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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“His heart's occupied elsewhere," said Ben from behind me. "And even if it weren't he's not interested in your kind. But, I'm available and ready." "You don't have a heart," I told him.” Just a gaping hole where it should have been. " "All the more reason for you to give me yours. " I pounded my forehead against Warren 's back. "Tell me Ben's not flirting with me. " "Hey," said Ben sounding hurt. "I was talking cannibalism, not romance.”

“His heat melted into my heat and created an alchemy that metamorphosed the butterflies into a bird of paradise, and I was taking flight with it. This kiss, this this, this us, tasted like indulgence and sustenance. Our tongues moved like we were each other's rice and wine, twirled with the ease of drunken, fed hips. In the kiss, I tasted him and I tasted me and I tasted what we were and what we could be. It tasted like hones and spice, twined.”

“His hoarsely whispered encouragements sent me straight to my cresting, gasping release and I came with a shout and an indescribable burst of pleasure. My body pulsed once, then again and again, the power I kept tucked away racing down my spine and bursting out of me with every sharp thrust of his hips. Peter groaned brokenly, and then he howled, his body as taut as a bowstring beneath me as the energy rippling from my body wrapped around us both. It pulled him more deeply inside me, stroking him, recognizing him as the source of my pleasure and reciprocating in kind. I was distantly aware of a large gust of wind buffeting the room, of lamps being knocked off end tables and wineglasses shattering, but I didn't care. All that mattered was our bodies writhing together and our mutual, all-consuming pleasure.”

“His home town as it existed in his memory seemed distant to him, like something that belonged to another person. It was almost as though he'd mistaken a place he'd seen on TV or in a film for a thing of his own, or else that the sights seen by someone in one of the thousand or so different flats on that estate had somehow snuck their way into his mind and still remained there. That was how it seemed from time to time.”

“His home was a part of him, an externalized expression of his will, for upon his inherited Dutch Manor house he had superimposed the Gothic magnificence which he desired. He had been attracted by the formulations of Andrew Downing, the young landscape architect who lived on the river at Newburgh and whose directions for building "romantic and picturesque villas" were changing the countryside; but it was not in Nicholas to accept another's ideas, and when five years ago he had remodeled the old Van Ryn homestead, he had used Downing simply as a guide. To the original ten rooms he had added twenty more, the gables and turrets, and the one high tower. The result, though reminiscent of a German Schloss on the Rhine, crossed with Tudor English and interwoven with pure fantasy, was nevertheless Hudson River American and not unsuited to its setting. The Dragonwyck gardens were as much as an expression of Nicholas' personality as was the mansion, for here, he had subdued Nature to a stylized ornateness. Between the untouched grove of hemlocks to the south and the slope of a rocky hill half a mile to the north he had created along the river an artificial and exotic beauty. To Miranda it was overpowering, and she felt dazed as they mounted marble steps from the landing. She was but vaguely conscious of the rose gardens and their pervasive scent, of small Greek temples set beneath weeping willows, of rock pavilions, violet-bordered fountains, and waterfalls.”

“His hope was like an intake of icy air—it hurt—and just as sharp and sudden was his jealousy. In an instant he was hot and cold with it, his hands clenching into fists so tight they burned. A flare of adrenaline coursed through him and left him shaking, and it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her, and for the fleeting flash of an instant, he felt relief. Followed by crushing disappointment and self-loathing for what his reaction had been.”

“His humility keeps him grounded, and whatever he touches is blessed. He does not seek applause; he seeks connection with fellow humans. His hands are open to help wherever he can because he is a blessed man.”

“His hunger was a ferocious thing as he lowered to his elbows and let the yearning clench deep in his belly. The slickness of her desire beckoned him. He split her cleft with his gloved finger, coating the tip with her nectar. She trembled, but remained silent, as she'd agreed to do. Curious, he rubbed his thumb and finger together, testing the glossy consistency. Soon his cock would be coated with this, slick and wet and--- Christ, if he didn't get his mouth on her soon, he'd go mad. Dorian had no fucking idea what he was doing, but her scent lured him down until he pressed his lips to her sex. Her hips flinched beneath him, arched a little, and he could tell she fought to remain passive, but her body betrayed her. Good. Because his betrayed him, as well. She tasted like heaven. Like desire and release. Like want and fulfillment. Like a woman. His woman. The predator in him was going to dine until he'd had his fill. And he had a lifetime of hunger to satiate.”

“His hypothesis goes to this - to make the common run of his readers fancy they can do all that can be done by genius, and to make the man of genius believe he can only do what is to be done by mechanical rules and systematic industry. This is not a very feasible scheme; nor is Sir Joshua sufficiently clear and explicit in his reasoning in support of it.”

“His ideal is a man who, having worked all day for the good of posterity (if that is his vocation), washes his mind of the whole subject, commits the issue to Heaven, and returns at once to the patience or gratitude demanded by the moment that is passing over him. But we want a man hag-ridden by the Future—haunted by visions of an imminent heaven or hell upon earth—ready to break the Enemy’s commands in the present if by so doing we make him think he can attain the one or avert the other—dependent for his faith on the success or failure of schemes whose end he will not live to see. We want a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow’s end, never honest, nor kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the future every real gift which is offered them in the Present.”