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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 told me she was 17 going on 22, when she left home to find a new life in the city. She wanted to get into acting and be a big star someday. I said that was swell but a tough racket to break into. She said she knew that going in. She thought maybe she'd get a lucky break and go from there. I told her lucky breaks always came with a price.”

“She told the audience that they were going to make a fine old chestnut, Baked Alaska. "First you have to have a soft meringue, at just the perfect stage." The camera went in for a close-up of the meringue. "We have six egg whites, superfine sugar, and vanilla, with some cream of tartar to keep them stable. Are they ready, Danny?" "Not quite," he said and ran the machine for a few seconds. "There." He removed the bowl and held it out for Sally to see. "Stiff, but not dry," she said. "But we'd better be sure." And she rested an egg on the whites and told the audience that it should sink in exactly one inch. "Perfect. Let's put the Baked Alaska together." Sally brushed the cake with rum-flavored sugar syrup while Danny explained what it was; then Danny turned the ice cream out on top of the cake and Sally pulled off the plastic wrap. They filled their pastry bags and swirled on the meringue. Sally beamed at Danny and said that everyone should cook with a friend. "It's so much more fun." Danny dusted the cake all over with powdered sugar and then reached under the counter and pulled out a blowtorch. Sally looked at it and said, "Huh," then pulled out a blowtorch twice the size and grinned at Danny. "Yours is kind of small. Can it do the job?" "We'll see," he said and together they torched the dessert.”

“She told us that evil rarely looked like evil when it first arrived. It could look like innovation and progress and prosperity, courage even, but more than anything it looked, to some, like a solution--a solution to the secret problem they believed had gone too long unaddressed. They felt as though they had been speaking a hidden language among themselves, and then a man or a woman in a suit stood on a stage and addressed cheering masses in that very same language, hidden no longer.”

“She took a bad tumble. Those are some nasty bruises she's carrying," the maid said with a sad shake of the head. "Aye," Cullen agreed, his eyes traveling over lovely, milky white skin, interrupted by several black bruises. "She looks like a cow." Mildrede turned a horrified gaze on him at the comment, but he was more concerned by the choked sound that came from his bride. He really hadn't meant it as an insult, but it seemed the women were taking it so. "I just meant the coloring," Cullen muttered”

“She took a bite-sized Snickers from the bowl of candy on the dining room table and opened it. With Halloween still three days away (and the bowl half empty!) she had obviously bought candy much too early this year. She popped the candy in her mouth and made a mental note to buy more at Walmart. The melting chocolate roused her brain and soothed her nerves. Yes, it made her happy. Joyful even. According to Marie Kondo, identifying joyful objects was only part of the magical tidying-up equation. Thanking each item for doing its job was also key. "Thank you, inventor of the Snickers bar, whoever you are." As far as she was concerned, chocolate should be a major food group.”

“She took a deep breath and peered up from under her long, dark lashes. He sucked air in. Damn, that look could undo any man – or wolf, or alien for that matter. “Something to eat?” “No, Cameron.” She smiled with a hint of decadence. “There’s only one thing I need.” “What’s that?” She closed the space between them and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, pulling him closer. “You.”

“She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. A raindrop moved slowly down her neck; he watched as it turned down the slope of her breast to disappear inside the collar of her shirt. He was seriously contemplating becoming jealous of a droplet of water. Yorkshire was obviously damaging to his sanity.”

“She took a knifeful of the butter clinging to the silver paper, so soft it offered virtually no resistance, and dropped it into the holes in the potatoes' skins. It was absorbed mercilessly fast by the granules inside, which soon took on a yellow hue. Rika sprinkled on a few drops of soy sauce, then pressed her hands together. 'Itadakimasu,' she said, and tucked in to the potatoes with a fork. The hot potatoes engorged with butter crumbled apart in her mouth and the steam rose up to the back of her throat. Inside her mouth, the mixture transformed into a smooth-textured cream, heavy and rich, which spread out hotly across her tongue. The Sado was relatively light in its taste, but had the same warmth and body as the other dairy products she'd sampled in Niigata. The soy sauce drew out the sweetness and texture of the potatoes, and the hand with which Rika held her fork moved incessantly. The next thing she knew, the two potatoes had disappeared, along with almost all of the butter. She lay down, a delicious sated feeling in her stomach. She had managed to soothe herself, and of that she felt proud.”

“She took a long drink and then another before lowering the glass. She thought she heard him give a sound of approval before he turned and claimed a seat in one of the chairs. Her courage strengthened, Lily lifted her chin to look at him only a few feet away and swallowed hard past the knot of doubt lodged in her throat. Dressed in elegant evening wear, he sat with his back stiff and straight despite the plush cushion of the chair. His knees were spread and his feet braced squarely on the floor. His hands, with his long masculine fingers, splayed on the surface of strong thighs. He was the epitome of masculine sophistication and mystery. Dark, enigmatic, handsome, and intense.”

“She took a sip of wine and held it in her mouth, straining to identify the flavors. Cherry, she thought. Licorice. Thorns. She imagined a forest in late autumn, damp leaves on the ground, a blaze of color. She took another sip. The man--- he must be Robert--- set a dish in front of her and she looked down, dismayed. What could it be? She'd never seen anything like it. It glistened up at her, a red-black sausage bursting from a shiny case. She inhaled the aroma: It was exotic, mysterious, almost intoxicating. "Taste it," he urged. It was pillow-soft, very rich, laced with spices. She identified the prickle of black pepper, the sweetness of onions. Parsley, she thought, nutmeg, and... was that chocolate? Bite by bite she chased the flavors, but they kept skipping away. "Did you like it?" Robert was back. She gestured at the empty plate. "It was wonderful. What kind of meat was in it?" "Not meat, exactly." He watched her face as he said, "That was blood sausage.”

“She took a slice of bread and put it on her plate. She piled a small mountain of potato chips on it and placed another slice of bread on top. Then she flattened the sandwich with her hand, the chips shattering with a satisfying crunch. In response to Charlotte's curious look, she explained, "Potato chip sandwiches remind me of my mom." Ah. That, Charlotte understood. Food memory was one of the few profoundly good things she brought with her from her own childhood. Sometimes Charlotte would still have chocolate milk over hot rice, something Charlotte and Pepper had eaten when they'd crept hungrily into the camp kitchen after dark during one of Minister McCauley's forced fasts. She could still remember how good it had tasted, like sweet soup.”