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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 talked to the child and her doll in the pleasing cadence of the Neapolitan dialect that I love, the tender language of playfulness and sweet nothings. I was enchanted. Languages for me have a secret venom that every so often foams up and for which there is no antidote. I remember the dialect on my mother’s lips when she lost that gentle cadence and yelled at us, poisoned by her unhappiness: I can’t take you anymore, I can’t take any more.”

“She talks with a broken heart - Her voice lutes brokenly like a heart lost, musically too, like in a lost grove, it's almost too much to bear sometimes like some fantastic futuristic Jerry Southern singer in a nightclub who steps up to the mike in the spotlight in Las Vegas but doesn't even have to sing, just talk, to make men sigh and women wonder I guess.”

“She tapped on the bathroom door. “Ready for clothes?” The door swung inward. Leah stared. “Holy crap.” Seth was naked, save for a towel he had wrapped around his hips. And his body was pure perfection. His arms and legs both bore beautiful, thick muscle. But not too thick like some of the bodybuilders she’d seen whose arms and legs were so bulky they couldn’t rest their arms against their sides and seemed to walk bowlegged. Seth was built more like a professional basketball player. Broad shoulders. A well-developed chest. Even his abs rippled with muscle and begged to be touched. Realizing she had been staring—aka drooling—she looked up at him. “Seriously, how are you still single?” But Seth wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes were fastened on her body. Her breath caught when a faint golden glow illuminated his dark brown irises. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual and husky with what she thought might be desire. A thrill rippling through her, Leah glanced down. Her eyes widened. The rain that had found its way past the awning out front had plastered her pajamas to her skin, rendering them nearly transparent.”

“She tapped on the window with her embossed hairbrush. They were too far off to hear. The drone of the trees was in their ears; the chirp of birds; other incidents of garden life, inaudible, invisible to her in the bedroom, absorbed them. Isolated on a green island, hedged about with snowdrops, laid with a counterpane of puckered silk, the innocent island floated under her window. Only George lagged behind.”

“She tasted the day he lost his first job. She tasted the morning he had awakened, still drunk, in his car, in the middle of a cornfield, and, terrified, had sworn off the bottle for ever. She knee his real name. She remembered the name that had once been tattooed on his arm and knew why it could be there no longer. She tasted the color of his eyes from the inside, and shivered at the nightmare he had in which he was forced to carry spiny fish in his mouth, and from which he woke, choking, night after night. She savored the hungers in food and fiction, and discovered a dark sky when he was a small boy and he had stared up at the stars and wondered at their vastness and immensity, that even he had forgotten.”

“She tells me she's been reading a terrible book called "How to Meet and Marry Mr. Right" Their main advice is to play hard to get. Basically it's a guide to manipulation. I say that maybe she should stop reading it. "I know, " she says, only half agreeing. "But it's like I've been trying to catch a fish by swimming around with them. I keep making myself get in the water again. I try different rivers. I change my strokes. But nothing works. Then I find the guide that tells me about fishing poles and bait, and how to cast and what to do when the line gets taut," She stops and thinks. "The depressing part is that you know it will work." I say "I hate fish.”