H Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with H. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“His tenacity is unmatched in my opinion. Incredible how someone could have suffered that long and come back out of prison with such a good heart and positive things to say and do.”
“His tender tone turned her heart over. She obliged, tilting her head back slightly and looking up at him in the firelit darkness. When he bent his head and his mouth met hers, she gave a little sigh, her lips parting slightly in surprise and expectation. He kissed her with the same sure decisiveness with which he did everything else, his mouth trailing to her cheek and chin and ear, returning again and again to her mouth and lingering there, his breath mingling with her own.
She felt adrift in small, sharp bursts of pleasure. Was this how a man was suppose to kiss a woman? Tenderly... firmly... repeatedly? His fingers fanned through her hair till the pins gave way and wayward locks spilled like black ribbon to the small of her back. In answer, her arms circled his neck, bringing him nearer, every kiss sweeter and surer than the one before. Soon they were lost in a haze of sighs and murmurs and caresses.”
Source: The Colonel's Lady
“His tenderness had awakened something inside her that threatened to devastate, even as it promised to satisfy the deep-seated craving she had to be loved with a savagery that bordered on ruthless. And if she let herself accept that love, she would also have to live with the fear that it could be taken away.”
Source: Sine Qua Non
“His tenderness in the springing grass, His beauty in the flowers, His living love in the sun above- All here, and near, and ours!”
“His terror became his companion. When it seemed to diminish, or grow easier to bear, he forced himself to remember the details of what he had said and done so that his fears returned, redoubled. His previous life, which had been without fear, he now dismissed as an illusion since he had come to believe that only in fear could the truth be found. When he woke from sleep without anxiety, he asked himself, What is wrong? What is missing? And then his door opened slowly, and a child put its head around and gazed at him: there are wheels, Ned thought, wheels within wheels. The curtains were now always closed, for the sun horrified him: he was reminded of a film he had seen some time before, and how the brightness of the noonday light had struck the water where a man, in danger of drowning, was struggling for his life.”
Source: Hawksmoor
“His Theory of the Universe seems to have been, that it consisted solely of a multitude of objects which could be weighed, numbered, and measured; and the vocation to which he considered himself called was, to weigh, number and measure as many of those objects as his allotted three-score years and ten would permit. This conviction biased all his doings, alike his great scientific enterprises, and the petty details of his daily life.”
Source: Life of the Honorable Henry Cavendish
“His theory stands, however, that a cure operates primarily through the dispensing healer’s understanding of the individual, as well as the nature of plants… And in the interstices where neither cure not hope can reach, there is laudanum.”
Source: The Angel and the Apothecary
“His thick eyebrows drew together in a familiar frown. The blood pooled around the half-body was a bright cherry red. He bent to look closer at the woman's face. It was flushed pink, even following this horrible death. Norris's reaction was recorded by a crime writer and would later become part of his often theatrical legend. He walked over to the waiting detectives and announced, 'Boys, you can't hold this man for murder.”
Source: The Poisoner's Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York
“His thinking is correct. He remains a committed man to his divine assignment. He stands firm, no matter the circumstance. He values his commitments and recognizes their importance. Whether big or small, he fulfils them with perseverance.”
Source: A Man of Valour: Idioms and Epigrams
“His thought about the bird halts as the CRAB in his wrist glows. CRAB—Conservable RNA Augmented Body, the faithful servant for a citizen, as the advertisements from the World Government say. This parasitic bio-computer, installed in his left wrist, bears his identity. A hologram projects on it when he fists that hand near his chest. A text message visible in his inbox: You’re missing the Independence Day Speech, auto-signed with Ren. Yuan ignores it.
The next text plays in his brain when he is not looking at the CRAB: Come on! The war-hero can’t miss the speech in Alphatech when the war hero himself is its owner! Ren.
Yuan doesn’t reply to Ren Agnello, the CEO of Alphatech—the world’s leading transport and robotics industry, of which the Monk is the founder. Well, one of the two founders.”
Source: The High Auction
“His thought processes imploded when she grabbed his ass, her nails digging in a way that set his body on fire. He loved the way her breath was hot on his cheek, the way her eyes had gone unfocused and fluttered closed, her lashes resting softly on her cheeks. She was here and for tonight, this weekend, she was his.”
Source: Slow Ride Home
“His thought turned to the Ring, but there was no comfort there, only dread and danger. No sooner had he come in sight of Mount Doom, burning far away, than he was aware of a change in his burden. As it drew near the great furnaces where, in the deeps of time, it had been shaped and forged, the Ring's power grew, and it became more fell, untameable except by some mighty will. As Sam stood there, even though the Ring was not on him but hanging by its chain about his neck, he felt himself enlarged, as if he were robed in a huge distorted shadow of himself, a vast and ominous threat halted upon the walls of Mordor. He felt that he had from now on only two choices: to forbear the Ring, though it would torment him; or to claim it, and challenge the Power that sat in its dark hold beyond the valley of shadows. Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dur. And then all the clouds rolled away, and the white sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became a garden of flowers and trees and brought forth fruit. He had only to put on the Ring and claim it for his own, and all this could be. In that hour of trial it was his love of his master that helped most to hold him firm; but also deep down in him lived still unconquered his plain hobbit-sense: he knew in the core of his heart that he was not large enough to bear such a burden, even if such visions were not a mere cheat to betray him. The one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command. 'And anyway all these notions are only a trick, he said to himself.”
Source: The Return of the King
“His thoughts became as scattered and aimless as the rivulets sluicing down her lush curves. She was a goddess rising from the water. Like Botticelli's Birth of Venus, except with heavy silvery hair darkened by her bath that, unlike Venus, she didn't use to hide her feminine secrets. She stood with her chin held at an obstinate angle, her shoulders straight in an observance of good posture, those soft gray eyes staring at him with a mixture of resolution and expectation.”
Source: The Highwayman
“His thoughts drifted randomly, as thoughts will do.”
Source: Bearers of the Black Staff
“His thoughts flicked between the confidence of the Anyala Stone, the expectations of his world, and, the certainty of his failure.”
Source: The Blood
“His thoughts inhabit a different plane from those of ordinary men; the simplest interpretation of that is to call him crazy.”
Source: The Dark Mirror
“His thoughts went to Kismaayo, and lately, particularly of Abdi. If there were a hero in this story, it was Abdi. Jon thought, this young man from Maine had left that war weary husk of a country called Somalia and had come to these United States of America to pursue the dream of happiness, security, and hope.”
Source: Las Vegas on Twelve Dollars a Day
“His thoughts were hemmed in. One can only draw curved lines on the terrestrial sphere which, as they extend, forever meet with themselves. At such intersections we always encounter what we have already seen.”
“His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw benieath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg.”
Source: Moby-Dick or, The Whale
“His three wives are huddled together on the bare mattress, one of them dying; when we're together, we form an alliance he can't touch. He's scared to even try.”
Source: Wither
“His throat felt like marble. She could not snap the bones! But he could not throw her off, either, no matter how hard he tried.”
Source: The Mummy
“His throat was thick with an emotion that could've been loneliness, or sadness, or self-pity, or despair, or all of these things at once. He didn't know, but he thought anything, even death, was better than feeling this way.”
Source: The Ritual
“His throne is the pulpit. He stands in Christ's stead. His message is the Word of God. Around him are immortal souls. The Savior, unseen, is beside him. The Holy Spirit broods over the congregation. Angels gaze upon the scene, and heaven and hell await the issue. What associations and what vast responsibility!”
Source: Lectures on Preaching: Delivered to the Students of Yale College in 1879
“His thumb smoothed over the tiny red marks the pins had made on her palm, and he brought her hand to his face to kiss the little sore spots.
His voice curled hotly inside her palm. "Your hand smells like lemons."
She opened her eyes and stared at him gravely. "I scrub my hands with lemon juice to remove the ink stains."
The information seemed to amuse him, and lights of humor mixed with the heat in his gaze.”
Source: Suddenly You
“His thumb stroked my cheek. My eyes half-closed. When he spoke next, it was very softly, his voice an almost-physical caress against my whole body. My flesh tightened like a harpstring. I swallowed hard against the wave of liquid heat. "How can I possibly be jealous when I know you spent your time grieving for me, Dante?”
“His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day.”
“his thumbs ran over my cheeks. Our foreheads touched. My dreamscape scorched. He set fire to the poppies”
Source: The Bone Season
“His thumbs stroke over the soft skin under my ears, and his gaze drops before he suddenly lets go and retreats a full step. 'Damn it. Touching you was a bad idea.'
'The worst.' I agree, but my tongue skims my lower lip.
He groans and my core melts at the sound. 'Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake.'
'Calamitous.' What would it take to hear that groan again?
The inches between us feel like kindling, ready to burn at the first suggestion of hear, and I'm a living, breathing flame. This is everything I should run from, and yet denying the primal attraction I feel is completely, utterly impossible.
'We'll both regret it.' He shakes his head, but there's more than hunger in his eyes as he stares at my lips.
'Naturally,' I whisper. But knowing I'll regret it doesn't stop me from wanting it- wanting him. Regretting is a problem for future Violet.
'Fuck it.'
One second he's out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent.
Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.”
Source: Fourth Wing
“His time was past, her handmaid Irri declared. No man should live longer than his teeth.”
Source: George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones 5-Book Boxed Set (Song of Ice and Fire Series): A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and and A Dance with Dragons
“His time's forever, everywhere his place.”
“His tiny toes wiggled as they were ready to go.”
Source: Ebba, the first Easter Hare (SPRING)
“His tiredness hurt so much it kept him awake.”
Source: The Corrections: A Novel
“His tobacco tin, blown open, spilled contents that floated freely and him their play and prey”
Source: Beloved
“His tobacco tin, blown open, spilled contents that floated freely and made him their play and prey”
Source: Beloved
“His tone had been regretfully similar to a man's he had never met, but who remained ingrained in him as an example of what to never become.”
Source: Handsome Vanilla
“His tongue claimed her, letting her know she was his, which was exactly what she wanted to be.”
Source: Midnight Heat
“His tongue felt good, it tasted good, it was all just good. Not just good. It was better than good. I missed this. I loved kissing and, Lord, did I miss it.”
Source: The Gamble
“His tongue fucks my mouth the way his cock fills my pussy. Deeply, urgently, and completely unrestrained.”
Source: Dark Notes
“His tongue gave a long, slow lick down her center, drawing a low, throaty moan from her throat. He teased her, tasting her without focusing where she needed him and making her squirm. When his tongue found her clit, her body arched off the bed, and she felt him smile against her.
He pressed his finger inside of her and she moaned. The dual sensation of being penetrated while his mouth worked her pussy was so intense. So incredible. Back in college, their lovemaking had been so sweet, almost innocent. They had discovered what they liked together, especially Alma, who had been a virgin. But now, Jaime seemed to have all the moves. She pushed the thoughts of him being with other women out of her head.
He was with her now--- no one else.
And he said he loved her.
His mouth focused on her, and the pleasure came in waves. She couldn't hold back and came so hard all over his mouth. He lapped her up.
But she wasn't done. She wanted more. Another round.
He sat back agains the headboard, pulled her onto his lap as he guided her onto his cock. Gripping her hips, he slowly urged her to lower onto him, until he was fully inside her.
"Oh, Jaime, baby. Make me come again," she said, her voice breathy.
His mouth went to work on her nipples as she rode him, rubbing her clit on his crotch, his huge cock filling her. It wasn't long before they were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, their breaths short pants of lust and need.”
Source: My Fair Señor
“His tongue is by turns a sponge, a brush, a comb. He cleans himself, he smooths himself, he knows what is proper.”
“His tongue split her in one long lick. He growled against her, and Farah whimpered in reply, unable to stop herself.
But she didn't say a word. Not. One. Word.
Blackwell had become that jaguar she'd evoked the first time she'd laid eyes on him. His shoulders rolled and bunched just so as he settled in for a feast. He left no part unexplored. His bold tongue found places she'd never known she possessed. He parted her with his fingers, exposing her in a way so absolute, she could barely stand it. And yet, she read the veneration on his face as he looked at her, as he tasted her, as if he committed every single crevice and protuberance to memory. He learned very quickly what made her gasp, what caused her to arch or retreat. He played like a man who'd only just learned how. Testing her reactions, re-creating sensations, enjoying a bit of cruelty as only the Blackheart of Ben More could. Driving her to the edge of her wits and then pulling back, leaving her groaning, straining, and sweating.
She jerked as his finger found its way inside her slick channel, and the vibration of his groan against the soft hood of flesh he'd sucked into his mouth with a flattened tongue shattered her composure.”
Source: The Highwayman
“His tongue swirls against my skin, and I gasp. His voice rough with passion, he rasps, "You're living fire. I burn.”
Source: A Promise of Fire
“His tongue tapped his top lip as he cupper her breast in his hand. "Tis boidhche --beautiful.”
Source: The Highland Henchman
“His tongue was one of his greatest qualities. He knew exactly how to use it with me. Encouraging, kind, and loving words flowed freely and frequently from his lips. Always inspiring me to upgrade my thinking. His tongue spoke life into me… Awakening gifts in me that I didn’t know existed. He used his tongue wisely. Truth be told, he’s part of the reason why I am me. Exquisite, Powerful, Fearless, and Unapologetic. I’ll be forever grateful for his genuine love.”
“His tongue was pure heaven. -Alana”
Source: Behind the Curtain
“His torso was a perfect "V" of golden skin and muscle; his slim hips, whiter than the rest of him, tapered to thighs and calves that could have been turned on a lathe, and these were dusted all over with fair hair that glinted in the low sunlight. The hair on his head was cropped short and beacon-bright, but the features of his face were nearly indistinct from where she watched. Given the glory of the rest of him, they scarcely seemed to matter. The man's beauty was, in fact, an assault, and a peculiar tangle of shock and delight and yearning began to beat inside her like a secret, second heart.
And then the man stretched his arms upward, arching his back indolently; exposing the dark fluffs under his arms, and this, somehow, seemed more erotic and intimate than the rest of his naked body combined. Susannah had seen paintings and statues of naked men, for heaven's sake, but none of them had ever sported fluffy hair beneath their arms. In fact, the sheer easiness with which this man wore all his raw beauty frightened her a little. He was like someone too casually wielding a weapon.
She fumbled her sketchbook open.
Quickly, roughly, she sketched him: the upraised arms, the curves of his biceps and legs and the planes of his chest, and when he turned, the darker hair that curled between his legs and narrowed up to a frayed silvery-blond line over his flat stomach. Nestled right between his legs were, of course, his... male parts...which looked entirely benign at the moment, really, at least from this distance. She sketched those, too, as she intended to be thorough, hardly thinking of them as anything other than part of her drawing.”
Source: Beauty and the Spy
“His touch both consoles and devastates me; I feel my heart pulse, then wither, naked as a stone on the roaring mattress while the lovely, moony night slides through the window to dapple the flanks of this innocent who makes cages to keep the sweet birds in. Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden, I go back and back to him to have his fingers strip the tattered skin away and clothe me in his dress of water, this garment that drenches me, its slithering odour, its capacity for drowning.”
“His touch felt like coming back, and Quincy realized she had been waiting for it. When he pulled away, both of his hands now on the sides of her face, his eyes searching hers for answers, Quincy nodded then wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her face to his chest, and his response was to gather her to him, saying something she couldn't her.
And there it was, the heartbeat she had heard the night of the Fothergils' ball, pulsing again in the shell of her ear. Quincy closed her eyes from relief. It gave her the same comfort the sound of the press gave her. It was a familiar machine.”
Source: The Q
“His touch felt so good it was almost pain.”
Source: Saving Poughkeepsie
“His touch had scorched her skin and lit a fire within her so intense she thought her hair would ignite. Worse, when she turned around to thank him, she froze, spellbound by his gaze, realizing that if she didn’t do something to tamp down the desire that his aquamarine eyes, his bergamot scent, and his very presence had enflamed within her, she would do something entirely inappropriate, like reach out and launch herself into his arms.
He is not the King of Wands. He is not the King of Wands. He is not the King of Wands.”
Source: King of Wands