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S Quotes

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

All S Quotes

“She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was a bit like a cat herself, forever wandering in the woods, chasing after squirrels and rabbits as fast as her skinny legs could take her when the fancy struck, climbing trees like a possum, able to doze in the sun at a moment's notice. And sometimes with no notice at all. (This text is originally from A Circle of Cats, which was revised and re-adapted by the author for The Cats of Tanglewood Forest)”

“She hadn’t realized the outbuilding— like a sunroom— was connected to the house, and it was a piece of heaven for Saoirse. This was the apothecary to end all apothecaries— a glass-walled sanctuary most definitely infused with magic. The dappled morning light poured through the deceptively tall glass walls and ceiling. Every branch and leaf seemed to stretch toward the light, searching for its warmth and light. The space itself was an airy rectangle, bursting with greenery. On the two shorter, angled walls were multitiered potting tables, each layer crowded with voluminous herbs, delicate blossoms, and trailing vines that cascaded over the edges. The longer glass wall had a counter-height table that ran its full length. Clay pots, glass beakers, and neatly labeled tins cluttered the top. Even the outside seemed to want in, with the leaves still clinging to the trees outside brushing against the glass. On the opposite side was a brick wall lined with open shelves from floor to ceiling. Rowan tracked jars of every shape and size on the shelves. They were filled with dried herbs, amber and emerald oils, crushed petals, powdered roots, and mystery mixtures just waiting for Saoirse to use them. Possibility. It was the only word that came to mind. This apothecary held a world of possibilities for Saoirse. With everything at her fingertips, her sister could spend a lifetime crafting healing potions, infusing them into soaps, lotions, and balms. Saoirse stood in the center of the room, arms wide. She whirled around. “Isn’t it perfect?” she squealed, pushing her glasses up. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was just wandering around and it’s like a magnet pulled me to this room. My room.”

“She handed me one of the finished mendiants. A fat black cherry made for the nose; a candied lemon slice for the mouth. She had made all her chocolates into little faces. Features added in gold leaf; almonds, raisins, poppy seeds. All of the chocolates different, all of them marked with her signature: Love me. Feed me. Free me- And all of the chocolates were smiling.”

“She [Haniya Daoud] seemed tired, but also calm. 'It's good to be reminded now and then that such things exist.' 'What things?' 'Beauty. Peace.' She held his eyes. 'Goodness. But they're fragile and can so easily disappear, unless people are willing to do what's necessary to defend them.' 'I'm not sure that goodness is all that fragile,' said Gamache. ...'If not fragile, it's mercurial,' said Haniya. 'Good. Evil. Cruelty and kindness. Guilt and innocence. An act cam be all those things at once, depending on your perspective. It's so easy to delude ourselves, wouldn't you say, Chief Inspector?' 'Into believing killing one person to save millions is an act of moral courage?' 'I don't think that's a delusion.' 'And if you kill the wrong person?”

“She has a fiery soul that cannot be tamed. She has free spirit that cannot be maimed. She moves with the wind and flows with the river. She howls at the moon and smiles at the sun. Just when you think she is finished, she declares, “I’ve just begun.” Like wild flowers, she grows where she decides to push through fallow ground. Like wild fires, she spreads with speed that can’t be drowned. She has mystery in her blood, magic in her touch and regardless of her frame she can be too much-wild woman. She is not predictable, controllable nor the people pleasing kind. That’s why she is called wild woman and can never be defined.”

“She has a quiet paroxysm. Now remember that these are the days before digital pornography. There is no cliché of how women are supposed to orgasm, no idea in their heads of how they are supposed to sound when they climax. Mrs. Daldry’s first orgasms could be very quiet, organic, awkward, primal. Or very clinical. Or embarrassingly natural. But whatever it is, it should not be a cliché, a camp version of how we expect all women sound when they orgasm. It is simply clear that she has had some kind of release.”