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Compliments Quotes

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Compliments Quotes

““Sit with me,” Isaiah says. As I move to rest next to him, he stops me. “Not there. Here.” He motions to the spot between his legs. Awkwardly, I settle in front of him. Isaiah, the king of secure, waves off any distance between us as he gathers me into the safe shelter of his body. The blood pulses faster in my veins. I like being this close to him. Maybe a little too much. “You’re beautiful.” His breath tickles the skin behind my ear, and the small hairs stand on end with the joyous sensation. “You’re smart and funny. I love how your eyes shine when you laugh.” He glides his fingers against my skin causing an addictive tingling. “I love how you lace your fingers and brush your hair from your face when you’re nervous. I love how you offer yourself so completely to me—no fear. You’re loyal and strong.” “I’m not strong.” I cut him off. The panic attacks confirm that. Unable to be near him anymore, I attempt to untangle myself from him, but Isaiah becomes a solid wall around me and I jerk in his arms in protest. His tender hold tightens, and the words feel like poetry because of the deep, soothing way he speaks. “You’re wrong. I see you exactly as you are.””

“He is a type of our best — our rarest. Electrical, I was going to say, beyond anyone, perhaps, ever was: charged, surcharged. Not a founder of new philosophies — not of that build. But a towering magnetic presence, filling the air about with light, warmth, inspiration. A great intellect, penetrating, in ways (on his field) the best of our time — to be long kept, cherished, passed on... It should not be surprising that I am drawn to Ingersoll, for he is 'Leaves of Grass.' He lives, embodies, the individuality I preach. 'Leaves of Grass' utters individuality, the most extreme, uncompromising. I see in Bob the noblest specimen —American-flavored—pure out of the soil, spreading, giving, demanding light. {Whitman's thought on his good friend, the great Robert Ingersoll}”

“Paine was a grand fellow — high—with the most splendid sense of justice. But he was a reasoner — not warm — not letting out the natural palpitating passion... which perhaps he didn't have. But I see all that and more in Ingersoll. His imagination flames and plays up, up, up. It is a grand height! And he has so sharp a blade, too; is many-sided, gifted for great effects in different spheres. I don't suppose we ever had a man here so well adapted to that work. {Whitman's thought on Thomas Paine and his good friend, Robert Ingersoll}”

“Nothing complements a fast mind better than a slow tongue. And nothing aggravates a slow mind better than a fast tongue.”

“Lucien,' my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. 'Behave.' Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. 'My apologies, lady.' Another joke at my expense. 'I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary.' He gestured to me with a flourish. 'Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

“Have I told you that you're beautiful?' 'What?' The shift in conversation threw me. 'I might have, but I couldn't remember if I did,' he went on, tugging gently on the strap. 'Then I thought that it wasn't something you could say too often. You're beautiful, Poppy.' My stupid, stupid heart skipped. 'Is that why you decided to wake me up in the middle of the night?' 'You're beautiful.' HIs head tilted, and I gasped at the feel of his lips on the longer scar on my cheek. He kissed that one and then the shorter one, above my eye. 'Both halves, and you should never question why anyone would find you utterly, irrevocably, and distractingly beautiful.' The skipping was back, but I ignored it. 'That is a lot of adjectives.' 'I can come up with more.' 'That won't be necessary,' I advised. 'So, now that you've told me this, you can get off me.' He smiled against my cheek. 'But you're comfortable, Princess.”

“Half of her face is a masterpiece,' the Duke murmured, and my skin flushed cold and then hot as my stomach twisted. 'The other half a nightmare.' A tremor coursed down my arms, but I kept my chin high and resisted the urge to pick up something, anything, and throw it at the Duke's face. The Duchess spoke, though, saying what, I wasn't sure. Hawke's gaze remained fastened on mine as he stepped forward. 'Both halves are as beautiful as the whole.”

“Make your praise specific, not "You're a great poet," but, "I love that line about green hair the color of Sprite cans." Sweeping compliments are often dismissed by teenagers and can make them feel the pressure of unrealistic expectations. When you respond specifically to something concrete they have already done, they can really take it in.”

“I shrug and shuffle my toe across the carpet in front of me, feeling silly. "So? It's a compliment being like you." All the humor evaporates from his face and his honey-brown eyes. Within seconds he has me in his arms and he hugs me like I'm the most important thing in the world to him. "Don't ever change, Callie Lawrence," he whispers in my hair. "Promise me you won't.”

“There is an easy way to silence your critics; just try to do what they say you can't do. If they are still not content, do more of it! Keep doing it until you become a master. Then look around, and you will see fewer critics and many compliments!”

“Even in the warm faelight of the foyer, the gown glittered and gleamed like a fresh-cut jewel. We had taken my gown from Starfall and refashioned it, adding sheer silk panels to the back shoulders, the glittering material like woven starlight as it flowed behind me in lieu of a veil or cape. If Rhysand was Night Triumphant, I was the star that only glowed thanks to his darkness, the light only visible because of him. I scowled up the stairs. That is, if he bothered to show up on time. My hair, Nuala had swept into an ornate, elegant arc across my head, and in front of it... I caught Cassian glancing at me for the third time in less than a minute and demanded, 'What?' His lips twitched at the corners. 'You just look so...' 'Here we go,' Mor muttered from where she picked at her red-tinted nails against the stair banister. Rings glinted at every knuckle, on every finger; stacks of bracelets tinkled against each other on either wrist. 'Official,' Cassian said with an incredulous look in her direction. He waved a Siphon-topped hand to me. 'Fancy.' 'Over five hundred years old,' Mor said, shaking her head sadly, 'a skilled warrior and general, famous throughout territories, and complementing ladies is still something he finds next to impossible. Remind me why we bring you on diplomatic meetings?' Azriel, wreathed in shadows by the front door, chuckled quietly. Cassian shot him a glare. 'I don't see you spouting poetry, brother.' Azriel crossed his arms, still smiling faintly. 'I don't need to resort to it.”

“You have beautiful eyes, he said all of a sudden. I hated compliments like that, compliments that carved out one particular part of your body and put it on a platter for viewing. It always took a while for me to reabsorb that body part afterward, to add it back to the whole. The best kind of compliment to give me was something vague, plausible. You’re all right. Or, Don’t worry, it gets better.”

“They watched me, too closely to be casual. Tamlin straightened a bit and said, 'You look... better than before.' Was that a compliment? I could have sworn Lucien gave Tamlin an encouraging nod. 'And your hair is... clean.' Perhaps it was my raging hunger making me hallucinate the piss-poor attempt at flattery.”

“You look... lovely,' he said, and my stomach dipped in the most pleasant way possible. He turned to Tawny. 'As do you.' Tawny smiled. 'Thank you.' He glanced at Vikter. 'You, as well.' Vikter snorted, and I smiled, while Tawny giggled. 'You do look exceptionally handsome tonight, ' she said, an I swore Vikter's cheeks deepened in colour as I turned back to the dais.”