Sweet Quotes - Page 113

We studied our angels for a few moments more, looking at where we had lain side by side in that sweet, quiet moment. I wished what I’d said was true, that we had truly left our mark on the mountain. But I knew that after the next snowfall, our angels would disappear into the whiteness and be nothing more than a memory.

Fiery and sweet, all at the same time. A flame in the dark, lighting my way.

He didn't see me looking at him, but I could tell the ceremony was having the same effect on him. He was enraptured. It was a rare and sweet look for him, reminding me of the tortured artist that lived beneath the sarcasm. I liked that about Adrian—not the tortured part, but the way he could feel so deeply and then transform those emotions into art.

Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. "And as for who you are, you’re the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously smart caffeinated fighter you’ve been since the day I met you.” Finally, he put “beautiful” at the top of his list of adjectives. Not that I should have cared. “Sweet talker,” I scoffed. “You didn’t know anything about me the first time we met.” “I knew you were beautiful,” he said. “I just hoped for the rest.

I don't suppose that she gave you the job based on looks alone?" Adrian had been staring off but now flashed me a big smile. "Why, Sage, you sweet talker." "That's not what I meant! What happened?" He shrugged. "I told the truth." "Adrian!" "I'm serious. She asked me what my greatest strength was. I said getting along with people." "That's not bad." I admitted. "Then she asked what my greatest weakness was. And I said, 'Where should I start?'" "Adrian!" "Stop saying my name like that. I told her the truth. By the time I was on the fourth one, she told me I could go.

Sunshine had never tasted so sweet as it did at that moment.

My captivity with Dimitri. The way his mouth—so, so warm, despite his cold skin—had kissed mine. The feel of his fangs pressing into my neck and the sweet bliss that followed... He looked exactly the same too, with that chalky white pallor and red-ringed eyes that so conflicted with the soft, chin-length brown hair and otherwise gorgeous lines of his face. He even had a leather duster on.

Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.

He laced his fingers through mine and lifted my hand to his lips. I had gloves on, but he kissed exactly where I wore his ring. “Why are you so sweet?” I asked, my voice small. My heart beat rapidly, and every star peeping through the clouds seemed to be shining just for me. “I don’t think I’m that sweet. I mean, I just told you to be quiet. That’s one step away from asking you to wash my laundry and make me a sandwich.” “You know what I mean.” Seth pressed another kiss to my forehead. “I’m sweet because you make it easy to be sweet.

Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer; Rarer is the roseburst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it rarer; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the meter.

Glorious is the Voice of Man, and sweet is the music of the harp.

Sin hath broke the world's sweet peace--unstrung Th' harmonious chords to which the angels sung.

O Hope, sweet flatterer! thy, delusive touch Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort, Relieves the load of poverty, sustains The captive, bending with the weight of bonds, And smooths the pillow of disease and pain.

All beautiful things bring sadness, nor alone Sweet music, as our wisest Poet spake, Because in us keen longings they awake.

Casting is really weird. Honestly, when Alan Ruck's name came up - and I've worked with Alan before - I went, "Yes, he's perfect." He came in and read for us, which was really sweet of him because he didn't have to, and he nailed it in seconds. We knew exactly who we had. That stuff is really good and fun.

A gardener's life is full of sweets and sours; He gets the sunshine when he needs the showers.

As a writer, I am not goddess of the universes I create. I am at most a stage manager of the plentiful gifts which tumble out of the horn of plenty, which is to say there is a source so sweet and forgiving and generous that I pray every day to let that source be my guide.

If you weren't naggin', honey, you'd be so sweet.

The amazing thing about Sweets [Edison] was that he exactly spoke the way that he played! He was really unique, the one and only. He was one of the greatest Blues players that I ever heard and played with. Nobody can play like Sweets man, nobody! Most of us, musicians, frequently quote Sweets' phrases in our solos. Like Lester Young, Sweets had a big influence on us musicians, especially when we play some Blues.

A poet is no rattlebrain, saying what comes uppermost, and, because he says every thing, saying, at last, something good; but a heart in unison with his time and country. There is nothing whimsical or fantastic in his production, but sweet and sad earnest, freighted with the weightiest convictions, and pointed with the most determined aim which any man or class knows of in his times.

The private life of one man shall be a more illustrious monarchy,--more formidable to its enemy, more sweet and serene in its influence to its friend, than any kingdom in history. For a man, rightly viewed, comprehendeth the particular natures of all men.

The merit of those who fill a space in the world's history, who are borne forward, as it were, by the weight of thousands whom they lead, shed a perfume less sweet than do the sacrifices of private virtue.

As I walked in the woods I felt what I often feel that nothing can befall me in life, no calamity, no disgrace (leaving me my eyes) to which Nature will not offer a sweet consolation. Standing on the bare ground with my head bathed by the blithe air, & uplifted into the infinite space, I become happy in my universal relations. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign & accidental. I am the heir of uncontained beauty and power.

Solitary converse with nature; for thence are ejaculated sweet and dreadful words never uttered in libraries. Ah! the spring days, the summer dawns, and October woods!

Our religion vulgarly stands on numbers of believers. Whenever the appeal is made--no matter how indirectly--to numbers, proclamation is then and there made, that religion is not. He that finds God a sweet, enveloping presence, who shall dare to come in?