H Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with H. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“His blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself. And as it did, Lestats words made sense to me. I knew peace only when I killed and when I heard his heart in that terrible rhythm, I knew again what peace could be.”
“His blood is black and boiling hot, he gurgles ghastly groans. He'll cook you in his dinner pot, your skin, your flesh, your bones.”
“His blood poured out on the cross was to bring about your healing. Every bruise inflicted upon his body was tolerated because of His overwhelming love for you. He knew every sin you’d commit, yet He still chose to bear your punishment.”
Source: Coffee Shop Devos: Daily Devotional Pick-Me-Ups for Teen Girls
“His blue eyes gazed down into mine. Eyes so much alike. I loved him as I loved the better side of myself, the brighter, happier side.
“Cathy,” he whispered, stroking my back, his eyes bright, “if you feel like crying, go ahead, I’ll understand. Cry enough for me too. I was hoping, praying that Momma would come and somehow give us a reasonable explanation for doing what she did.”
“A reasonable excuse for murder?” I asked bitterly. “How could she dream up one clever enough? She’s not that smart.”
He looked so miserable I tightened my arms about his neck. One hand stole into his hair and twined there. My other hand lowered to stroke his cheek.
Love, it was such an encompassing word, different from sex and ten times more compelling. I felt full of love for him when he lowered his face into my hair and sobbed. He murmured my name over and over again, as if I were the only person in the world who would ever be real and solid, and dependable.”
“His blue eyes smear into mine. 'You know, the sad thing is, I really liked you.' He gestures to my clothes. 'Even with all this, I could tell you were the same smart, funny girl I met in the café. That's who I wanted to get to know.'
I step forward. Eli knew, and he liked me. Not Alicia. 'I didn't thing you'd like me,' I say, my voice quiet. 'The real me.'
He shakes his head again. 'Now we'll never know.”
“His blue eyes were saying something Beryl had been wanting to hear—Edward needed her.
She reached out and touched the growing hair on his jaw. He had decided to let his beard grow over the cold months. He placed his hand over hers, and turning it slowly over, he kissed her wrist.
The sensation of his lips on her skin made Beryl’s knees feel weak. Good thing I’m sitting.”
Source: In a Grove of Maples
“His blue eyes were seas where sorrow sailed.”
Source: From the Corner of His Eye: A Novel
“His blue eyes were very dark...Will's were the colour of the sky just on the edge of the night.”
“His blue-green eyes were dark pools of immeasurable depth, pools you could drown yourself in and never again come up for air.”
Source: Storm and Silence
“His blue-black hair fell over his face when he moved, like tiny arrows pointing to pronounced cheeckbones. "Starting to think you were going to bail on me." "Didn't know you were expecting me," she said in what she hoped was a casual voice. He gets sexier every day. "Not Expecting, but hoping. Always hoping”
Source: Wicked Lovely with Bonus Material
“His boat sank. They were all on his side.”
Source: The New Land
“His body and his mind went about their different businesses. The former, freed from conscious instruction, breathed, rolled, sweated, and digested. The latter went dreaming.”
Source: Imajica
“His body didn't just want her. It demanded her, burned for her.”
Source: Dark Magic
“His body had almost no hair and his naked little circumcised johnson was nearly as pale as the rest of him, white as a boy's - perhaps over time one's genitals emerge from the pots and bubbling vats of love permanently stained, like the hands of a wool dyer.”
“His body had become a companion which seemed always about to leave him: it had its own pains which moved him to pity, and its own particular movements which he tried hard to follow. He had learned from it how to keep his eyes down on the road, so that he could see no one, and how important it was never to look back - although there were times when memories of an earlier life filled him with grief and he lay face down upon the grass until the sweet rank odour of the earth brought him to his senses. But slowly he forgot where it was he had come from, and what it was he was escaping.”
Source: Hawksmoor
“His body had stopped listening to him. He'd passed an invisible limit and simply shut down.”
Source: Crooked Kingdom
“His body is a masterpiece, inked in stories I long to trace.
Each muscle, carved like a goddess’ desire, tempts my fingertips to linger.
His smile disarms me, melts my doubts into longing.
His voice—low, smooth—sends shivers down my spine.
And his touch… oh, his touch—electric, addictive, unforgettable.
Against his chest, I find solace, the rhythm of his heartbeat my lullaby.
His ambition is wildfire, a force that builds empires—
Yet in my arms, he is simply mine.
Imperfect, yet perfect in every way that matters.
I don’t yet know his love, but I crave the way it would feel.
And something tells me, maybe, he craves me too.”
“His body is a weapon, in every sense. A cruelly beautiful, sublimely lethal weapon.
Sheer cosmic poetry. An ode to infinite blessing and destruction.
Wen White—CELESTIAL ACADEMY: Essence”
“His body is changing. He will strip down and start getting even bigger and stronger over the next few seasons and, seriously, how scary is that? He will be unstoppable. He has just got to realise how good he is and what he can do in the game if he puts his mind to it.”
“His body looks like a tattooed He-Man action figure. It can’t possibly be real.”
Source: You. Me. Bed. Now.
“His body recognized her. Knew her. Needed her. Every cell. He'd never been so acutely focused on another human being.”
Source: Toxic Game
“His body rigid with terror as he waited for the savages to something horrible to him—bash his head with clubs, or stab him with spears, or… …or tap him on the shoulder.”
“His body sang with electric energy at their closeness. He'd been physical with many girls in the past, but he'd never felt anything quite like this. They were barely touching and yet every sense in his body was raging like the surface of a storming sea.”
Source: The Whyte Divide
“His body shook as his grin spread to a smile. Then he asked, "You honestly think you can tackle me?"
"I didn't say it would be a successful tackle."
And then my husband burst out laughing.
And I watched.
He didn't give this to me often but I always watched. This time it was way better because he was doing it while still inside me.
Then his laughter died to a chuckle, he dropped his forehead to mine and his hand came up and curled around the side of my neck.
And when he did the last, the laughter died, his eyes held mine and he whispered, "Is my mama home?"
I swallowed but I still knew my eyes got bright and my voice was husky when I whispered back, "Yes."
He closed his eyes, shifted the lower half of his face and touched his mouth to mine. Then he lifted his head away, opened his eyes and I felt his thumb stroke my jaw.
His gaze again locked with mine, he told me gently, "Missed you, baby."
I swallowed again and my arms and legs tightened around him. "Me too."”
“His body shook. His heartbeat slowed. His lungs filled with poison.
And just as his sight faded, just as his body gave up—Something inside him had awoken.”
“His body walks out onto the darkened stage , and a roar goes up from the crowd. He stands in front of the mic, and he can feel his face twist in a sneer-the Elvis sneer from his dreams-though he never told it to move. He is powerless now, a spectator at his own moment of glory.”
Source: Voice
“His body was sweet and clean smelling. As she finished [massaging his dislocated shoulder], Fay bent and gently kissed him on the neck, that part where the skin is so soft abd sensitive, midway between the angle of the jaw and the hair line at the back of the neck. He opened his eyes, startled, then smiled as he murmured, "Oh! It's you. That's all right." He folded his arms about her, bringing her head close to his, then like a contented child sank into a deep sleep. His clean body odor gave her keenest delight. She hesitated to attempt to alter their relationship, and possibly lose him entirely. He had accepted her as a pal, that she would be.”
“His body was taut, near-trembling.
'What happened between you?' I hissed when we were lost among the hedges and gravel paths of the garden.
'It's not worth repeating.'
'When I- was taken,' I ventured, almost stumbling on the word, almost saying left, 'Did she and Tamlin...'
I was not faking the twisting low in my gut.
'No,' he said hoarsely. 'No. When Calanmai came along, he refused. He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but...'
...
But Lucien... 'You took Ianthe into that cave on Calanmai?'
He wouldn't meet my gaze. 'She insisted. Tamlin was... Things were bad, Feyre. I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court. I went of my own free will. And we completed the Rite.'
No wonder she'd backed off him. She'd gotten what she wanted.
'Please don't tell Elain,' he said. 'When we- when we find her again,' he amended.
He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn't enjoyed it. Some line had been blurred- badly.
And my heart shifted a bit in my chest as I said to him with no guile whatsoever, 'I won't tell anyone unless you say so.' The weight of the jewelled knife and belt seemed to grow. 'I wish I had been there to stop it. I should have been there to stop it.' I meant every word.
Lucien squeezed our linked arms as we rounded a hedge, the house rising up before us. 'You are a better friend to me, Feyre,' he said quietly, 'than I ever was to you.”
Source: A Court of Wings and Ruin
“His body "was the corporeal archive of his pugnacious soul. The bullet [from a duel] caused him 'violent pain' on a regular basis, with bouts of blood gurgling into his mouth as well as probable poisoning from the ball leaking lead into his system. He could barely eat. Plagued by malaria and recurring bouts of typhoid, typhus and dysentery, his merciless battle wounds scarred his internal organs as much as his outward appearance. His teeth were painfully rotten...”
Source: Freedom’s Dominion: A Saga of White Resistance to Federal Power
“His bondage had softened him. Irresponsibility had weakened him. He had forgotten how to shift for himself. The night yawned about him.”
Source: White Fang (Arcadia Classics)
“His bones ached of a morning, winter and summer, these days; it was only a matter of degree.”
Source: Hell and Earth
“His book For Whom the Bell Tolls was an instant success in the summer of 1940, and afforded him the means to live in style at his villa outside of Havana with his new wife Mary Welsh, whom he married in 1946. It was during this period that he started getting headaches and gaining weight, frequently becoming depressed. Being able to shake off his problems, he wrote a series of books on the Land, Air and Sea, and later wrote The Old Man and the Sea for which he won the Pulitzer Prize in May 1954. Hemingway on a trip to Africa where he barely survived two successive airplane crashes. Returning to Cuba, Ernest worked reshaping the recovered work and wrote his memoir, A Moveable Feast. He also finished True at First Light and The Garden of Eden. Being security conscious, he stored his works in a safe deposit box at a bank in Havana.
His home Finca Vigía had become a hub for friends and even visiting tourists. It was reliably disclosed to me that he frequently enjoyed swinger’s parties and orgies at his Cuban home. In Spain after divorcing Frank Sinatra Hemingway introduced Ava Gardner to many of the bullfighters he knew and in a free for all, she seduced many of hotter ones. After Ava Gardner’s affair with the famous Spanish bullfighter Luis Miguel Dominguín crashed, she came to Cuba and stayed at Finca Vigía, where she had what was termed to be a poignant relationship with Ernest. Ava Gardner swam nude in the pool, located down the slope from the Hemingway house, after which he told his staff that the water was not to be emptied. An intimate friendship grew between Hemingway’s forth and second wife, Mary and Pauline. Pauline often came to Finca Vigia, in the early 1950s, and likewise Mary made the crossing of the Florida Straits, back to Key West several times. The ex-wife and the current wife enjoyed gossiping about their prior husbands and lovers and had choice words regarding Ernest.
In 1959, Hemingway was in Cuba during the revolution, and was delighted that Batista, who owned the nearby property, that later became the location of the dismal Pan Americana Housing Development, was overthrown. He shared the love of fishing with Fidel Castro and remained on good terms with him. Reading the tea leaves, he decided to leave Cuba after hearing that Fidel wanted to nationalize the properties owned by Americans and other foreign nationals. In the summer of 1960, while working on a manuscript for Life magazine, Hemingway developed dementia becoming disorganized and confused. His eyesight had been failing and he became despondent and depressed. On July 25, 1960, he and his wife Mary left Cuba for the last time.
He never retrieved his books or the manuscripts that he left in the bank vault. Following the Bay of Pigs Invasion, the Cuban government took ownership of his home and the works he left behind, including an estimated 5,000 books from his personal library. After years of neglect, his home, which was designed by the Spanish architect Miguel Pascual y Baguer in 1886, has now been largely restored as the Hemingway Museum. The museum, overlooking San Francisco de Paula, as well as the Straits of Florida in the distance, houses much of his work as well as his boat housed near his pool.”
“His books are exciting and powerful and — if I may filch the word from the booksy ones — pulsing.”
Source: A month of Saturdays: thirty-one famous pieces by
“His books are kept on freestanding shelves hung at different angles on a sea-green wall. They defy gravity, as good books should.”
Source: Boy Meets Boy
“His books commingled democratically, united under the all-inclusive flag of Literature. Some were vertical, some horizontal, and some actually placed behind others. Mine were balkanized by nationality and subject matter.”
Source: Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader
“His books were part of him. Each year of his life, it seemed, his books became more and more a part of him. This room, thirty by twenty feet, and the walls of shelves filled with books, had for him the murmuring of many voices. In the books of Herodotus, Tacitus, Rabelais, Thomas Browne, John Milton, and scores of others, he had found men of face and voice more real to him than many a man he had met for a smoke and a talk.”
Source: Remembrance Rock
“His books were the closest thing he had to furniture and he lived in them the way other men live in easy chairs.”
Source: Seabiscuit: An American Legend
“His brain was in one of those states that are both violent and yet frighteningly calm, in which thought runs so deep it blots out reality. You no longer see the objects around you, yet you can see the shapes in your mind as thought they are outside your body.”
Source: Les Misérables
“His breath fell in a warm, even rhythm on the curve of her cheek. “Some people think of the bee as a sacred insect,” he said. “It’s a symbol of reincarnation.”
“I don’t believe in reincarnation,” she muttered.
There was a smile in his voice. “What a surprise. At the very least, the bees’ presence in your home is a sign of good things to come.”
Her voice was buried in the fine wool of his coat. “Wh-what does it mean if there are thousands of bees in one’s home?”
He shifted her higher in his arms, his lips curving gently against the cold rim of her ear. “Probably that we’ll have plenty of honey for teatime. We’re going through the doorway now. In a moment I’m going to set you on your feet.”
Amelia kept her face against him, her fingertips digging into the layers of his clothes. “Are they following?”
“No. They want to stay near the hive. Their main concern is to protect the queen from predators.”
“She has nothing to fear from me!”
Laughter rustled in his throat. With extreme care, he lowered Amelia’s feet to the floor. Keeping one arm around her, he reached with the other to close the door. “There. We’re out of the room. You’re safe.” His hand passed over her hair. “You can open your eyes now.”
Clutching the lapels of his coat, Amelia stood and waited for a feeling of relief that didn’t come. Her heart was racing too hard, too fast. Her chest ached from the strain of her breathing. Her lashes lifted, but all she could see was a shower of sparks.
“Amelia … easy. You’re all right.” His hands chased the shivers that ran up and down her back. “Slow down, sweetheart.”
She couldn’t. Her lungs were about to burst. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t get enough air. Bees … the sound of buzzing was still in her ears. She heard his voice as if from a great distance, and she felt his arms go around her again as she sank into layers of gray softness.
After what could have been a minute or an hour, pleasant sensations filtered through the haze. A tender pressure moved over her forehead. The gentle brushes touched her eyelids, slid to her cheeks. Strong arms held her against a comfortingly hard surface, while a clean, salt-edged scent filled her nostrils. Her lashes fluttered, and she turned into the warmth with confused pleasure.
“There you are,” came a low murmur.
Opening her eyes, Amelia saw Cam Rohan’s face above her. They were on the hallway floor—he was holding her in his lap. As if the situation weren’t mortifying enough, the front of her bodice was gaping, and her corset was unhooked. Only her crumpled chemise was left to cover her chest.
Amelia stiffened. Until that moment she had never known there was a feeling beyond embarrassment, that made one wish one could crumble into a pile of ashes. “My … my dress…”
“You weren’t breathing well. I thought it best to loosen your corset.”
“I’ve never fainted before,” she said groggily, struggling to sit up.
“You were frightened.” His hand came to the center of her chest, gently pressing her back down. “Rest another minute.” His gaze moved over her wan features. “I think we can conclude you’re not fond of bees.”
Source: Mine Till Midnight
“His breath hitched, and he regarded me hungrily. “You’re playing with fire, you know that?”
“That’s weird, considering you’re an ice prin—” I didn’t get any further, as Ash leaned in and kissed me.”
Source: Winter's Passage
“His breath in my ear, he ran his tongue along the curved edge, sucking the fleshy lobe and my small diamond stud into his mouth, and my eyes drifted closed while I babbled a weak sound of longing.”
“His breath inhaled something—something I could have only assumed was me—and exhaled it profoundly back into the night. It almost seemed like he was trying to blow it out of his system to be selfless, so it would flow through the earth and nestle and take root somewhere safe. So there was something of me, lasting forever.”
Source: Counting Stars
“His breath is so bad why every time he smokes he blows onion rings.”
“His breath warms my cheek, his voice a low rasp that coils down my spine like a dare. Maybe it’s the blackout. Maybe it’s the way the storm outside howls like it’s cheering us on. Maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in what feels like forever, he isn’t pushing me away.”
Source: Under the Winter Spell: A Forced Proximity, Estranged to Lovers, Class Difference Erotica Romance
“His breathing was heavy, and full of life. He shivered still, his hand finding Katty unsteady and unprepared of what was going to come next.
“I hurt you!” Nico said, his voice raised with worry.
“No, not at all, honey, my sweetest Master, but you have me, all of me, the wholeness of me and my darkness.”
“You play with the devil dear.” Nico sombered.
“No.” Katty defiantly said. “You took my blood and it made me your slave, yet I love every minute of it.”
“Tell me you love me Katty.” He said, nearing her closer than close, mending the space between them with the threads of courage. “Tell me you have no fear, nor no weakness against me. Or no shame in loving me.”
“I fear you not, my love.” Katty sincerely committed. “I fear only that you will be taken away by the hands of the vampire hunter, and only then, will I fall.”
“His breathing was heavy and he was somber. He shivered still, and when his hand found me it was unsteady.
"Ah," I said smiling still, and kissing his shoulder.
"I hurt you!" he said.
"No, no, not at all, sweet Master," I answered. "But I hurt you! I have you, now!"
"Amadeo, you play with the devil."
"Dont you want me to, Master? Didn't you like it? You took my blood and it made you my slave!"
He laughed. "So that's the twist you put on it, isn't it?"
"Hmmm. Love me. What does it matter?" I asked.
"Never tell the others," he said. There was no fear or weakness or shame in it.”
“His bridge partner of ten years arrives and brings him a pamphlet on holistic approaches to treating cancer. Has he met my dad —Jimmy Dean sausage's biggest buyer? The bridge partner asks me how my kids are doing. He thinks I'm my brother Christian. I tell him my daughter is becoming an accomplished hair stylist and colorist, which my niece is. Two more bridge players come up and ask to pray over Dad. I start to imagine a Christian rock group named the Fundamentalist Bridge Play-ers. Then his most foul-mouthed friend, who he has played golf with for years, stops by. He’s been born again since his wife died a year ago. He tells my dad, "We have to get you right with God," and forces us all to hold hands and pray over my dad around his hospital bed. Another friend comes and brings him Ensure. My dad has said a thousand times that he can't eat, but he is knocking down those Ensures. This guy asks me, "Is your sister Polly coming?" "We are coming in shifts," I say.”
Source: Becoming a Man: The Story of a Transition
“His bridge partner of ten years arrives and brings him a pamphlet on holistic approaches to treating cancer. Has he met my dad —Jimmy Dean sausage's biggest buyer? The bridge partner asks me how my kids are doing. He thinks I'm my brother Christian. I tell him my daughter is becoming an accomplished hair stylist and colorist, which my niece is. Two more bridge players come up and ask to pray over Dad. I start to imagine a Christian rock group named the Fundamentalist Bridge Players. Then his most foul-mouthed friend, who he has played golf with for years, stops by. He’s been born again since his wife died a year ago. He tells my dad, "We have to get you right with God," and forces us all to hold hands and pray over my dad around his hospital bed. Another friend comes and brings him Ensure. My dad has said a thousand times that he can't eat, but he is knocking down those Ensures. This guy asks me, "Is your sister Polly coming?" "We are coming in shifts," I say.”
Source: Becoming a Man: The Story of a Transition
“His broken pieces wouldn’t fill the holes from her missing ones. They both had to learn how to be okay alone before they could learn how to be okay together.”
“His broken rib was stabbing into his side. The pain was torture, but he did not have time to think about it. He loaded a new magazine and continued shooting.”
Source: The Manhattanville Incident: An Undead Novel