Best 84 quotes in «emma quotes» category

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.

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

Teachers deserve respect," I explain. "Why do they get it for free, when everyone else has to earn it?

The heart is a strange thing," Evelyn said, staring off into space. "It can be broken easily and takes a long time to mend, yet it can also withstand so much.

Then, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.

There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they do for themselves

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.

This one move, this one intense moment has brought out everything that is hidden deep within my soul.

Wait," I call to him. He stops. " I just wanted to say, I like your big fin. I think it's very sexy.

Were she your equal in situation—but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed!—You, whom she had known from an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour, to have you now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, humble her—and before her niece, too—and before others, many of whom (certainly some,) would be entirely guided by your treatment of her.

What about me?" I whisper. "Where do I belong?" "With me," my mother and Galen say in unison. They exchange hard glares. Galen locks his jaw. "I'm her mother," she tells Galen, her voice sharp. "Her place is with me." "I want her for my mate," Galen says. The admission warms up the space between us with an impossible heat and I want to melt into him. His words, his declaration, cannot be unspoken. And now he's declared it to everyone who matters. It's out there in the open, hanging in the air. He wants me for his mate. Me. Him. Forever.

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

the only source whence any thing like consolation or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety might be the following and every future winter of her life to the past, it would yet find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when it were gone.

This could ruin all of Emmaline's plans. She could not have [the girl] fall for a farmer, especially one that couldn't afford a decent hat.

Uh,we didn't get your name.Did we get his name Emma?" she says as if on cue. "I tried,Chloe.But he wouldn't tell me,so I tackled him," I say rolling my eyes.

Whenever you are transplanted, like me, you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with anything at all like what one has left behind.

Why did you pull the arrow out?” she demanded, pulling her sweater over her head. She had a tank top on under it. She patted his chest and side with the sweater, absorbing as much of the blood as she could. Jules’s breath was coming in harsh pants. “Because when someone—shoots you with an arrow—” he gasped, “your immediate response is not—‘Thanks for the arrow, I think I’ll keep it for a while.’” “Good to know your sense of humor is intact.

With a new found confidence, Briston comes alive. "Then we have to do something. We need to call the police, or the swat team, maybe the military." "Yeah, and why we're at it, why don't we send a prayer up to Heaven and tell the other angels to go ahead and take our names off the eternal guest list.

Yeah.” I took another deep breath. “I’m gonna die, Emma.” “You mean eventually, right?” She blinked, and I could tell it hadn’t sunk in. “Please tell me you’re making some kind of big-picture philosophical statement about the inevitability of death and the transient nature of human existence.” “Not eventually, Em. Sometime on Thursday.

You focus on a single star,” I explained, as I searched for my spot. “Then you spin around, staring at that one star, until you can’t stand anymore.” I started spinning to demonstrate. “Then you lie down to watch the stars spinning above you while your star remains still.

You focus on a singer star,” I explained, as I searched for my spot. “Then you spin around, staring at that one star, until you can’t stand anymore.” I started spinning to demonstrate. “Then you lie down to watch the stars spinning above you while your star remains still.

You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you hesitate?

You have your world to rebuild, and I have mine.

You're Nash's brother. And a grim reaper?" She blinked again, and I readied myself for hysterics, or fear, or laughter. But knowing emma, I should have known better. "So you, what? Kill people? Did you kill me that day in the gym?" She clenched the headrest, her expression an odd mix of anger, awe, and confusion. But there was no disbelief. She'd seen and heard enough of the bizarre following her own temporary death that Tod's admission obviously didn't come as that much of a surprise. Or maybe Nash's Influence was still affecting her a little. "No," Tod shook his head firmly, but the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. "I had nothing to do with that. I do kill people, then I reap their souls and take them to be recycled. But only people who are on my list." "So, you're not...dangerous?" His pouty grin deepened into something almost predatory, like the Tod I'd first met two months earlier. "Oh, I'm dangerous...." "Tod..." I warned, as Nash punched his brother in the arm, hard enough to actually hurt. "Just not to you," the reaper finished, shrugging at Emma. "I see you all the time, but you've never seen me, because Kaylee said if I got too close to you, I'd suffer eternity without my balls." "Jeez, Tod!" I shouted, my anger threatening to boil over and scald us all. The reaper leaned closer to Emma and spoke in a stage whisper. "She's not as scary as she thinks she is, but I respect her intent.

You speak as if you envied him." "And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy." Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan; she would speak of something totally different—the children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying, "You will not ask me what is the point of envy.—You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.—You are wise—but I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment." "Oh! then, don't speak it, don't speak it," she eagerly cried. "Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself." "Thank you," said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed. Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in her—perhaps to consult her;—cost her what it would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.—They had reached the house. "You are going in, I suppose?" said he. "No,"—replied Emma—quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which he still spoke—"I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not gone." And, after proceeding a few steps, she added—"I stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.—But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, you may command me.—I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think." "As a friend!"—repeated Mr. Knightley.—"Emma, that I fear is a word—No, I have no wish—Stay, yes, why should I hesitate?—I have gone too far already for concealment.—Emma, I accept your offer—Extraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend.—Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?" He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her. "My dearest Emma," said he, "for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma—tell me at once. Say 'No,' if it is to be said."—She could really say nothing.—"You are silent," he cried, with great animation; "absolutely silent! at present I ask no more." Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling. "I cannot make speeches, Emma:" he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.—"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.—You hear nothing but truth from me.—I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.—Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.—But you understand me.—Yes, you see, you understand my feelings—and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.

…and Emma felt another small portion of her soul fall away.

What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house from what she had brought out!- she had then been only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering;- she was now in an exquisite site fluttering of happiness moreover as she believed must still be greater when the flutter should have passed away

Emma was no asleep, she was pretending to be asleep; and, while he was dozing off at her side, she lay awake, dreaming other dreams.

Emma Watson is adorable in the extreme. She is such a lovely person.

Emma Watson was saying the other day that when Helena Bonham Carter was becoming Hermione, or trying to become her for the polyjuice-potion sequence, she was trying to take on Emma's mannerisms, and she was asking Emma questions like, "What's Hermione's favorite color?" Because she wanted to absorb all this information and to know, in here touches temple what she was like. And as I've tried to develop as an actor, I see that these things, however much they seem insignificant... By knowing what's Neville's Longbottom favorite Beatles song, you can know so much!

Emma Watson is my kids' favorite actor on the planet. They never took me more seriously than when I was working with her.

Do you miss her?' 'Who? Emma? Of course. Every day. She was my best friend.

I'm not in the gossips that much, but something I read recently was that me and Emma Watson are having a feud. And I've never even met her.

I'd always wanted to believe that my ancestors were better people than they probably were. - Princess Emma

I'm in a big dilemma about my Big-Leg Emma.

There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.

I would die if Woody Allen ever called and said, 'Emma, I have a role for you.'

My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?

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

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

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

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.

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

A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma

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.

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

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)

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?