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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“His dark eyes were on the road ahead, thoughtful. “No. I was hoping to go back to Tucson and see if I could get this hot chick I know to go out with me. I hear she’s in demand, though. She keeps putting me off each time I try to plan something romantic.” “Yeah, well, maybe if you come up with a good itinerary, you could lure her out.” “I was thinking dinner at Joe’s.” I made a face. “If that’s the case, maybe you’d better brace yourself for rejection.” “Red Pepper Bistro?” “Okay. Now you’re in the zone.” “Followed by a long massage in the sauna.” “That’s pretty good too.” “And then indecent things in the sauna.” “I hope you mean you’ll be doing the indecent things—because I more than did my share last night.” Kiyo glanced over at me with a mischievous grin. “Who says I’m talking about you?”

“His dark hair is perfectly recklessly up today, those tanned muscles flexing as he extends out his arms and does his little turn. And here I am, my breath caught between my lungs and my lips as he turns around and scans the crowd. As soon as he spots me, his eyes come alive, as alive as I feel when he smiles at me. He holds my gaze while those dimples flash, and I swear he stares at me in a way that makes me feel that I am the only woman here.”

“His dark head bent lower over hers. One of his hands released her shoulder, and his fingertips grazed the delicate curls at her temple. He was tight-lipped, as if enduring an exquisitely painful torture. Sara made an inarticulate sound as she felt his knuckles brush the highest edge of her cheek. The brightness of his gaze was like harsh sunlight. She felt as if she were drowning in the depths of burning green. His large hand cradled her cheek and jaw, his thumb testing the downy surface. "I'd forgotten how soft your skin was," he murmured.”

“His day is done. Is done. The news came on the wings of a wind, reluctant to carry its burden. Nelson Mandela’s day is done. The news, expected and still unwelcome, reached us in the United States, and suddenly our world became somber. Our skies were leadened. His day is done. We see you, South African people standing speechless at the slamming of that final door through which no traveller returns. Our spirits reach out to you Bantu, Zulu, Xhosa, Boer. We think of you and your son of Africa, your father, your one more wonder of the world. We send our souls to you as you reflect upon your David armed with a mere stone, facing down the mighty Goliath. Your man of strength, Gideon, emerging triumphant. Although born into the brutal embrace of Apartheid, scarred by the savage atmosphere of racism, unjustly imprisoned in the bloody maws of South African dungeons. Would the man survive? Could the man survive? His answer strengthened men and women around the world. In the Alamo, in San Antonio, Texas, on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, in Chicago’s Loop, in New Orleans Mardi Gras, in New York City’s Times Square, we watched as the hope of Africa sprang through the prison’s doors. His stupendous heart intact, his gargantuan will hale and hearty. He had not been crippled by brutes, nor was his passion for the rights of human beings diminished by twenty-seven years of imprisonment. Even here in America, we felt the cool, refreshing breeze of freedom. When Nelson Mandela took the seat of Presidency in his country where formerly he was not even allowed to vote we were enlarged by tears of pride, as we saw Nelson Mandela’s former prison guards invited, courteously, by him to watch from the front rows his inauguration. We saw him accept the world’s award in Norway with the grace and gratitude of the Solon in Ancient Roman Courts, and the confidence of African Chiefs from ancient royal stools. No sun outlasts its sunset, but it will rise again and bring the dawn. Yes, Mandela’s day is done, yet we, his inheritors, will open the gates wider for reconciliation, and we will respond generously to the cries of Blacks and Whites, Asians, Hispanics, the poor who live piteously on the floor of our planet. He has offered us understanding. We will not withhold forgiveness even from those who do not ask. Nelson Mandela’s day is done, we confess it in tearful voices, yet we lift our own to say thank you. Thank you our Gideon, thank you our David, our great courageous man. We will not forget you, we will not dishonor you, we will remember and be glad that you lived among us, that you taught us, and that you loved us all.”

“His days were light beer: lacking potency and barely intoxicating. Hardly worth investing in and perhaps that was why he barely ever spent anything on them. He was a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea. Something useless and long forgotten about, only to treasure hunters still of worth. Maybe that was what Helen was: a treasure hunter and therefore convinced that she had use for him. ~ As the moon began to rust”

“His death took place on the same day, at the same time of the same month as Katie’s: Monday 12th November at 4am in the morning, on her tenth year anniversary. The old radio suddenly came live and the song Immortality by Celine Dion played. Emma proved you can love the man and hate the disease. She was relieved Ronan’s suffering had ended and that he had gone before her as he was so ill”

“His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?” The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.”

“His definition of “I love you” and your definition are likely completely different. It's an “I love you” crisis. The real challenge is not the words, or whether the other person means them, but rather being clear on your definition, your expectation, and ultimately how you want to be treated. Think about how you feel in this relationship, the quality of your communication and collaboration, and your partner’s behavior. Pay attention to the other person’s actions and regard. Saying “I love you” is easy; being present and engaged in a relationship is a different matter.”

“His desperation and misery swept her up like a storm capturing the sea. She turned her mind to even these feelings, because they were his, like his terrified rage in the lift when they had first met, being wrapped in his arms in the cold well, being dazzled by his wonder at the woods and her home and her. Like being a child, awareness of him the morning chorus that woke her and the lullaby that sent her to sleep, his thoughts always her first and last song.I love you, Kami told him, and cut.”

“His discontent stemmed from dislike rather than appreciation for the hardness growing in him, and the fear that in another ten years he would not recognise himself. The fear that in another twenty, he would not even remember that any doubt had disturbed him. And that in some distant future, age and death would find him—the first person in history to utter on his deathbed: I wish I’d spent more time at the office.”

“His disheveled appearance could not hide his attractive qualities. And at first sight she could have sworn she'd come upon a character from one of her books—the gallant prince turned pirate. Perhaps it was his tall, strong form and unshaven face that gave him such a roguish appearance. It also wasn't hard to look into his blue eyes, which peered out from beneath his lengthy wet mop of black hair.”

“His divine spark lives within me, a presence that will never leave. And I am but one of many tools He has at His disposal. If I cannot act - if I refuse to act - that is a choice I am allowed to make. He has given me life, and all I must do to serve Him is to live. Fully and with my whole heart. With this knowledge comes a true understanding of all the gifts He has given me.”

“His duchess rode like a woman born to the saddle, moving gracefully with the horse. Here, on the riding path in Green Park, her smooth mask of serenity slipped, and she became a woman saturated in bliss. It was as if the wind in her face and the great beast beneath her made her forget who she wished to be- and instead made her who she was. Remington wanted her to look like that for him, too. He wanted her to rise and fall above him, her face absorbed in pleasure, as she took him inside her again and again...”