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S Quotes

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All S Quotes

“Stock your mind, stock your mind. It is your house of treasure and no one in the world can interfere with it. If you won the Irish Sweepstakes and bought a house that needed furniture would you fill it with bits and pieces of rubbish? Your mind is your house and if you fill it with rubbish from the cinemas it will rot in your head. You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace.”

“Stockholm Syndrome. […] It was a sort of desperate blind love. And loyalty. Loyalty and love geared towards the abuser. It’s a response to fear, an admission within of defeat, I’d read. But I thought it to be more than that. It was the thrill of having something to submit to, become utterly powerless to. A sinister sort of seduction. You knew in your heart it would end badly, yet you just couldn’t stop yourself from giving [B.K1] in to that primal urge, the way prey finally accepts its fate, take me, it says, as the [B.K2] predator sinks its teeth in.”

“Stockings, but no drawers?" he teased, breathlessly. He nudged the neckline of her gown lower with his teeth, exposing her breast, distracting her as his hand glided farther up her thigh, to come gently to rest against the damp, silken curls at the crook of them. "Too warm for... drawers... but I liked the... garters..." She gasped out the words, and he gave a short laugh before he took her nipple into his mouth. Puckered velvet, it was, the palest, most delicate pink, like her lips; her breast could fill the palm of his hand. He knew because he skimmed his palm over the other one. "Kit," she rasped. "God." "One and the same," he murmured. He heard her gasp something, either a tortured laugh or a word, which may have been "beast," but she stopped abruptly when he took her nipple into his mouth again and drew slow circles around it with his tongue. Her softly sighed, "oh," her back arching up to meet him, her fingers combing over his head, made him wilder than he thought he could bear. But he would bear it. Today was for her, and today was all there would be. He settled for tucking his hips closer to her, his aching erection brushing against her. His fingers stroked lightly over the curls between her legs, twining in them. And then he returned his lips to hers, gently, because he wanted to watch her eyes when he slid a finger lightly along her cleft. He felt her body go taut when he did; she drew in a sharp breath. His hand stilled. "No?" he said softly. "Yes," she disagreed on a whisper, touching his face. He kissed her softly, as his finger slid lightly again, and then again, and at last her legs slipped open wider still, inviting him in. Desire clawed him, a great bird of prey clinging to his back, he could scarcely breathe. With his fingers, he circled her gently, slowly at first, and then insistently, listening to the pulse of her breath, to her soft murmurs, to learn the rhythm she wanted, until her desire drenched his fingers. He touched nearly chaste kisses to her mouth as his fingers played over her, and watched, triumphant, as her pupils grew large, her beautiful, complicated eyes opaque, her breathing become a quiet storm. "Kit?" she whispered urgently. "I---it's---" "I know," he sympathized hoarsely. "Move with me now." And she began to move her hips in time with his knowing fingers, colluding with him in her own pleasure, and he moved his own hips against her, craving his own release even as he knew he must deny it. He covered her moth with a kiss, a deep kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, and oh the taste of her: honey and velvet, rich as plums. He moved his fingers in time with his tongue, knew by her escalating breathing, the rhythm of her hips, that it would be soon. She took her lips from his, her head thrashed to one side. "Please..." "Hold on to me, Susannah." She was utterly focused on her journey now, and God, how he wanted to go there with her. At last, her fingers dug into his arms and she bowed up with a soft cry, pulsing against his hand. And somehow, this seemed nearly as precious as the beat of her heart, and the pleasure he took in her release was so acute it might well have been his own.”

“Stoicism, like a seasoned sculptor, fashions the raw marble of our attention into a well-honed pillar of focus. The true currency of our existence is not time, but attention. The past and the future are but shadows and specters that have no claim over the vivacious vitality of the present moment. Stoicism implores us to dispense our attention wisely, not on the ephemeral apparitions of past regrets or future anxieties, but on the solid ground of the present.”

“Stoji iza mene daleko, petnaest i više godina daleko, prigušeno bosansko djetinjstvo. Da li se sjećam? Bila je jedna kutija - soba, i po njoj išlo napaćeno mršavo lice, noge u papučama, izblijedjele dimije i blag predan pogled. Majka! Od zida do zida, od vrata do peći, od ručka do večere, od jeseni do proljeća, u zidovima, među četiri zida, uzidan, tekao je nelijep ženski život.”

“Stoker to Veronica. I thought it was love but I was so very wrong. I have never known love at least not until..... I thought at some point I would have a great love like that. A woman fashioned by the gods just for me as I had been made just for her. That we would find each other. That she was waiting for me but I did not wait for her. I married a base metal when the gods had  promised me gold.”

“Stokeworth?” Tyrion hopped from the bed. “And pray, what is there for you in Stokeworth?” “A bride.” Bronn smiled like a wolf contemplating a lost lamb. “I’m to wed Lollys the day after next.” “Lollys.” Perfect, bloody perfect. Lady Tanda’s lackwit daughter gets a knightly husband and a father of sorts for the bastard in her belly, and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater climbs another rung. It had Cersei’s stinking fingers all over it. “My bitch sister has sold you a lame horse. The girl’s dim-witted.” “If I wanted wits, I’d marry you.” “Lollys is big with another man’s child.” “And when she pops him out, I’ll get her big with mine.”

“Stolen moments” create a feeling of enjoyment in our “intensive time” awareness. The glow and the intensity of those instants can guide us throughout a whole lifetime. They can expose a second or a third dimension of the daily events and shed an expounding light on all the little details we encounter. ("Stolen moments" )”