Best 84 quotes in «emma quotes» category

Beckett gives me his legendary calculated stare. He really seems to think that makes him look superior. What am I going to do, squeal like a baby because of his narrowed eyes? Um, think not.

As soon as she releases me, Galen grabs my hand and I don't even have time to gasp before he snatches me to the surface and pulls me toward shore, only pausing to dislodge his pair of swimming trunks from under his favorite rock, where he had just moments before taken the time to hide them. I know the routine and turn away so he can change, but it seems like no time before he hauls me onto the beach and drags me to the sand dunes in front of my house. "What are you doing?" I ask. His legs are longer than mine so for every two of his strides I have to take three, which feels a lot like running. He stops us in between the dunes. "I'm doing something that is none of anyone else's business." Then he jerks me up against him and crushes his mouth on mine. And I see why he didn't want an audience for this kiss. I wouldn't want an audience for this kiss, either, especially if the audience included my mother. This is our first kiss after he announced that he wanted me for his mate. This kiss holds promises of things to come. When he pulls away I feel drunk and excited and nervous and filled with a craving that I'm not sure can ever be satisfied. And Galen looks startled. "Maybe I shouldn't have done that," he says. "That makes it about fifty times harder to leave, I think.

After all, she understood people so well, as well as Fredrick understood his library.

A little playful banter never hurt — or did it? - Emma

At the edge of everything, love and faith have always brought me back, and back to you.

A vaidade trabalhando em uma mente fraca produz muitos tipos de danos.

A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma

But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects.

Briston shakes his head in answer, and slowly walks over to the sword. He cautiously stretches out his hand, which I can see is shaking. "What are you doing." I ask, frightened. "I'm going to see what happens if I touch it." Briston continues to stretch his hand out slowly. "Briston don't. What if it, I don't know, sucks you inside?" Briston stops to give me a dubious look. "What? It could happen. Don't you remember Poltergeist? The little girl got sucked into the television.

Emma is not a person; Emma is a place that you get stuck in; Emma is a pain that you cannot erase.

Charlotte Palmer is no sillier than Harriet Smith; and yet, how intolerable we should find it to see and hear as much of Charlotte as we do of Harriet! And would Miss Bates have been endurable if she had been presented in the mood and manners of Sense and Sensibility?

Donvel je bio poznat po jagodama, koje su bile izgovor za poziv; ali nikakav izgovor nije bio potreban; ovu damu bi i kupus namamio jer je samo želela da nekuda ide.

Emma’s gaze went from Alec to Jace, curious. “Do you worry about him?” she asked Alec, surprising a laugh out of him. “All the time,” he said. “Jace could get himself killed putting his pants on in the morning. Being his parabatai is a full-time job.

Emma this is not a joke. Look at your hands! They're... they're... wrinkled!" "Yes that's because-" "No way. I'm not going down for this. This isn't my fault." "Toraf-" "Galen will find some way to blame me though. He always does. 'You wouldn't have gotten caught if you didn't swim so close to that boat, tadpole.' No it couldn't be the humans fault for fishing in the first place-" "Toraf." "Or how about. 'Maybe if you'd stop trying to kiss my sister, she'd stop bashing your head with a rock.' How does my kissing her have anything to do with her bashing my head with a rock? If you ask me, it's just a result of poor parenting-" "Toraf." "Oh and my favorite: 'If you play with a lionfish, you're going to get pricked.' I wasn't playing with it! I was just helping it swim faster by grabbing its fins-" "TOR-AF." He stops pacing along the water, even seems to remember that I exist. "Yes, Emma? What were you saying?

By looking Emma Watson smile pictures you just see different smiles which you even don't realise. One picture with fake smile, trying something but unfortunately it fails. Another, looks like she is saying "Off, off okay... let's make it. But this will be the last you promise??... will ya?" Other moment look really like me, other she look like something she has planned and waiting you to get there and to get trapped... How much far to go, I just see something as horrible picture a celebrity with available pictures - naked. That's horrible!... Call it this or this, I don't really give a shit for this peace... - (The stages in Philosophy and Psychology)

Especially for upwardly mobile young females, declaring one's enthusiasm for Austen (whose heroines almost always move up in social and economic status as a result of the sterling marital alliances they form) has been a classic means of indicating one's purported good taste, good breeding, and good sense: I am an especially adorable member of the ruling class.

Good news is, we're annoying him. Bad news is, we're all going to die painfully.

I couldn't believe I let him see me like this, unable to fend for myself. I fumed in disgust at my vulnerability. I didn't want Evan to think I needed protecting. I pulled back my torment and let the numb blanket envelop me, pushing away the stirred memories, the noise of the crowd, and the trembling that still lay beneath the surface. I stared at the flames licking at the darkness and everything was lost as I sank deeper into nothingness.

Einer der Altmeister des englischen Romans, William Makepeace Thackeray, nannte das Wort Finis am Ende eines Erzählwerkes einmal ein "trübsinniges Wort". Das mag zutreffen, wenn man lediglich meint, von einer liebgewordenen, vertrauten Umgebung Abschied nehmen zu müssen. Meist ist jedoch das weiterwirkende Erlebnis - die Auseinandersetzung mit der vermittelten Weltsicht -, das uns ein Kunstwerk lieb und wert macht, gewissermaßen das subjektive "Weiterschreiben", wenn sich der Vorhang über das fiktive Geschehen gesenkt hat.

He wasn't aware of it but when he smiled he looked like an amiable bear. When he didn't smile he didn't look amiable

Hey, beautiful. - Joe Covelli

I didn’t know if you’d want me to come in,” he said. Relief made Emma sag against the doorway. “I do want you to come in.” "I didn’t know if you’d want me to touch you,” he murmured against her skin. “I want you to touch me,” she said. “There’s nothing you could do to me that I wouldn’t want, because it’s you.” “I want to go slowly,” she whispered. “I want to feel everything.” He gripped her hips and flipped their position, rolling over so that he was above her. He grinned down at her wickedly. "Slowly it is,” he said.

I am Emma Woodhouse. I feel for her, of her and in her. I have a different sort of snobbism, but I understand her snobbism. Her priggishness. I admire it. I know she does wrong things, she tries to organize other people's lives, she can't see Mr Knightley is a man in a million. She's temporarily silly, yet all the time one knows she's basically intelligent. Creative, determined to set the highest standards. A real human being.

If you are ever angry at him, threaten to do something to one of his books, as calling him Fred does nothing.

I had to sever my emotional cord to escape the anger and shame that silently slithered through my head, disconnecting myself from the stares and whispers that followed me down the hall.

I have observed...in the course of my life, that if things are going outwardly one month, they are sure to mend the next.

I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing! but I have never been in love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall.

I lost myself there — my mind imaging what was under his towel and what I would like to do to him. - Emma

I don't approve of surprises. The pleasure is never enhanced and the inconvenience is considerable.

It's amazing what some scientist will do to invent something new or learn about something they don't understand. They're like psychos with a license.

I don't want to think about the danger, the life changing events that have fallen into our lives. I just want to live in this moment, right here, right now.

In the Blue Room, Cora Cash was trying to concentrate on her book. Cora found most novels hard to sympathise with -- all those plain governesses -- but this one had much to recommend it. The heroine was 'handsome, clever, and rich', rather like Cora herself. Cora knew she was handsome -- wasn't she always referred to in the papers as 'the divine Miss Cash'? She was clever -- she could speak three languages and could handle calculus. And as to rich, well, she was undoubtedly that. Emma Woodhouse was not rich in the way that she, Cora Cash, was rich. Emma Woodhouse did not lie on a lit à la polonaise once owned by Madame du Barry in a room which was, but for the lingering smell of paint, an exact replica of Marie Antoinette's bedchamber at le petit Trianon. Emma Woodhouse went to dances at the Assembly Rooms, not fancy dress spectaculars in specially built ballrooms. But Emma Woodhouse was motherless which meant, thought Cora, that she was handsome, clever, rich and free.

I’m trying to decide whether to tell you two to get a room or go barf in the trash can,” Emma said. “I’m leaning toward the second choice. You are both getting way too weird. And gross.” Cal barked out a laugh and slid his fingers down my arm to entwine with mine. His touch, and Emma’s comments, only made me blush more. Looks like Emma saw Cal lick my face after all. Now that wasn’t awkward or anything.

I need to go get ready to leave. Will you be okay?" I start making my way to the stairs, but Briston practically cries out for me to stop. "Wait! You're just going to leave? What if, I don't know, what if the vampire gets all blood crazy and kills everyone in the neighborhood?" "Well then, I'll count myself lucky I wasn't here.

It's gonna be the scene of a homicide if you don't put bitchy on the back burner

No offense, but you're not exactly an expert on judging people's emotions." "I'm not sure what you mean by that." "Sure you do." "If you're talking about Rayna, then you're wrong. She loves me. She just won't admit it." I roll my eyes. "Right. She's playing hard to get, is that it? Bashing your head with a rock, splitting your lip, calling you squid breath all the time." "What does that mean? Hard to get?" "It means she's trying to make you think she doesn't like you, so that you end up liking her more. So you work harder to get her attention." He nods. Exactly. That's exactly what she's doing.

Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort! - No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their's! - How was it to be endured?

Može li iko upoznati nečiju narav u Batu, ili na kojem drugom javnom mestu... Sve je to ništavno; ne može se tako ništa znati. Samo kada čovek vidi ženu u njenom domu, među njenim prijateljima, onakvu kakva je uvek. Tek onda može da stekne ispravno mišljenje. Sve drugo je sreća i nagađanje - a često se ispostavi da je zla sreća.

It was a sweet view-sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being oppressive.

It was more important for me to try, than to not have the chance at all.

Move over, Emma Woodhouse. You have met your match.

Not being liked was so much worse than being invisible.

No! Thank you for thinking I am thoughtful.

She closed her eyes, not really hearing the rest of what he murmured against her ear. All she knew was that it echoed everything that was in her heart. He was a surprise. Love was a surprise. And a surprise love between friends was the best kind of all.

She remembered love, though, and a feeling of warmth. It was like remembering light, or the glow that sometimes persists after a light has gone out.

That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.

There were dozens of theories about what it was, that dome. Every scientist in the world, it seemed, had made a pilgrimage to the site. Tests had been conducted, measurements taken. They had tried drilling through it. Under it. Had flown over it. Had dug beneath it. Had approached it by submarine. Nothing worked. Every species of doomsayer from Luddite to End Times nut had had his say. It was a judgment. On America’s technological obsession, on America’s moral failure. This. That. Something else. Then the twins had popped out. Just like that. First Emma. Then, a few minutes later, Anna. Alive and well at the exact moment of their fifteenth birthday. They told tales of life inside the bowl. What they called the FAYZ. Connie Temple’s heart had swelled with pride for what she had learned of her son, Sam. And crashed into despair with tales of her other son, her unacknowledged child, Caine. Then, nothing. No other kids arrived for a while. Black despair settled over the families as they realized that it would be only these two. Months passed. Many lost faith. How could kids survive alone? But then, the Prophetess had reached into their dreams. One night Connie Temple had a lurid, incredible dream. She’d never had such a detailed dream. It was terrifying. The power of it took her breath away. There was a girl in that dream. This girl spoke to her in the dream. It’s a dream, the girl said. Yes, just a dream, Connie had answered. Not just a dream. Never say “just” a dream, the girl had corrected. A dream is a window to another reality. Who are you? Connie had asked. My name is Orsay. I know your son. Connie had been about to say, Which one? But some instinct stopped her. The girl did not look dangerous. She looked hungry. Do you have a message for Sam? the girl asked. Yes, Connie said. Tell him to let them go. Let them go. Let them go off into the red sunset.

No," said he, smiling, "that is no subject of regret at all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen.

She wanted to say more, say the words they were forbidden to say, but she didn’t—just looked at him silently and thought them, wondering if anyone had thought these words before in the Silent City. If they had thought them like this: with equal hope and despair. I love you. I love you. I love you.

So many choices and temptations tonight. - Emma