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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

“Her sister's eyes slid to her. Nesta swallowed, holding Feyre's gaze. She prayed that her sister could read the silent words on her face. I am sorry for what I said to you in Amren's apartment. I am truly sorry. Feyre's eyes softened. And then, to Nesta's shock, Feyre answered in her mind, Don't worry about it. Nesta steeled herself, shaking off her surprise. She'd forgotten that her sister was... What was the word? Daemati. Able to mind-speak, as Rhys could. Nesta said, heart thundering, I spoke in anger, and I'm sorry. Feyre's pause was considerable. Then she said, the words like the first rays of dawn, I forgive you. Nesta tried not to sag.”

“Her six-year-old brain had lost her father at sweet and was still stuck trying to decipher lemonade. "But lemon is pretty, Dad. It's yellow. Like sun." Her father nodded, his lips curved up at the corners. "Sun is pretty and it has a smiley face. Sun is not bad." "No, I guess it's not." Her father chuckled. "I love sun." "Of course you do, sweetie-pie." "So lemon is nice, too." "I believe so, but some people don't like the taste. It's too sour, they say." She looked back at her father and said with a tone that suggested what other people thought about lemon was crazy. "Then add sugar. No need to blame the lemon.”

“Her skin is moon-luster white, but with undercurrents of blue, like an entire network of split, broken veins. It stretches like old parchment over the amalgam of enlarged muscles that she presumably calls arms or legs; the bulk is such that I can’t tell if she has only arms and no legs, or vice versa. If she wanted to, she could easily pursue an enemy on all fours, or else wield a freezeshot weapon in every one of her clawed hands. Or feet. My brain spins from trying to process. Wings, too, arch powerfully from her shoulder blades, their span broader than my height. They look like aged leather. I have the strangest urge to, if I were closer, run my fingers across the membrane, see if it feels as strong and solid as it looks. “Better?” the monster says, sardonic. She draws her arm back, the ball of false flame now illuminating her face. My breath catches in my throat. She looms above me, even as I rise up on my toes, her height terminating at perhaps eight feet. That arch of jawline could’ve been carved from glass, and likewise the curves of her cheeks, the solid line of her brow—her face is more bones than skin, a skeleton animated, a corpse confused at its own continued breath.”

“Her skin was hot now, though all that remained on her body was the long, white shirt and her thick wool stockings. He stripped her of the latter, one by one, then bent his head and pressed a worshipful kiss to her bare knee. He stayed like that for a long moment, his head bowed before her, his lips against her skin. She petted his head, hesitantly at first, running her palm over his snow-dampened hair, as black as the night. Then, gently, she molded her fingers against his roughened cheek and rugged jaw. He lifted his head and gazed at her with a passionate near adoration that took her breath away. Without warning, she sat up and lifted the shirt off over her head, offering herself to him in virginal, tongue-tied silence. Surely he knew she'd have done this for free. Just like she knew he'd have protected her, expecting nothing in return. He breathed her name, heartily accepting her gift of herself. He rose to claim her lips once more, enfolding her in his arms. She gloried in his mouth on hers and the smooth warmth of his hands caressing her bare back, her arms, her sides. She returned his kisses in wild, reckless abandon, burning for him now, touching him everywhere, relishing the sleek iron hardness of his broad shoulders, massive arms.”

“Her skin was the diary of her soul. All the springs she had watched the flowers bloom. The summers she had stood before the moon and kissed its face. The autumns she had grown wiser. The winters that had frozen the initials of her name. Each wrinkle was a record of this and of every hour, minute, and seconds she had lived. All her secrets were written in her skin. The things she had asked God for. The things she had cursed the devil about. In such an age before me, I saw only beauty.”

“Her skirts, sleeves, collar, and hat saw to it that none of the young ruffians of the Leased Territories would have the opportunity to invade her body space with their eyes, and lest her distinctive face prove too much of a temptation, she wore a veil too... The veil offered Nell protection from unwanted scrutiny. Many New Atlantis career women also used the veil as a way of meeting the world on their own terms, ensuring that they were judged on their own merits and not on their appearance. It served a protective function as well, bouncing back the harmful rays of the sun...”

“Her small bedroom was decorated with cheerfully embroidered samplers, which she had stitched herself, and a shelf containing an intricate shellwork tableau. In her parlor, the chimneypiece was crammed with pottery owls, sheep, and dogs, and dishes painted with blue and white Chinoiserie fruits and flowers. Along the picture rail of one wall was an array of brightly colored plates. Dotted about the other walls were half a dozen seascape engravings showing varying climactic conditions, from violent tempest to glassy calm. To the rear was an enormous closet that she used as a storeroom, packed with bottled delicacies such as greengage plums in syrup, quince marmalade, nasturtium pickles, and mushroom catsup, which infused all three rooms with the sharp but tantalizing aromas of vinegar, fruit, and spices.”

“Her smile faded. “Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was…he gave me a silver bracelet. I don’t know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don’t know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn’t matter.”

“Her smile flashed cruelly in the darkness. “You’re right, I’m not for you. I belong to myself. And you, like all the others, think you could hurt me so easily. You’ve got it backward. The pain comes from me. I bring it. I make it. So if you’re going to run, run because you’re afraid of how I will hurt you. Not the other way around. And if you do run, don’t ever come near me again. Just because I’m strong doesn’t mean I want a man who’s weak.”

“Her smile turned to one of joy and something he could not quite define. “You really do love me.” “I do.” He couldn’t help but smile back at her, at the note of wonder in her voice as if she were the lucky one. His finger traced the small dimple in her cheek. “But I doubt you will ever be able to understand how much. My world was a very dark place before you came into it. I am at home in the darkness, and you will likely see traces of it still lingering in the years to come. Intrigues abound in Venice, and I will be vigilant about protecting you. There will likely be times when you see a side of me that is … unpleasant, although hopefully not as unpleasant as the day we encountered the mercenaries.”

“Her smile was brittle. "Well, I know Kieran's achieving something if someone like you is willing to be in a relationship with him." "Someone like me?" She gestured to me from head to toe. "Respectable. Elegantly dressed, if a little flamboyant with color. Beautiful manners, well-spoken. Clearly you listened to your parents when they told you how to behave." I choked back a snort at the thought of my biological father being Mr. Manners. The sheer audacity of it. "Kieran probably hasn't told you about all the times we had to get him out of trouble," she continued. I blinked, confused. "No." She ticked off on her fingers as she spoke. "He skipped classes, he stole money out of my wallet, he crashed our cars more than once. Not to mention the drinking, my God. He couldn't hold his liquor at all. We were so ashamed." I held back my eye roll. It was like having a conversation with a steamroller. As she continued to list Kieran's crimes, I realized that she relished this monologue, all the ways he'd done them wrong. Like she never wanted him to grow up because then she'd have to stop being a martyr. "But anyway, that's all in the past. Finally, he's become who we always wanted him to be, and we can hold our heads up." The thought of being a source of pride to these snobby, plastic people made me want to drink ten flutes of prosecco, climb onto their dining room table, and do Amy Winehouse karaoke, Diane's advice about polish and presentation be damned. But all I needed to shock them was the truth. "I haven't seen my father in over twenty years," I began. "As far as I know he's still the lead singer of the second-best hair metal band in Spokane. My mother's salary was for keeping herself in clothes and boyfriends. Sometimes I had to break into my piggy bank so that I could by Cup O' Noodles at 7-Eleven for my brother and me. I've made a good life in spite of my parents, not because of them. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with your son. I knew he was a survivor, too. But thank you for the compliments. Now, if you'll excuse me.”