori-pori
dan memakan tidur malamnya
hingga tak bersisa.
Setiap helai kelopak
adalah surat yang tak pernah ia kirim
kepada Tuhan
yang ia yakini sedang bersembunyi
di balik sepotong cermin retak.
V. Ladang Gandum dengan Langit
yang Tak Mengampuni
Pistol di tangannya
lebih dingin dari Saint-Remy.
Ia menembak bukan untuk mati.
Ia menembak untuk menutup suara
yang terus berbisik
dari sisi lain cahaya.
Asap kecil itu
terhenti di udara
seperti doa
yang ragu-ragu.
Namun maut menolak.
Bahkan kematian pun
tak ingin menginap
di tubuh seorang lelaki
yang terluka oleh cahaya.
Ia berjalan pulang
sambil menyeret bayangannya
yang terbelah dua.
VI. Epilog di Bawah Cahaya
yang Makin Pucat
Pada akhirnya,
lelaki itu hanya ingin
membiarkan cahaya
menembus tubuhnya
tanpa menyisakan nama.
Kanvas yang koyak
mengapung di udara
seperti burung-burung gagak
yang terlambat pulang.
Dunia tak akan pernah mengerti
mengapa seseorang
mencintai cahaya
lebih dari jiwanya sendiri.
Di liang lembab itu,
kelopak-kelopak bunga matahari
yang ia bawa sepanjang hidup
luruh satu demi satu
seperti mantra
yang kehilangan tuhan.
Desember 2025”
“HELIANTHUS: MINIATUR 7 METAMORFOSIS
I. Bunga yang Melihat Api
Helai-helai matahari berputar
di dalam tengkoraknya.
Seekor singa tidur dalam dadanya,
menggeram pada warna yang menolak lahir dari tangannya.
Malam tertawa biru—
sebuah parodi langit yang meminum kenangan.
Ia mendengar bintang jatuh
seperti gigi-gigi patah dari langit yang demam.
Telinganya pecah.
Darah menyala seperti obor kecil
di pintu sebuah rumah kuning
yang tak pernah selesai dibangun.
II. Litani Rumah Kuning
I
Di lorong-lorong sunyi Arles
sebuah kuas jatuh—
dan dunia berubah menjadi almanak yang hilang.
II
Bayang telinga,
sehelai saputangan,
nama yang tak kembali dari jendela.
III
Dalam malam penuh bintang
hanya debu yang mengingatkan kita
bahwa ia pernah memilih cahaya.
IV
Di Saint-Remy,
ruang-ruang putih menghafal langkahnya
lebih baik dari siapa pun.
III. Telinga, Matahari, Abu
Telinga jatuh.
Sebuah malam mengatup.
Batu meminum darahnya.
Kelopak—
abu kuning
di antara dua nadi.
Cahaya patah,
menggigil.
Ia berjalan
tanpa tubuh,
meninggalkan namanya
pada angin yang beku.
IV. Matahari yang Memeluk Luka
Ada matahari yang tumbuh
dari dadanya—
lambat, panas,
seperti buah yang ingin pecah.
Kelopak-kelopak cahaya
mengusap wajahnya
dengan kelembutan yang putus asa.
Dalam darahnya
berdenyut ladang-ladang kuning,
dan malam menunduk
untuk mencium keringatnya.
Ia mencintai cahaya
seperti orang lapar mencintai roti.
V. Cermin Matahari yang Terbelah
Ia berdiri di depan kanvas—
kini, dulu, nanti—
waktu melingkar pada ujung kuasnya.
Setiap warna yang gagal
adalah pintu menuju dirinya sendiri.
Telinganya—
sebuah jam rusak
yang terus memanggil cahaya.
Ia mati dan tidak mati
di saat yang sama,
karena setiap garis adalah
bekas langkah dari masa lalu
dan masa depan.
VI. Ruang Tempat Telinga Itu Jatuh
Kamar itu terlalu sunyi
untuk menampung napasnya.
Ia menekan kornea matanya
pada kanvas yang dingin,
mencari sedikit alasan
untuk tetap tinggal.
Darah dari telinganya
mengalir ke lantai—
membentuk peta kecil
tentang semua yang ia takuti.
Ia memberi hadiah paling lembut:
potongan dirinya
yang tak lagi sanggup ia simpan.
VII. Senja di Rumah Kuning
Senja yang berat
berdiri di atas rumah kuning.
Sepatu bot tua,
angin lembab,
bau anggur membusuk
di meja kayu retak.
Di luar jendela,
bunga matahari
menggelap perlahan—
seperti seseorang yang mengantuk
dalam penderitaannya sendiri.
Ia berjalan ke hutan,
dan daun-daun kering
jatuh satu per satu
seperti pikiran yang terluka.
Desember 2025”
“Helianthus
“The sadness will last forever.”
― Vincent van Gogh
Sebuah ingatan tak mampu menangkap geletar sebatang kuas.
Jari-jemari gagal menangkap rona mata kepedihan
membayang kabur di atas kanvas.
Pucat tube cat menelan harga diri
ekspresi beku palet kosong.
Seekor singa diam-diam mengeram,
mencabik daging sepotong demi sepotong.
Langit penuh bintang tertawa
menggigilkan telinga.
Tawa gila perempuan sundal
di perempatan jalan.
Telinga mengucur darah
oleh tajam sembilu
tak lagi goreskan biru
ke atas gaun malam.
Hutan terbakar.
memberang oleh kalut pikiran.
Kelopak matahari luruh
memenuhi liang lembab dan dingin.
Sernak hujan memutar masa lalu, melaknat pias rembulan.
Tapi ia belum mati, belum lagi.
Ada sisa asap
dari pistol teracung ke atas jidat mencabar benak.
Serpihan ngeri mengiris telinga terbungkus sehelai sapu tangan
berenda—
sebuah tanda mata.
Langit yang tak kunjung mati.
Langit yang melaknat diri sendiri.
Sebuah pusara, dalam keranjang
penuh kentang.
Malam penuh bintang dan sansai
sepasang sepatu bot usang—
kamar sunyi lengang.
Tertumpah gentong anggur
dalam perkelahian tak terkendali
bersama Theo dalam café penuh pelacur.
Almanak yang menyimpan ingatan semua nama: Gachet dan Gauguin
menambal luka meliang di sekujur tubuh;
maut yang menolak mencium busuk bau napasnya.
Rembulan mabuk di sepanjang jalan
dari Borinage, Antwerpen hingga ke Paris.
Jiwa yang menolak mati,
sampai Arles memangilnya kembali
Muram wajah rumah kuning itu,
taman bunga Irish layu
pohon Cypres menari-nari.
Dan Saint Remy
menunda kepulangannya sekali lagi.
Jemari gemetar mengulang
sketsa pada cemerlang warna
bunga mataharinya
dalam sebuah pot oranye
tetap seperti dulu juga.
Lelaki malang
yang mencintai kepedihan
begitu rupa
sebagaimana ia
mencintai cahaya
lebih dari jiwanya sendiri.
April 2014”
“Helicopters don't fly, they vibrate so badly the ground rejects them.”
“Helicopters make everything better.”
“Helion braced a hand on the door frame and grinned.
"How'd you convince Thesan to give you the better view?"
"He finds my males to be prettier than your, i think."
" I think it's a wing fetish”
Source: A Court of Wings and Ruin
“Helion braced a hand on the door frame and grinned. 'How'd you convince Thesan to give you the better view?'
'He finds my males to be prettier than yours, I think.'
'I think it's a wing fetish.”
Source: A Court of Wings and Ruin
“Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, arrived at the Hewn City the next afternoon on a flying horse.
He'd wanted to enter the dark city in a golden chariot led by four snow-white horses with manes of golden fire, Rhys had told Cassian, but Rhys had forbidden the chariot and horses, and let Helion know that he could winnow in or not come at all.
Hence the pegasus. Helion's idea of a compromise.
Cassian had heard the rumours of Helion's rage pegasuses. Myth claimed his prized stallion had flown so high the sun had scorched him black, but beholding the beast now... Well, Cassian might have been envious, if he didn't have wings himself.”
Source: A Court of Silver Flames
“Helion threw himself onto the couch across from Cassian and Mor. He'd ditched that radiant crown somewhere, but kept that gold armband of the upright serpent. 'It's been what- four centuries now, and you three still haven't accepted my offer.'
Mor lolled her head to the side. 'I don't like to share, unfortunately.'
'You never know until you try,' Helion purred.
The three of them in bed... with him? I must have been blinking like a fool because Rhys said to me, Helion favours both males and females. Usually together in his bed. And has been hounding after that trio for centuries.
I considered- Helion's beauty and the others... Why the hell haven't they said yes?”
Source: A Court of Wings and Ruin