Quotes 461 till 480 of 708.
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She entered his dreams sane and left mad. She began with words of love and ended with sounds that frightened him.
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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
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She fights and vanquishes in me, and I live and breathe in her, and I have life and being.
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She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.
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She gave up beauty in her tender youth, gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; she covered up her eyes lest they should gaze on vanity, and chose the bitter truth.
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She had already allowed her delectable lover to pluck that flower which, so different from the rose to which it is nevertheless sometimes compared, has not the same faculty of being reborn each spring.
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She had an unequalled gift... of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.
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She has an eye that could speak, though her tongue were silent.
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She has lost the art of conversation, but not, unfortunately, the power of speech.
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She hates me and you hate me, but you all love Harry. Nobody loves me.
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She is a wife who is the soul of her husband.
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She is absolutely inadmissible into society. Many a woman has a past, but I am told that she has at least a dozen, and that they all fit.
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She is so totally absorbed in a vocation - both a gift and a mastering passion - that she has no time to be absorbed with the self's worries about itself. And that is the moral of the story: You can pursue happiness by wearing a torn jersey. You can catch it by being good at something you love.
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She is such a good friend that she would throw all her acquaintances into the water for the pleasure of fishing them out again.
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She knew how to trust people... a rare quality, revealing a character far above average.
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She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness.
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She laughs at everything you say. Why? Because she has fine teeth.
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She made me laugh. I will miss her. Baba Wawa.
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She opened up a book of poems and handed it to me written by an Italian poet from the 13th century and every one of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal pouring off of every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.
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She plucked from my lapel the invisible strand of lint (the universal act of woman to proclaim ownership).
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