T Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with T. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“tell me
of something fiercer
than the love with which
i gaze upon you
of something softer
than the tenderness
with which i hold you.”
“Tell me of this wizard Howl of yours."
Sophie's teeth chattered, but she said proudly, "He's the best wizard in Ingary or anywhere else. If he'd only had time, he would have defeated that djinn. And he's sly and selfish and vain as a peacock and cowardly, and you can't pin him down to do anything."
"Indded?" asked Abdullah. "Strange that you should speak so proudly such a list of vices, most loving of ladies."
"What do you mean, vices?" Sophie asked angrily. "I was just describing Howl!”
Source: Castle in the Air
“Tell me of what plant-birthday a man takes notice, and I shall tell you a good deal about his vocation, his hobbies, his hay fever, and the general level of his ecological education.”
Source: Aldo Leopold: A Sand County Almanac & Other Writings on Conservation and Ecology: (Library of America #238)
“Tell me of your Willoughbys, Heathcliffs and Wickhams in literature and I will tell you I met them all.”
“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
Source: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
“Tell me—or anyone else—something thatis personal to you, Coach had said.
Seiji couldn’t talk to just anyone, but Nicholas had said they were friends.
“I was… Jesse’s mirror,” said Seiji slowly. “I reflected his—glow, his glories and his victories. I used to think it was an honor. We were similar, I told myself, in all the ways that really mattered.”
Jesse was left-handed like Nicholas, so facing him sometimes felt like looking into a mirror. Like seeing yourself through the glass, a better, golden self in a different world. A self who fenced just as well but didn’t have to work as hard for it. A Seiji who did everything in life with the same skill as he fenced.
“You’re not a mirror,” said Nicholas. “You’re real.”
“It’s a metaphor, Nicholas.”
Nicholas shrugged. “You’re still not a mirror. Mirrors break. You never do.”
Seiji thought of his moment of defeat against Jesse. The moment that Aiden had seen, and taunted Seiji with, making Seiji lose again. Seiji had trained his whole life to be strong, but somehow, he was still weak. Jesse had taken his sword, and Seiji hadn’t been able to stop him. The bitterness of that defeat sent Seiji to Kings Row.
Always keep moving toward your target, his dad’s voice said, but somehow Seiji had ended up getting his target wrong. He’d moved toward loss and pain he still didn’t entirely understand.
“I lost,” confessed Seiji. “Badly.”
“Doesn’t make you a loser,” said Nicholas, having another lapse where he didn’t understand what words—let alone metaphors—meant. “You didn’t burst into tears and give up fencing. And you didn’t follow Jesse to Exton like a little lamb, the way he was expecting. You came to Kings Row, and you came to fence. You came to fight.”
This view of the matter was so shocking that Seiji said something he’d thought he would never say to Nicholas Cox.
“I suppose…,” said Seiji, “… you’re right.”
Nicholas’s gaze remained fixed on the floor.
“Being rivals shouldn’t be about being someone’s mirror. Both of you get to be real. Neither of you has to break.”
“Sometimes you’re insightful, Nicholas,” said Seiji. Nicholas looked pleased before Seiji added: “I think it’s mainly by accident.”
At that point, Nicholas rolled his eyes and stepped into his side of the room, yanking the curtain closed between them.”
Source: Striking Distance
“Tell me or I'll yell for Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, and you can find out how bex became bex”
Source: Only the Good Spy Young
“Tell me, Pierce, why do you think she left?"
"Why do---" He turned on her, his face a strange battle of anger and grief. "I don't know."
"I think you do." She stood, her height no match for his, but she pretended that she did. "You hit her, Pierce."
He was shamed into silence.
"And more than that. My sister is intelligent, and compassionate, and talented. And you--- you squandered those things about her. You told her, in action if not words, that she was less than the Perrysburg Graftons until she learned to be like them. You fool--- she was more. She is the best person I have ever known, and I hope she stays far away from you."
Alaine caught her breath, her heart racing. Pierce only stared at her, anger boiling behind his eyes. "I only ever wanted to help her."
"Help her!" Alaine bit back laughter that was too close to hysterical. "Help her do what, Pierce? The only thing you wanted was for her to help you. To be a perfect Perrysburg Grafton, arranging your parties and making you look good. Well, she's worth more than that.”
Source: The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill
“Tell me, Princess Olivia... why do you have to stay in your tower?"
The soft entreaty made Livia feel as if she were melting inside. She laughed unsteadily, wishing for a moment that she dared to trust him. But the habit of independence was too strong. Shaking her head, Livia approached him, expecting him to back away from the doorway. He retreated half a step, his hands still grasping the edges of the doorway, so that she couldn't help but walk into an open-armed embrace. The bonnet ribbons slipped from her fingers.
"Mr. Shaw-" she began, making the mistake of looking up at him.
"Gideon," he whispered. "I want to know your secrets, Olivia."
A bitter half smile touched her lips. "You'll hear them sooner or later from other people."
"I want to hear them from you."
As Livia began to retreat into the glasshouse, Shaw deftly caught the little cloth belt of her walking dress. His long fingers hooked beneath the reinforced fabric.
Unable to back away from him, Livia clamped her hand over his, while a hectic blush flooded her face. She knew that he was toying with her, and that she once might have been able to manage this situation with relative ease. But not now.
When she spoke, her voice was husky. "I can't do this, Mr. Shaw."
To her amazement, he seemed to understand exactly what she meant. "You don't have to do anything," he said softly. "Just let me come closer... and stay right there..." His head bent, and he found her mouth easily.
The coaxing pressure of his lips made Livia sway dizzily, and he caught her firmly against him. She was being kissed by Gideon Shaw, the self-indulgent, debauched scoundrel her brother had warned her about. And oh, he was good at it. She had thought nothing would ever be as pleasurable as Amberley's kisses... but this man's mouth was warm and patient, and there was something wickedly erotic about his complete lack of urgency. He teased her gently, nudging her lips apart, the tip of his tongue barely brushing hers before it withdrew.
Wanting more of those silken strokes, Livia began to strain against him, her breath quickening. He nurtured her excitement with such subtle skill that she was utterly helpless to defend against it. To her astonishment, she found herself winding her arms around his neck and pressing her breasts against the hard plane of his chest. His hand slid behind her neck, tilting her head back to expose her throat more fully. Still gentle and controlled, he kissed the fragile skin, working his way down to the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt his tongue swirl in the warm depression, and a moan of pleasure escaped her.
Shaw lifted his head to nuzzle the side of her cheek, while his hand smoothed over her back. Their breaths mingled in swift puffs of heat, his hard chest moving against hers in an erratic rhythm.”
Source: Again the Magic
“Tell me, Satoru. What's out there beyond this field? A lot of wonderful things, I'm thinking. I wonder if I'll be able to go on a trip with you again.
Satoru grins, and picks me up, so I can see the far-off-horizon from his eye level.
Ah - we saw so many things, didn't we?”
Source: Nana Du Ký
“Tell me,” she interrupted, “are you quite sure that these friends of yours can be trusted?”
“Quite sure. I know them personally, and have worked with them.”
”That is, they are members of the sect to which you belong? Forgive my scepticism, but I am always a little doubtful as to the accuracy of information received from secret societies. It seems to me that the habit—”
"Who told you I belonged to a 'sect'?" he interrupted sharply.
“No one; I guessed it."
"Ah!" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. “Do you always guess people's private affairs?” he said after a moment.
“Very often. I am rather observant, and have a habit of putting things together. I tell you that so that you may be careful when you don't want me to know a thing.”
“Tell me,” she interrupted. “What do you want in a husband exactly?” Elizza gave the question careful consideration for a few moments before replying.
“ A good Muslim man who encourages me to do good—” “Kamal is a hafidh,” her mother cut in. Repeating the phrase for the umpteenth time.
“—and allows me to grow at my own pace!” Elizza finished.
“Someone who supports my goals as if they were his own. Someone considerate of the needs of others. Educated. Good looking. A six pack would be nice,” she ended with a laugh. Her mother swatted her arm.”
Source: A Second Look
“Tell me sir if you will, where in the Bible does it state that it’s ok to judge others based purely on assumption? Can you see now who is the lesser evil between the two?”
“Tell me some true things about fighting.''Tell me you love me.''I love you,' the girl said. 'You can publish it in the Gazzettino if you like. I love your hard, flat body and your strange eyes that frighten me when they become wicked. I love your hand and all your other wounded places.”
Source: Across the River and Into the Trees
“Tell me something about her," he whispers. "Something good."
"I didn't know anything." My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "I knew her for weeks? Months? And I never even asked her anything worthwhile about her family or what it was like when she was young or- or what she wanted or what she hoped for. Because I thought we had more time.”
Source: A Torch Against the Night
“Tell me something. Do you believe in God?'
Snow darted an apprehensive glance in my direction. 'What? Who still believes nowadays?'
'It isn't that simple. I don't mean the traditional God of Earth religion. I'm no expert in the history of religions, and perhaps this is nothing new--do you happen to know if there was ever a belief in an...imperfect God?'
'What do you mean by imperfect?' Snow frowned. 'In a way all the gods of the old religions were imperfect, considered that their attributes were amplified human ones. The God of the Old Testament, for instance, required humble submission and sacrifices, and and was jealous of other gods. The Greek gods had fits of sulks and family quarrels, and they were just as imperfect as mortals...'
'No,' I interrupted. 'I'm not thinking of a god whose imperfection arises out of the candor of his human creators, but one whose imperfection represents his essential characteristic: a god limited in his omniscience and power, fallible, incapable of foreseeing the consequences of his acts, and creating things that lead to horror. He is a...sick god, whose ambitions exceed his powers and who does not realize it at first. A god who has created clocks, but not the time they measure. He has created systems or mechanisms that serves specific ends but have now overstepped and betrayed them. And he has created eternity, which was to have measured his power, and which measures his unending defeat.'
Snow hesitated, but his attitude no longer showed any of the wary reserve of recent weeks:
'There was Manicheanism...'
'Nothing at all to do with the principles of Good and Evil,' I broke in immediately. 'This god has no existence outside of matter. He would like to free himself from matter, but he cannot...'
Snow pondered for a while:
'I don't know of any religion that answers your description. That kind of religion has never been...necessary. If i understand you, and I'm afraid I do, what you have in mind is an evolving god, who develops in the course of time, grows, and keeps increasing in power while remaining aware of his powerlessness. For your god, the divine condition is a situation without a goal. And understanding that, he despairs. But isn't this despairing god of yours mankind, Kelvin? Is it man you are talking about, and that is a fallacy, not just philosophically but also mystically speaking.'
I kept on:
'No, it's nothing to do with man. man may correspond to my provisional definition from some point of view, but that is because the definition has a lot of gaps. Man does not create gods, in spite of appearances. The times, the age, impose them on him. Man can serve is age or rebel against it, but the target of his cooperation or rebellion comes to him from outside. If there was only a since human being in existence, he would apparently be able to attempt the experiment of creating his own goals in complete freedom--apparently, because a man not brought up among other human beings cannot become a man. And the being--the being I have in mind--cannot exist in the plural, you see? ...Perhaps he has already been born somewhere, in some corner of the galaxy, and soon he will have some childish enthusiasm that will set him putting out one star and lighting another. We will notice him after a while...'
'We already have,' Snow said sarcastically. 'Novas and supernovas. According to you they are candles on his altar.'
'If you're going to take what I say literally...'
...Snow asked abruptly:
'What gave you this idea of an imperfect god?'
'I don't know. It seems quite feasible to me. That is the only god I could imagine believing in, a god whose passion is not a redemption, who saves nothing, fulfills no purpose--a god who simply is.”
Source: Solaris
“Tell me something I can dance to.”
“Tell me something important about her. People make fun of her?"
"Some did," she said. "I never liked it, but..."
"Crap." I looked at Molly and said, "Code Carrie. We're in trouble.”
Source: Many Bloody Returns
“Tell me something interesting, and I just might reply.”
Source: When Goodbye Is All You Have
“Tell me something interesting.”
“In medieval times, narwhal tusks were passed off as unicorn horns and sold to wealthy Europeans,” I said.
He snorted. “I meant something about you.”
Source: The Quicksand Theatre Company
“Tell me something, Noah. Which is more important: freedom or happiness?'
What was this, a game? But Nijinsky wasn't smiling.
'You can't be happy unless your free,' Noah said.”
Source: BZRK
“Tell me something only you know and make a new friend.”
“Tell me something real.” It comes out as a plea, just like it did last year.
He sighs and curls around me. “I know who you really are, Violet. Even when you keep things from me, I know you,” he promises.”
Source: Iron Flame
“Tell me something that is impossible and I am not joking.”
“Tell me something true, or tell me nothing at all.”
Source: This Is How You Lose the Time War
“Tell me something wicked.”
Source: When he was wicked
“Tell me something wonderful," he said to Dane. "Tell me that we are going to die dreamfully and loved in our sleep."
"You're always writing one of your plays on the phone," said Dane.
"I said, something wonderful. Say something about springtime."
"It is sloppy and wet. It is a beast from the sea."
"Ah," said Harry.”
Source: Like Life: Stories
“Tell me something, Adron. Sometime you’ve never shared with anyone else. Not even Thia. (Livia) I’m the one who glued Zarina to the toilet seat when she was seven. (Adron)”
“Tell me something, Raphael?" He was already turning, heading to the door. "What is it you'd like to know, Guild Hunter?" She hid her smile at his slip. "What do I call you? Husband? Mate? Boyfriend?" Stopping with his hand on the doorknob, he shot her an inscrutable look. "You can call me 'Master'.”
Source: Archangel's Kiss
“Tell me, son... have you ever been intimidated by anyone?'
'Oh yes,' said Thomas.
'I don't believe it. By whom?'
'By Our Lord... on the altar.”
“Tell me that I got the fattest pussy in the whole world & if I let him eat it I can be his old girl”
“Tell me that I misunderstood a joke, but don't tell me that my choice of cravat is wrong.”
“Tell me that not everything I wrote was bad.”
“Tell me that prayer is a fool’s errand and I will tell you that the fool is the one who doesn’t understand the errand.”
“Tell me that the purpose of life is to have fun, and without a care in the world I'll begin wreaking havoc on everything I pass. Now that's what I call pure, honest fun.”
Source: Killosophy
“Tell me that you don’t love me, and I’ll leave you alone. In this time or the next. Tell me that you don’t feel free. Tell me you can’t stand the way I look at you. But don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to love you. I will love you through every minute, every day, and every year for the rest of my life. My love for you is timeless.”
Source: Timeless: A Novel
“Tell me that you don’t take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down.”
“Tell me that you’re happy with your life that you don’t crave my touch, my kisses, the way I used to whisper in your ear. Tell me that when you see me, your heart doesn’t race, that butterflies don’t flutter in your stomach, that the moment you see me, your world isn’t right. Because every time I see you, everything is right in my world. I crave you, I need you, and I’ll die proving to you that I’m a man that deserves you. When things went to hell for me, you were the only thing that kept me alive. Your memory kept me sane and has driven me to become a man. This time, Julia, I’m not letting you walk away and I’ll fight for us. Even if I have to fight for the both of us, I’ll fight till my dying breath to show you I deserve you.”
Source: Imperfectly Beautiful
“Tell me that you refuse to allow me to be so stupid. Tell me that you will not tolerate this relationship being over just when it was on the verge of really taking off.”
“Tell me the direction of your thoughts and I will tell you the direction of your life!”
“Tell me the name of your best friend. (Sunshine) Wulf Tryggvason. (Talon) Oh my God, you just answered a question. I think the world may end over it. (Sunshine)”
“Tell me, the poet says, the lie I need to feel safe, and tell me in your own voice, so I believe you. One more tale to stay alive.”
“tell me the poetry you read and the song you fall asleep with… all the art, the words, the songs that shift you. this is what i want to know. this is how my heart falls.”
“Tell me the rest of the story. I can't wait. I just can't." And hadn't he known this was coming? Yes. If someone had delivered all twenty reels of the new Rocket Man chapter-play to Annie's house, would she have waited, parcelling out only one a week, or even one a day?
He looked at the half-demolished avalanche of her sundae, one cherry almost buried in whipped cream, another floating in chocolate syrup. He remembered the way the living room had looked, with sugar-glazed dishes everywhere.
No. Annie was not the waiting type. Annie would have watched all twenty episodes in one night, even if they gave her eyestrain and a splitting headache.
Because Annie loved sweet things.”
“Tell me the stories behind your truest smiles.”
Source: Hey Humanity
“Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much that he died every night to let her breathe.”
“Tell me the story..
About how the sun loved the moon so much..
That she died every night..
Just to let him breathe...”
“Tell me the story," said Fenchurch firmly. "You arrived at the station."
"I was about twenty minutes early. I'd got the time of the train wrong."
"Get on with it." Fenchurch laughed.
"So I bought a newspaper, to do the crossword, and went to the buffet to get a cup of coffee."
"You do the crossword?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
"The Guardian usually."
"I think it tries to be too cute. I prefer The Times. Did you solve it?"
"What?"
"The crossword in the Guardian."
"I haven't had a chance to look at it yet," said Arthur, "I'm still trying to buy the coffee."
"All right then. Buy the coffee."
"I'm buying it. I am also," said Arthur, "buying some biscuits."
"What sort?"
"Rich Tea."
"Good Choice."
"I like them. Laden with all these new possessions, I go and sit at a table. And don't ask me what the table was like because this was some time ago and I can't remember. It was probably round."
"All right."
"So let me give you the layout. Me sitting at the table. On my left, the newspaper. On my right, the cup of coffee. In the middle of the table, the packet of biscuits."
"I see it perfectly."
"What you don't see," said Arthur, "because I haven't mentioned him yet, is the guy sitting at the table already. He is sitting there opposite me."
"What's he look like?"
"Perfectly ordinary. Briefcase. Business suit. He didn't look," said Arthur, "as if he was about to do anything weird."
"Ah. I know the type. What did he do?"
"He did this. He leaned across the table, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and..."
"What?"
"Ate it."
"What?"
"He ate it."
Fenchurch looked at him in astonishment. "What on earth did you do?"
"Well, in the circumstances I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do. I was compelled," said Arthur, "to ignore it."
"What? Why?"
"Well, it's not the sort of thing you're trained for is it? I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits."
"Well, you could..." Fenchurch thought about it. "I must say I'm not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?"
"I stared furiously at the crossword," said Arthur. "Couldn't do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it. I braced myself. I took a biscuit, trying very hard not to notice," he added, "that the packet was already mysteriously open..."
"But you're fighting back, taking a tough line."
"After my fashion, yes. I ate a biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit," Arthur said, "it stays eaten."
"So what did he do?"
"Took another one. Honestly," insisted Arthur, "this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground."
Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably.
"And the problem was," said Arthur, "that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject a second time around. What do you say? "Excuse me...I couldn't help noticing, er..." Doesn't work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigor than previously."
"My man..."
"Stared at the crossword, again, still couldn't budge a bit of it, so showing some of the spirit that Henry V did on St. Crispin's Day..."
"What?"
"I went into the breach again. I took," said Arthur, "another biscuit. And for an instant our eyes met."
"Like this?"
"Yes, well, no, not quite like that. But they met. Just for an instant. And we both looked away. But I am here to tell you," said Arthur, "that there was a little electricity in the air. There was a little tension building up over the table. At about this time."
"I can imagine.”
“Tell me the story, Pew. . . . It was a woman. You always say that. There's always a woman somewhere, child; a princess, a witch, a stepmother, a mermaid, a fairy godmother, or one as wicked as she is beautiful, or as beautiful as she is good. Is that the complete list? Then there is the woman you love. Who's she? That's another story.”
Source: Lighthousekeeping
“Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.”