Top 1200 Remembering Her Quotes & Sayings - Page 13

Sometimes she teased me that she’d eventually catch up to me in age and be my older sibling. Looking at her now, with that determined glint in her eyes and the confidence in her voice, I could almost believe her

She was beautiful in combat. I know that’s a crazy thing to say, especially after we’d just climbed a sewage waterfall, but her gray eyes sparkled when she was fighting for her life. Her face shone like a goddess’s, and believe me, I’ve seen goddesses. The way her Camp Half-Blood beads rested against her throat—Okay, sorry. Got a little distracted.

This woman [Bow] was not simply a reflection of who her husband was. She was her own whole self. And even if we weren't exploring life through her eyes, when we did see her it was clear that she had a full life.

Tick, tock,” whispers Wiress. I guide her in front of me and get her to lie down, stroking her arm to soothe her. She drifts off, stirring restlessly, occasionally sighing out her phrase. “Tick, tock.” “Tick, tock,” I agree softly. “It’s time for bed. Tick, tock. Go to sleep.

I pu my finger to her lips. "You have to hush a minute so that I can tell you something." "What?" she says, bites my finger. I look at her. "I love you." She gets quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks into her, softens her. "Well that works out," she finally says, her voice deeper and breathless, her eyes moist, "because I love you too." She turns, leans against my arm, and settles into me.

A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.

I actually don't know much about Jaclyn Moriarty's process or where her stories come from or who inspired her characters. I just know that reading her books feels like sitting with friends. Her characters feel alive.

I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.

I wanted to wear her as you would a piece of clothing, to fold into her ribs, be a stone in her mouth.

My mother cranes her neck. Her ability to be fascinated by things is her best gift to me.

The misnamed "feminine" woman, so admired by her creator, man - the woman who is acquiescent in her inferiority and who has swallowed man's image of her as his ordained helpmate and no more - is in reality the "masculine" woman. The truly feminine woman "cannot help burning with that inner rage that comes from having to identify with her exploiter's negative image of her," and having to conform to her persecutor's idea of femininity and its man-decreed limitations.

We have to work together. We have to support each other. When we hear about a wonderful woman, we have to tell other women about her. Help her, prop her up. Give her what she needs. That's a big lesson.

You don't really know how beautiful a girl is, until you meet her, all her beauty is in her personality.

But the small cloud which appeared in the northwest four months ago had blown up into a mighty storm and then into a screaming tornado,sweeping away her world, whirling her out of her sheltered life,and dropping her down in the midst of this still,haunted desolation.

They say if you get her, you could understand her better and she known to be a cheater, but that's only if you let her.

I want a girl because I want to bring her up so that she shan't make the mistakes I've made. When I look back upon the girl I was I hate myself. But I never had a chance. I'm going to bring up my daughter so that she's free and can stand on her own feet. I´m not going to bring a child into the world, and love her, and bring her up, just so that some man may want to sleep with her so much that he's willing to provide her with board and lodging for the rest of her life.

I want to be fashion's Erykah Badu. What I admire about her is her timelessness and her fearless approach.

There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.

I'm here to be an actor who wants to be remembered for her roles and her films rather than her looks.

No one who knew Diana will ever forget her. Millions of others who never met her, but felt they knew her, will remember her.

My sister is a lesbian and I want her to have that same feeling. A civil partnership is not the same as marriage. She's in a serious relationship with a girl I am obsessed with. I would love her to marry her girlfriend because I love her so much.

My sister, with her ratty red-highlighted hair and her linen pajamas and her combat boots—how could she possibly worry about being possessed by a goddess? What goddess would want her, except the goddess of chewing gum?

Never throughout history has a man who lived a life of ease left a name worth remembering.

The process of learning requires not only hearing and applying but also forgetting and then remembering again.

The country gets so beat up in the media. It's worth remembering how much we love America.

I always try to look at things as though I were remembering them three years later.

My mom and I were super close when I was a kid, her and I sort of ran off from her ex-husband. It wasn't such a good time for us and I remember listening to The Distillers with her. One time I actually asked her, 'Mom, can I shave my head into a mohawk?'

It is worth remembering that every writer begins with a naively physical notion of what art is. A book for him or her is not an expression or a series of expressions, but literally a volume, a prism with six rectangular sides made of thin sheets of papers which should include a cover, an inside cover, an epigraph in italics, a preface, nine or ten parts with some verses at the beginning, a table of contents, an ex libris with an hourglass and a Latin phrase, a brief list of errata, some blank pages, a colophon and a publication notice: objects that are known to constitute the art of writing.

I look at the books on my library shelves. They certainly seem dormant. But what if the characters are quietly rearranging themselves? What if Emma Woodhouse doesn't learn from her mistakes? What if Tom Jones descends into a sodden life of poaching and outlawry? What if Eve resists Satan, remembering God's injunction and Adam's loving advice? I imagine all the characters bustling to get back into their places as they feel me taking the book down from the shelf. Hurry, they say, he'll expect to find us exactly where he left us, never mind how much his life has changed in the meantime.

If France is to be judged, judge her not by the effects of her defeat but by her readiness to sacrifice herself.

Touching his hair, she leaned hesitantly forward, and he folded his arms around her, sinking into sensation again as they kissed--the slight weight of her on his lap, the smell of her. He glided his hands up the warm dip of her spine, felt her shiver and press closer. He could never get enough of this. Never.

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on something else, to pass the time and to distract her from the situation she was in, the fear came trickling out. It hovered like a cloud of gas around her, threatening to penetrate her pores and poison her.

My wife had a bad habit of biting her nails, but I cured her. I hid her teeth.

I felt differently about her [Gypsy Rose Lee] during every phase of the research and writing process. Often, I felt incredibly sorry for her; she had an extremely difficult childhood and a complicated 'to say the least' relationship with her family, her mother especially.

A Chinese tale tells of some men sent to harm a young girl who, upon seeing her beauty, become her protectors rather than her violators. That's how I felt seeing the Earth for the first time. I could not help but love and cherish her.

A woman who knows her power has in her hands the key to her own happiness and success.

When I look at Stephanie McMahon's entire career, I'm always blown away at how she just moves your soul. Literally, my heart is moved by her. Either I hate her or love her - or love to hate her.

On her daughter, Jessica: Kids at her school will sidle up to me and say, Does Jessica know what happens in book 4? Does Jessica know the title of book 4? And I keep saying, No! There is no point kidnapping her, taking her around back of the bike shed, and torturing her for information.

What makes a woman beautiful is her loyalty to and her friendships with other women, and her honesty with men.

I liked her…I really liked her. I wanted to protect her. I approached her in a gentle, playful manner, because she's so precious and I wanted to hold her in my arms because she's so carefree. She was my treasure.

She tossed her towel on her dresser and turned to the bed where shed left her PJs. Only it wasn't just her PJs on the bed anymore. Lucas, eyes wide, sat on the foot of her bed, about four feet from where she stood completely naked. She squealed. He laughed. She dashed for the towel. Once she had it around her, she glared from a still grinning Lucas to the door. "I'm killing Della!" He laughed again. "I'm afraid I might have to protect her for this one.

If he touched her, he couldn't talk to her, if he loved her he couldn't leave, if he spoke he couldn't listen, if he fought he couldn't win.

Her purse was a weight, ballast; it tethered her to the earth as her mind floated away.

We must let patience have its perfect work, remembering that there are precious promises in the Scriptures for those who wait upon the Lord.

Religion is a more or less organized way of remembering that every ministry points to a higher reality.

As businesses, as communities, as families, and friends, we need to go forward remembering that we're all connected in one way or another.

What's weird is when you meet a girl who is 23 and you are talking to her, even her voice is high-pitched, she's young. You ask her how old she is, she says, 'Twenty-three, how old are you?' and when I tell her I'm 41 it's like I've just told her I have cancer. It's, 'Oh my God, how long have you had that?'

The Soul debases her self, when she sets her affections on any thing but her creator.

Maternal love, like an orange tree, buds and blossoms and bears at once. When a woman puts her finger for the first time into the tiny hand of her baby and feels that helpless clutch which tightens her very heartstrings, she is born again with her newborn child.

Hold her for me. Hold her tight. Don't let her be lonely. Don't let her hurt. Please.

From a biological viewpoint, patriarchal religion denied women the natural rights of every other mammalian female: the right to choose her stud, to control the circumstances of her mating, to occupy and govern her own nest, or to refuse all males when preoccupied with the important business of raising her young.

God bless Africa, Guard her people, Guide her leaders, And give her peace.

Sally Barris has a voice like sparkling crystal. You could have knocked me over with a feather the first time I heard her. Her writing is from a deep, yet innocent, place and her point of view is just a bit off center. I am excited for her, she is standing at the beginning of her journey in this town, with all of it ahead of her. It reminds me of the first time I heard Beth Nielson-Chapman or Nanci Griffith. It's going to be fun to watch.

Daniel held himself very still, waiting for the wave of jealousy that never came. He was furious with the man who’d taken advantage of her innocence, but he did not feel jealous. He did not need to be her first, he realized. He simply needed to be her last. Her only.

What does the Earth Desire? I will put it in just a few short sentences... To be admired in her loveliness, To be tasted in her delicious fruits, To be listened to in her teaching, To be endured in the severity of her discipline, To be cared for as a maternal source from whence we come, a destiny to which we return. It's very simple.

A poor creature who has said or done nothing worth a serious man taking the trouble of remembering.

I don't want to treat my little girl like she's made out of glass or wrap her in bubble wrap or anything! And I also don't want to be constantly correcting her or warning her. Or my least favorite, reprimanding her.

Madonna is her own Hollywood studio - a popelike mogul and divine superstar in one. She has a laserlike instinct for publicity, aided by her visual genius for still photography (which none of her legion of imitators has). Unfortunately, her public life has dissolved into a series of staged photo ops.

In real life during the last decade of the twentieth century, Rumpelstiltskin would probably get the queen's daughter. He would no doubt addict her to heroin, turn her out as a prostitute, confiscate her earnings, beat her for pleasure, hack her to pieces, and escape justice by claiming that society's intolerance for bad-tempered, evil-minded trolls had driven him temporarily insane.

I knew from the minute I saw her (Hillary) that if I got involved with her I would fall in love with her.