S Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with S. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“She padded toward Han, barefoot, like a faerie startled out of a forest bower, bewitching mix of clan and flatland beauty.”
“She painted this blush. Emotions were her palette. They were hers to borrow, not own.”
Source: Girl of Dust and Smoke
“She painted this one for me. We were playing ocean. Can't you see what it is?"
Two dark oval shapes in the middle of the page; hard, glittering shells. Two turtles stretching their heads toward the shore. The translucent sea above the flickering seabed. Brownish black mangrove trees against warm sand. The figures on the beach are tiny, with long, flowing hair. The song floats away from them, out over the ocean; in gold and lurid pink it strikes the dark shapes of the creatures in an extravagance of light.
"Those are the princesses," I say.
Maraia nods. "The big song is taking them up into the light.”
Source: Pieces of Happiness
“She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist
Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist.
She paints a pretty picture in a colour that's blood red.
While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead.
The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm.
Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm.
Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist,
you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.”
“She paints all kinds of things: stones, rocks, cracked walls, old houses, broken bicycles. She loves old things; the history attached with dilapidated structures. The strugglers of life have a soul she says.
A building has a soul; the architect who designed it gave a part of his soul. And the workers who gave their sweat and blood to build it gave a part of their soul too.
New things make her feel revolted. She asks "Where is their soul?"
Of what good is a broken bicycle I ask her. She flashes me a contemptuous look. As she knows that I already know her answer.”
“She paints her face to hide her face. Her eyes are deep water. It is not for Geisha to want. It is not for geisha to feel. Geisha is an artist of the floating world. She dances, she sings. She entertains you, whatever you want. The rest is shadows, the rest is secret.”
“She parted her lips as though she were going to scold him, but, after a moment of sitting with her mouth agape like a fish, thought the better of it.”
Source: Paint
“She passed a fruit smoothie stand as one of its workers chopped up a whole pineapple using a hand ax with mesmerizing speed and skill, releasing atomized juice with each whack; it was glorious to catch wind of the tropical sweetness. She sniffed her wrist again, noticing new fruity facets of the perfume. Though that was just one of the riot of aromas that surrounded her: fragrant steam billowing from the sizzling cooktop of a Cuban sandwich vendor, carrying the mouthwatering scent of pulled pork; the peaty, mossy smell from a vendor selling potted plants and bonsai trees; the earthy patchouli of the CBD head shop; the buttery, slightly sour notes from racks of leather jackets and purses; all laced with the piquant odor of sticky summer bodies moving slowly past one another.”
Source: Full Bloom
“She passed a hand over her eyes. A year and more now, that she had needed glasses.
'Look', those glasses said from her desk. 'Look how much you are not like the others. You grow older and your eyes wear out. In case you could ever mistake yourself for belonging'.
Marya supposed this was why no one asked after stolen fairy tale girls. What embarassment they turn out to be. They grow tempers; they join the army; they need glasses. Who wants them?”
Source: Deathless
“She passed out plates loaded with her signature melt-away brisket crusted with the smoky candy of the fire, links she’d crafted in partnership with a sustainable ranch up near Point Reyes, butter-dipped smoked portobellos, and impossibly tender ribs smothered in her artisanal sauces. Her best sides were on display---cornbread, moist as pudding, from her mother’s private recipe collection, beans and greens, peppery jicama slaw, and her signature hummingbird cake for dessert.”
Source: Sugar and Salt
“She passed these years in a distant corner of her mind. A dry, barren field, out beyond wish and lament, beyond dream and disillusionment. There, the future did not matter. And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and it accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion.”
Source: A Thousand Splendid Suns
“She passed under the ivy-grown lych-gate and walked between the yew trees. The graves were clustered together in groups, as if they had secrets to share and were turning over-the-shoulder eyes on incomers. The newly mown grass was cadmium green oil paint squeezed straight from the tube.
Stella leaned on the railings as she read the inscriptions on William and Dorothy's graves. The light made the lettering crisp and brought out the purples and golds of the lichens. Shadows bowed the head of the lamb on Dora Quillinan's gravestone; the trees beyond were full of the trilling of blackbirds, and lines of Wordsworth's "Lucy" poem came into Stella's mind.
"No motion has she now, no force, she neither hears nor sees," she whispered. "Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees."”
Source: Good Taste
“She passes the wind and after that, she returns into the wind. After the cabin, in her forest, she saw someone who was not There, actually.”
“She paused and saw him tense in expectation. He wouldn’t like to hear this, but better from her than one of the others. “You aren’t the only pilot I have in my service. And you aren’t the only person with a dark past, though the illegal things that you did, you were forced to do by the Core. But I will tell you what I’ve told the others. This is your last chance. You screw up with me and you get shipped up river. I don’t offer second chances—I offer last chances.”
Nope, he didn’t like it. She saw the hand not holding the bottle of beer curl into a fist.
Sin and Del, from Sunscapes Trilogy, Book 1: Last Chance”
Source: Last Chance
“She paused and the looked at Decebel 'except you. You might as well put on a tuu, a tiara, and carry a scepter because you're the queen of the idiot procession!”
Source: Sacrifice of Love
“She paused and then said, “I love you.”
A pang hit my heart like it always did when she said that. Like I was falling for her all over again.”
Source: Conclave
“She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck.
He froze. She couldn't know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine.
He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch.
It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn't care.”
Source: Shadow's End
“She paused at the threshold of the room and looked back at the pair on the settee with a troubled frown. Lillian had fallen fast asleep, her head centered heavily on Westcliff’s chest. As the earl met Daisy’s unhappy gaze, one of his brows raised in silent inquiry.
“My father…” Daisy began, then bit her lip. This man was her father’s business partner. It was not appropriate to run to Westcliff with complaints. But the patience in his expression encouraged her to continue. “He called me a parasite,” she said, keeping her voice soft to avoid disturbing Lillian. “He asked me to tell him how the world has benefitted from my existence, or what I had ever done for anyone.”
“And your reply?” Westcliff asked.
“I…couldn’t think of anything to say.”
Westcliff’s coffee-colored eyes were unfathomable. He made a gesture for her to approach the settee, and she obeyed. To her astonishment, he took her hand in his and gripped it warmly. The usually circumspect earl had never done such a thing before.
“Daisy,” Westcliff said gently, “most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without Daisy Bowman in it.”
Source: Scandal in Spring
“She paused in the doorway, tipping her head to consider Brittany, who only glared. "You're right. I think most girls don't look like the tooth fairy dresses them every day.”
“She paused, taking in the display of scarlet pelargoniums, the topiary lion painstakingly created by Hoskins, the head gardener, and the tall monkey-puzzle tree that her father had planted on the occasion of her birth twenty-five years before. She noticed bees flitting from bloom to bloom, filling the air with the sound of their low hum, and over that the bright squawks of a pair of choughs. In the distance, the kitchen garden beckoned, sunlight reflecting off the panes of the glasshouse, where pineapples and tomatoes grew in the forced tropical heat.”
“She paused to sniff the air and made a face. "Is something burning?"
....It was my first shift alone in a busy kitchen and I suddenly understood why all chefs I'd ever worked with hated front of the house. It took every part of me not to fling a pizza cutter across the kitchen like ninja star.”
Source: Crying in H Mart
“She paused. That's just my way of saying I would've killed you if you'd died.”
Source: The Maze Runner (Maze Runner, Book One)
“She pauses, her tone serious. “Are we really doing this? Making a home here together?” “Is that what you want?” She nods. “More than anything.” He takes her hand in his to run a thumb over the wooden band on her finger. “This is all I want. No matter what, I just need you. Us. I’d live with you in the woods if we had to. This is only home because we’re together.”
Source: Say You'll Stay: A Post Apocalyptic Romance
“She pauses several treads from the bottom, listening, waiting; she is again possessed (it seems to be getting worse) by a dream-like feeling, as if she is standing in the wings, about to go onstage and perform in a play for which she is not appropriately dressed, and for which she has not adequately rehearsed.”
Source: The Hours
“She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would. Instead I swallow it section by section and tell myself it means even more this way. To chew and to swallow in silence here with her. To taste the same thing in the same moment.”
Source: We Are Okay
“She peeped through one of the small holes in the outer wall rising up from the walkway. The world on the outside was nothing but countryside now. Dirt roads, like chocolate ribbons, disappeared into woods or green fields in the distance.”
Source: Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For
“She peered at the small girl and though it seemed the child wasn’t listening, her grip on Helen loosened, leaving her feeling like a balloon about to soar away, frantic not to be lost into the open sky.
Helen pinched her eyes shut as pain washed over her, tightening her body.
It was different from other pain she had known. This time, she had a living, breathing someone to fight for, someone waiting on the other side of that agony.
Opening her eyes, Helen set her jaw. A child, by their very existence, doesn’t come into a woman’s life without pain. It takes effort.
Her fingers squeezed the small girl’s and the child’s chin lifted until their eyes met.”
Source: The Ocean's Daughter :
“She perceived that her will had blazed up, stubborn and resistant. She could not at that moment have done other than denied and resisted. She wondered if her husband had ever spoken to her like that before. and if she had submitted to his command. Of course she had; she remembered that she had. But she could not realise why or how she should have yielded, feeling as she then did.”
Source: The Awakening
“She perched on her windowsill, gazing at the lurid sun soaking into the Caldera, trying to appreciate it even though she couldn’t have it. Why did she always feel she had to do something in the face of beauty?”
Source: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Complete Collection
“She picked a raspberry, stared at it a moment, and then popped it into her mouth. For an instant, it felt smooth and tasteless, and then she squashed it. Sharp sweetness exploded gloriously over her tongue. It was so overwhelmingly raspberry that it felt as if it invaded her skull and displaced every thought--- there was only flavor. Powerful, intoxicating flavor. She'd forgotten what a freshly picked berry tasted like.
On Alyssium, the fruit was imported. There wasn't space on the city island for gardens or orchards or berry patches. The emperor had had his greenhouses, filled with delicacies, but a librarian... She hadn't tasted a just-ripened raspberry since her childhood.
It tasted like a bite of sunshine.
Caz poked her ankle. "Are you poisoned?"
"I'm in ecstasy," she corrected.
"Huh," Caz said. "You really think this will work?"
Kiela opened her eyes and again surveyed the wealth of berries before her, a glorious chaos of ruby-red riches, enough to create many jars of jam. "I think it's perfect.”
Source: The Spellshop
“She picked through the bits of jewelry, the stud earrings and ruby ring that belonged to their mother, Shirin. There was something almost meditative about this ritual of hers, combing through the photos and small keepsakes, even if she touched on some painful memories. It was as if her fingers were actually tracing the milestones each piece represented.
Her hand closed on a smooth, round object, something resembling a marble egg. It was a miniature bar of lotus soap, still in its wrapper, bought on their last trip to the 'hammam'. The public bathhouse had been a favorite spot of theirs, a place the three of them liked to go to on Thursdays, the day before the Iranian weekend.
Marjan held the soap to her nose. She took a deep breath, inhaling the downy scent of mornings spent washing and scrubbing with rosewater and lotus products. All at once she heard the laughter once again, the giggles of women making the bathing ritual a party more than anything else. The 'hammam' they had attended those last years in Iran was situated near their apartment in central Tehran. Although not as palatial as the turquoise and golden-domed bathhouse of their childhood, it was still a grand building of hot pools and steamy balconies, a place of gossip and laughter.
The women of the neighborhood would gather there weekly to untangle their long hair with tortoiseshell combs and lotus powder, a silky conditioner that left locks gleaming like onyx uncovered. For pocket change, a 'dalak' could be hired by the hour. These bathhouse attendants, matronly and humorous for all their years spent whispering local chatter, would scrub at tired limbs with loofahs and mitts of woven Caspian seaweed. Massages and palm readings accompanied platters of watermelon and hot jasmine tea, the afternoons whiled away with naps and dips in the perfumed aqueducts regulated according to their hot and cold properties.”
Source: Rosewater and Soda Bread
“She picked up a fork and used it to flip over the catfish fillet she'd left frying in her daddy's cast-iron skillet. It was flaky, golden, and perfect, exactly as she'd intended.”
Source: Almost There
“She picked up a river stone and set it down in the pile of treasure. It acquired facets and blazed like a ruby under her hands. She picked up a coin, stamped with the face of an ancient king, and moved it to the other side of the table, where it was a dried leaf with the edges turning to powder.”
Source: Nettle & Bone
“She picked up a roundish thing from the ground and shook the sand off. It was the top of an old ceramic jar, once painted bright blue and gold. The humans had so many jars. And amphorae. And vases. And vessels. And kegs. And tankards. So many... things... to put other... things in. Merfolk rarely had a necessity to store anything beyond the occasional rare and fancy comestible, like the sweet golden-wine they used to trade for when she was a child. Merfolk ate when they were hungry, almost never had the need to drink anything, and rarely had a reason to store food for the future.
She dropped the lid and sighed, drifting over to the rock she used to perch on while admiring her collection. Things, so many things. Things she never found out the proper use for in her short time on land. Because she had been too busy mooning over Eric.
In some ways, that was the part of the seagull's story that bothered her the most. She could not believe the reaction her traitor heart had when the bird mentioned his name.
Eric.
Eric remembered something?
He wrote an opera about it? About her?
It wasn't just the flattery of it, though. If Eric remembered enough to compose music about it... would he remember her, too? A little?
She remembered him far too often.
Despite the fact that her life had been ruined because of her pursuit of Eric, when she closed her eyes to go to sleep, her last thoughts were often still of him.
Or when a perfectly handsome, reasonably amusing (and mostly immortal- not an irrelevant point) merman tried to win her affections, and all she could think about was how his hair might look when it was dry. Would it bounce, like Eric's?”
Source: Part of Your World
“She picked up her ax and saw and began to clear the branches from the trunk. Every time she did this, she felt as though she were cleaning the corpse of a giant. Sometimes she even imagined the giant was her father.”
Source: The Three-Body Problem
“She picked up salted butter, thick Greek yoghurt, and cream.
The menu was not modest. Her basket was already heavy with Charlotte potatoes, fresh herbs, and a Duchy chicken.
It was too hot for a roast chicken, but Piglet had once heard Nigella say something about a house only being home once a chicken was in the oven. And anyway, there would be salads: one chopped and scattered with feta and sumac, another leafy with soft herbs. New potatoes, boiled and dotted with a bright salsa verde. Bread and two types of butter: confit and Parmesan and black pepper.”
Source: Piglet
“She picked up salted butter, thick Greek yoghurt, and cream.
The menu was not modest. Her basket was already heavy with Charlotte potatoes, fresh herbs, and a Duchy chicken.
It was too hot for a roast chicken, but Piglet had once heard Nigella say something about a house only being home once a chicken was in the oven. And anyway, there would be salads: one chopped and scattered with feta and sumac, another leafy with soft herbs. New potatoes, boiled and dotted with a bright salsa verde. Bread and two types of butter: confit garlic, and Parmesan and black pepper.”
Source: Piglet
“She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.”
“She picked up the phone and dialed Blake's number. His silky hello made her smile.
"You're smiling, right?" His voice was so intimate.
"Of course," she murmured. "Does it still count if you don't see it?"
"It counts when I feel it," he replied.”
Source: Poughkeepsie
“She picked up the stout and took a sip. It slid down her throat like silk.”
Source: British Bulldog
“She picked up the wide sleeve and studied the beading: imitation pearls and small rhinestones interspersed with a few of glistening colors: watery blue and aqua, palest rose and coral.”
Source: The Seamstress of New Orleans
“She pictured herself running from a hoard of ravenous zombies on a hot day eventually collapsing from heatstroke and getting devoured. Then she imagined Hal giving a rousing eulogy at her funeral explaining how Kendra's death was a beautiful sacrifice allowing the noble zombies to live on delighting future generations by mindlessly trying to eat them. With her luck it could totally happen.”
“She pinched her lips tight together, like someone considering a foul smell, three-legged dog, ugly baby.”
Source: Between the Shadow and the Soul
“She pitied them, the cowardly ones. Because she, too, despaired; she, too, was blinded by the dark, but to turn your back is too easy. Cheating. The handful, the cold glass, the swallow. The chair, kicked back, the burn on the skin of the throat. A minute of pain, then stillness. Despicable, such lack of pride. Better to feel it all. Better the long, slow burn.”
Source: Fates and Furies
“She placed a hand on Big Tom's broad back. 'I only stepped out with Big Tom to make another fellow jealous, truth be told. Best spiteful thing I ever did.' Big Tom snorted, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.”
Source: Eventide Sneak Peek
“She placed her fingertips on her forehead as if trying to gather her thoughts on how to handle this unexpected scenario. "Do not run from a bear. Make yourself a large target and yell to scare the bear away. Bears are easily frightened unless it's mating season."
"Oh, wouldn't it be just my horrible luck to fall on a horny bear?”
Source: Bearing It All
“She placed her hand on her chest and thought, 'So this is what the poets write about'.”
“She placed her hands, one on each of his shoulders, stood on her toes and kissed him on the lips. He waited, enjoying the moment like none before.”
Source: Paris in April
“She placed her palm over his wound, pressing as hard as she dared. She would stop the blood. She would hold him and stop his life from escaping. She would hold life inside him and he wouldn’t die”
Source: Gone Series Complete Collection: Gone, Hunger, Lies, Plague, Fear, Light
“She placed the beer in front of him. “Keep on wishing, babe,” she purred. “I’m STD free and want to remain that way.”
Source: Forged Contracts