Quotessence
Home / Quotes / I Quotes

I Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with I. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All I Quotes

“I walked into his hotel room,
a knowing smile dancing on my lips.
He met me with a touch—soft, certain—
slipping my jacket from my shoulders,
leaving only lace and longing between us. His kiss met mine, deep and unhurried,
a taste I still savor when I close my eyes.
His hands, his mouth, tracing fire along my skin,
pulling me into him, onto him,
until there was no space left, only us. He kissed me like he missed me,
like he had dreamed of this moment as much as I had.
And when he went lower,
my body arched into bliss,
his name barely a whisper, lost in pleasure. Then my lips found him,
and the way he moaned—
God, I wanted to hear that sound forever.
He stretched me, filled me,
pain and pleasure tangled in the most beautiful way. We moved, we melted,
his kisses marking me in ways I’d never let fade.
And when I lay against his chest,
breathless, spent,
I knew—no other man would ever do. I went home, but something stayed behind,
a part of me woven into him.
And I won’t let another touch me,
because I refuse to erase the memory of being his.”

“I walked into my agency and I said, "You know what? I can't do this. You're telling me I need to go on a diet? My diet is already zucchini only. What do you want me to do?" And basically, they gave me two options: either stay the way I was and do commercial work, or do plus size modeling. I remember having the usual salad but I added walnuts and salmon and olive oil and I thought, "The world didn't blow up!"I felt fantastic. I wanted to keep that feeling so I made a decision that day that I didn't care. There was more money to be made being healthy.”

“I walked out just like her, you bitch. If I walked out, it would be my condemnation of him. I would be the reason he gave up and put a gun to his head and fed the blood-lusting mud of Bodymore. I don’t know what it is about this place that makes people desperate. Desperate for a future. Desperate for money. Desperate for someone else. It’s always everything we don’t have that’s going to solve that desperation.”

“I walked out of the theater and started crying. My wife asked me, 'Why are you crying?' I said, 'Because I can't do that.' I didn't know how he did it. I've never seen anything like that. It's like this feat, this Rodin sculpture to me. It's like hearing an opera singer and the tears go down your face because it's not human what they're doing. It's like sounds of heaven.”

“I walked out the door with the bounce of a woman who had once again got away with it, and couldn’t quite believe it. Harry did not try to stop me. He had no choice but to be complicit. Was it worse for him, in some strange way? I was out of control but I at least had my hand on the brake, even if I never actually applied it. He was just a passenger. There was nothing he could do but trust that I would somehow turn things round, instead of crashing us all into the central reservation.”

“I walked over to Drake and stomped on his foot. Hard. "What will I give you to help me? What will I give you?" He stood on one leg rubbing his foot, grinning a grin so steamy, it almost melted my underwear. "I never doubted you would defeat her. You are my mate. You could do no less." I pointed a finger at him. "You are too arrogant for your own good. I officially de-mate you. Go away. I never want to see you again. Except maybe tonight. Naked. Your place. But after that, no more.”

“I walked over to the hill where we used to go and sled. There were a lot of little kids there. I watched them flying. Doing jumps and having races. And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn't.”

“I walked over to the paper and bent as the pencil began scribbling across it. You look OK. Are you OK? “Liz?” A stupid question. Liz was the only poltergeist I knew. But if she was here, that meant. “Chloe?” My heart started thudding again. “Where’s Chloe. Did they—?” She’s outside. I took a deep breath. “Good. Okay. My dad’s there, too?” I watched the paper. Nothing happened. “Liz? My dad is with her, right? She called him, didn’t she?” Couldn’t. “What do you mean she couldn’t. She has her cell—” No, she didn’t. We hadn’t taken them into the forest. If Chloe had managed to follow me straight from there … I swore. “Tell her to get to a pay phone. Call collect. Get my dad and—” No time. They’re packing the van. “Then you ride with me. You can find out where we go, and return and Chloe—” We’re getting you out. “What? No. Absolutely not. Tell Chloe—” Girls rule :D”

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer. We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?” He, of course, replied, “No.” “Well, we’re going to a better place.” When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds. Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.” “Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked. “My father’s a ghost,” he whispered. I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path. “Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”

“I walked slowly out on the beach. A few yards below high-water mark I stopped and read the words again: WRITE YOUR WORRIES ON THE SAND. I let the paper blow away, reached down and picked up a fragment of shell. Kneeling there under the vault of the sky, I wrote several words, one above the other. Then I walked away, and I did not look back. I had written my troubles on the sand. The tide was coming in.”

“I walked through centuries after centuries in the bodily vessels of countless monks and philosophers, and still my work is not done - it is far from done. I still have a long way to go with my heart bleeding in agony and my feet burning and trembling in tiredness, but still I shall not stop till every single human on earth realizes in the very core of their being that they are humans above everything else, and to achieve this, if I have to go through the heartache of loneliness and the mortal misery of social indifference and mockery over and over again in countless more lives to come, I shall most willingly do so.”

“I walked through the back yard to the door, for in these parts everyone seemed to always use the backdoor as the front and the front door was only for the vicar. Pushing open the heavy wooden door I immediately smelt the food on the stove and to this day the smell of broth makes me slightly queasy. The heat of the stove hit me and with the flush on my face from walking I felt it redden further.”

“I walked to the painting on the easel. It was an impression, not a lifelike rendering. 'I wanted you to see this one,' I said, pointing to the smear of green and gold and silver and blue. 'It's for you. A gift. For everything you've done.' Heat flared in my cheeks, my neck, my ears, as he silently approached the painting. 'It's the glen- with the pool of starlight,' I said quickly. 'I know what it is,' he murmured, studying the painting. I backed away a step, unable to bear watching him look at it, wishing I hadn't brought him in here, blaming it on the wine I'd had at dinner, on the stupid dress. He examined the painting for a miserable eternity, then looked away- to the nearest painting leaning against the wall. My gut tightened. A hazy landscape of snow and skeletal trees and nothing else. It looked like.... like nothing, I supposed, to anyone but me. I opened my mouth to explain, wishing I'd turned the others away from view, but he spoke. 'That was your forest. Where you hunted.' He came close to the painting, gazing at the bleak, empty cold, the white and grey and brown and black. 'This was your life,' he clarified. I was too mortified, too stunned, to reply. He walked to the next painting I'd left against the wall. Darkness and dense brown, flickers of ruby red and orange squeezing between them. 'Your cottage at night.' I tried to move, to tell him to stop looking at those ones and look at the others I'd laid out, but I couldn't- couldn't even breathe properly as he moved to the next painting. A tanned, sturdy male hand fisted in the hay, the pale pieces of it entwined among strands of brown coated with gold- my hair. My gut twisted. 'The man you used to see- in your village.' He cocked his head again as he studied the picture, and a low growl slipped out. 'While you made love.' He stepped back, looking at the row of pictures. 'This is the only one with brightness.' Was that... jealousy? 'It was the only escape I had.' Truth. I wouldn't apologise for Issac. Not when Tamlin had just been in the Great Rite. I didn't hold that against him- but if he was going to be jealous of Issac- Tamlin must have realised it, too, for he loosed a long, controlled breath before moving to the next painting. Tall shadows of men, bright red dripping off their fists, off their wooden clubs, hovering and filling the edges of the painting as they towered over the curled figure on the floor, the blood leaking from him, the leg at a wrong angle. Tamlin swore. 'You were there when they wrecked your father's leg.' 'Someone had to beg them to stop.' Tamlin threw a too-knowing glance in my direction and turned to look at the rest of the paintings. There they were, all the wounds I'd slowly been leeching these few months. I blinked. A few months. Did my family believe that I would be forever away with this so-called dying aunt? At last, Tamlin looked at the painting of the glen and the starlight. He nodded in appreciation. But he pointed to the painting of the snow-veiled woods. 'That one. I want that one.' 'It's cold and melancholy,' I said, hiding my wince. 'It doesn't suit this place at all.' He went up to it, and the smile he gave me was more beautiful than any enchanted meadow or pool of stars. 'I want it nonetheless,' he said softly.”

“I walked toward her office,lost in thought about Lish, and poor Steve,and all the other souls I'd sent out of this life,some quite literally. Where did they go?Did Steve go the same place as Lish?And was it vampire Steve ir normal Steve? What exactly happened to the souls when their human bodies died and became vampires?And then when the vampire bodies died?Hello,headache.”

“I walked towards her. Jean-Claude grabbed my arm. "Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection." "I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something." He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn't sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, "If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead." She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. "They will bring me back as one of them." I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. "I will cut out your heart." I was still smiling, I couldn'tseem to stop. "Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?" She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man. I think she believed I'd do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat”

“I walked until I lost the light from the fire pit, clawing at my T-shirt, trying to pull it away from my skin. It smelled like his room. Like evergreens and spice and old, decaying things. I pulled it over my head and threw it as hard and far as I could, and still—still—I couldn’t shake the smell. It was everywhere: my hands, my jeans, my bra. I should have run straight for the lake, or even the showers. I should have tried to soak his venom out.”