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S Quotes

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“She was clad in a tea-colored dress and white apron, and on her head was an enormous buttercup worn like a kerchief, two of the petals pinned together beneath her hair. Her face was very red, very shiny and very plump. She looked, I thought, a little like a lost doll, though not one mortal children would enjoy playing with; her eyes were the usual all black, and she appeared to be a type of faun, with large and intimidatingly sharp black horns that curved backwards out of her head, and legs that ended in hairy hooves. "A butter faerie," Niamh said. "The queen had several in her service--- this one, I am told, had the queen's particular affections due to the quality of her product." "Fascinating," I said, wishing I had time to make a sketch. My encyclopaedia's entry on butter faeries had been sorely lacking in detail. "I have never encountered one before." "They're quite rare," Niamh said. "A good thing, I've always thought. They are peevish, half-mad little things, particularly if you remove them from their creameries." "I did not know they were found in Ireland," I said. "Most of the tales of butter faeries are from Somerset, are they not?" "Ah!" Niamh said, her face alight with scholarly enthusiasm. "Indeed they are. But once upon a time, as you know, Where the Trees Have Eyes had several doors leading to British faerie realms. One of these, I'm told, led to a pretty corner of Somerset. I theorize that the creatures used to go to and fro before the door collapsed, trapping several of them in this realm.”

“She was clothed in something more luxurious, a silk kimono slipping off her bare shoulders. With her eyes still closed, she caressed her body, imagined someone else doing the same, finding her skin smooth, supple, and delectably creamy. In her mind's eye, she saw rumpled white linens, glowing skin, and a vase of flowers on the bedside table, filling the room with their delicate fragrance. With a deep inhale, the body she touched was no longer flabby, it was soft, yielding, and beautiful.”

“She was coming. I watched the slight figure grow out of the dusk between the trees, and the darkness in which I had walked of late fell away. The wood that had been so gloomy was a place of sunlight and song; had red roses sprung up around me I had felt no wonder. She came softly and slowly with bent head and hanging arms, not knowing that I was near. I went not to meet her - it was my fancy to have her come to me still - but when she raised her eyes and saw me I fell upon my knees.”

“She was completely alone in the world. There was no one at all for her. No one in the world who cared whether she lived or died. Sometimes the horror of that thought threatened to overwhelm her and plunge her down into a bottomless darkness from which there would be no return. If no one in the entire world cared about you, did you really exist at all?”

“she was completely whole and yet never fully complete”

“She was concerned for me. In her heart, I believe, she was sorry I was alone in a strange land. Italians were never alone - to them, loneliness was the most unbearable sensation, solitude the most dreadful circumstance. When they drove to do errands in another town, they usually asked somebody to accompany them, per fare compagnia. Dinner for one was a tragedy that nobody should have to bear.”

“She was considered timid and morose. Only in the country, her skin tanned by the sun and her belly full of ripe fruit, running through the fields with Pedro Tercero, was she smiling and happy. Her mother said that that was the real Blanca, and that the other one, the one back in the city, was a Blanca in hibernation.”

“She was constantly running after her daughter, who took life at full speed. Sylvie was a firecracker. Piper loved her daughter'd exuberance, her happy and joyous nature; she even admired her defiance, which she knew mirrored her own. As Sylvie grew into a young girl, it became obvious that she took after her mother. Sylvie could pass for almost anything: Asian, Latin, Eastern European. Like Autumn Avening, she looked like she could be from anywhere and everywhere. Piper didn't think that she herself was truly beautiful, yet even though she saw her own features on her daughter, Sylvie was the most striking child she had ever seen.”

“She was convinced the country was about to succumb to revolutionary socialism. Her own circumstances encouraged this belief: just on the edge of the really rich country set, she shared their views and opinions but lacked the financial and architechtural insulation from real or imagined political troubles. She found crushed larger cans and cigarette packets in her front garden and interpreted these as menacing signals from the Perthshire proletariat. Every flicker and dim of electric light was a portent of class war.”

“She was crouched in the corner of the room, eating something off the floor. It was the old woman dressed in endless black. When she looked up this time there was no question she was there for me. She had the face of my mother but much older, her ancient decayed mouth coming closer for her good-night kiss. I steeled myself against her putrid smell, the mouthful of bitter dust, but as her lips touched mine it was like biting into a purple black plum whose fruit was brilliant red, like an explosion of intense joy. Its childhood smell wrinkled my nose with pleasure, its sweet juices ran down my chin, turning into a beautiful black ocean where I floated safely, not lost as I had imagined, but securely tucked away deep in space.”

“She was dark-complexioned, with full lips and high cheekbones set gracefully on a smooth face—reminiscent of the beautiful women he admired while driving through small rural towns in South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. Onyx had a curvaceous and full-bodied figure, exuding confidence. She was homegirl thick and cornbread-fed—just the kind of woman he was typically attracted to.”

“She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.”

“She was decidedly attractive, he saw, but in an ill-natured, ungracious way. Because of his connection with Fitzgerald, Carstairs & Scott, Johnnie had an extensive knowledge of the external appearance and different modes of behavior of a great variety of attractive women: they came up to the office in shoals, with their nails dipped in blood and their faces covered with pale cocoa. And some were charming and simple beneath their masks, and some were complex and arrogant. This girl belonged to the latter type, the type which would ignore or stare surlily at him if he spoke to them, until they learned that the actual money came through him, when their manner sweetened wonderfully. This girl wore her attractiveness not as a girl should, simply, consciously, as a happy crown of pleasure, but rather as a murderous utensil with which she might wound indiscriminately right and left, and which she would only employ to please when it suited her purpose. They were like bad-tempered street-walkers, without walking the street.”

“She was diagnosed with leukemia when Lily was six months old.... Diana and I had looked at each other, no clue, nowhere to begin, certainly no answers, other than the largest answer, that is, the answer that emerged in how, despite or maybe in lieu of the terror of the situation, our bodies had involuntarily gravitated toward each other, how our petty grudges and growing disagreements—all the fissures and loggerheads that had been emerging in our marriage—had given way.”

“She was distracted from her thoughts as he pulled something from one of his coat pockets, a flat rectangular leather case. "A present," Harry said, giving it to her. Her eyes rounded with surprise. "You didn't need to give me anything. Thank you. I didn't expect.. oh." This last as she opened the case and beheld a diamond necklace arranged on the velvet lining like a pool of glittering fire. It was a heavy garland of sparkling flowers and quatrefoil links. "Do you like it?" Harry asked casually. "Yes, of course, it's... breathtaking." Poppy had never imagined owning such jewelry. The only necklace she possessed was a single pearl on a chain. "Shall I... shall I wear it tonight?" "I think it would be appropriate with that gown." Harry took the necklace from the case, stood behind Poppy, and fastened it gently around her neck. The cold weight of the diamonds and the warm brush of his fingers at her nape elicited a shiver. He remained behind her, his hands settling lightly on the curves of her neck, moving in a warm stroke to the tops of her shoulders. "Lovely," he murmured. "Although nothing is as beautiful as your bare skin.”