Her Pretty Heart Quotes & Sayings

I do not mourn the loss of my sister because she will always be with me, in my heart," she says. "I am, however, rather annoyed that my Tara has left me to suffer you lot alone. I do not see as well without her. I do not hear as well without her. I do not feel as well without her. I would be better off without a hand or a leg than without my sister. Then at least she would be here to mock my appearance and claim to be the pretty one for a change. We have all lost our Tara, but I have lost a part of myself as well. — Erin Morgenstern

I'm pretty certain my worthless heart shatters inside my chest, and she steals one of the pieces. If it didn't already belong to someone else I probably would have handed her all the pieces right then and there. — Jessica Sorensen

He urged his horse forward, his body straining, ready to be on his way. But at the last second he looked back at her and swerved, drawing the beast up beside her. From underneath the brim of his hat, he peered down at her. The intensity in the blue depths dragged her in until she felt as if she were drowning. "You've done good so far, Priscilla." At the unexpected words of praise, she sucked in a breath. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there for an instant before returning to her eyes, darker, bluer. Her lungs stopped working, and she clutched a hand to her chest. "I'll see your pretty face in a couple days." She nodded, too breathless to respond. He kicked his heels into his horse and left her standing, watching after him, wondering if he was taking her heart with him. — Jody Hedlund

If I told her how I feel, she'd miss me even more. Afterall, I'm the guy who keeps breaking her heart by making her wait an eternity ... even though I'm always by her side. I don't wanna see her cry anymore. Even if it means I no longer have a place in her heart. Seems pretty childish of me, doesn't it? -Edogawa Conan — Gosho Aoyama

You're insane!" she shouted.
"Pretty cool, huh?"
"No!"Tally yelled. "Why didn't you tell me it was broken?"
Shay shrugged. "More fun that way?"
"More fun?" Her heart beating fast,her vision strangely clear. She was full of anger and relief and ... joy.
"Well, kind of. But you suck! — Scott Westerfeld

He slowed to a walk. As he approached her he was surprised at just how pretty she was. She looked a little like Maureen O'Hara in those old pirate movies. His writer's mind kicked in and he thought, This woman could break my heart. I could crash and burn on this woman. I could lose this woman, drink heavily, write profound poems, and die in the gutter of turberculosis over this woman.
This was not an unusual reaction for Tommy. He had it often, mostly with girls who worked the drive-through windows at fast-food places. He would drive off with the smell of fries in his car and the bitter taste of unrequited love on his tongue. It was usually good for at least one short story. — Christopher Moore

After Henry's treatment of her she wasn't sure that men could honestly love women but she wanted to believe it. She wanted to be told pretty things and for the frightening clip of her heart to slow to something more reasonable. — Anna Godbersen

- "How about flipping a coin;" she made a pretty remark and the two women turned around and
looked at her irritated.
- "That's right, go ahead, jock about it. You are not the one trying to change her heart, I am, and you
know damn well how painful that can be!"
Sand of Passion — Georgia Kakalopoulou

Let's be honest-we're a pretty intense bunch, yeah? Osten laughed, and Kaden's expression brightend. "But whatever we put her through, it was welcome. She'd rather have forced me to learn penmanship than never have had a daughter. She'd rather have been your living encyclopedia than not connect with us. She'd rather have begged you to sit still than have had only three children. None of this is because of us," I promised. — Kiera Cass

Placing one last kiss over her heart, he lifted his head to find her staring at him with The Look - the one that told a guy when a woman was leaving Let's Screw For Fun City and headed straight for Let's Pick Out China Town - written all over her pretty face. — Gina L. Maxwell

You don't chatter half as much as you used to, Anne, nor use half as many big words. What has come over you?" Anne coloured and laughed a little, as she dropped her book and looked dreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds were bursting out on the creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine. "I don't know - I don't want to talk as much," she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her fore-finger. "It's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures. I don't like to have them laughed at or wondered over. And — L.M. Montgomery

Dani had threatened to kill him. This must be the way she planned to do it. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing earrings that glittered in the sunlight. The purple dress she had on showed off her toned legs and hugged her curves. The supply of oxygen to his brain cut off, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped a couple of beats ago. — Cindi Madsen

Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I'd sat down at her table and said, "Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece." Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov.
Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. "Let's get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can't handle me telling you what's what, then you'd better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don't go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I'm here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class."
I'd scooted my chair closer to the table. "You and I are going to get along just fine. — Richelle Mead

I think I could have some very real feelings for you," I blurt out. I want to bite the words back as soon as I say them. "Good," she says, and she smiles as she rolls into my chest and wraps her arm around me. She buries her face in my shirt. I think she might be embarrassed. "I pour my heart out and all you can say is good?" I jostle her in my arms. "Mmm hmm," she hums. I feel her lips against my shirt, her breath warming the fabric. She laughs. "You can't really call that pouring your heart out, Pete." She mocks my tone, making her voice deep. "I think I might have some very real feelings for you." She laughs, and damn it all, it's such a pretty sound that she can't annoy me with it. — Tammy Falkner

Pretty, but badly dressed," breath of an oracle which had passed by her and vanished after depositing in her heart one of the two germs which must afterwards fill the whole life of the woman, coquetry. Love is the other. — Victor Hugo

She really was pretty, for a grown-up person, but when you are seven, beauty is an abstraction, not an imperative. I wonder what I would have done if she had smiled at me like that now: whether I would have handed my mind or my heart or my identify to her for the asking, as my father did. — Neil Gaiman

I don't want to talk as much,' she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. 'It's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures. — L.M. Montgomery

As attentive readers may have noted, the standard narrative of heterosexual interaction boils down to prostitution: a woman exchanges her sexual services for access to resources. Maybe mythic resonance explains part of the huge box-office appeal of a film like Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere's character trades access to his wealth in exchange for what Julia Roberts's character has to offer (she plays a hooker with a heart of gold, if you missed it). Please note that what she's got to offer is limited to the aforementioned heart of gold, a smile as big as Texas, a pair of long, lovely legs, and the solemn promise that they'll open only for him from now on. The genius of Pretty Woman lies in making explicit what's been implicit in hundreds of films and books. According to this theory, women have evolved to unthinkingly and unashamedly exchange erotic pleasure for access to a man's wealth, protection, status, and other treasures likely to benefit her and her children. — Christopher Ryan

You do realize that getting down on one knee generally refers to a proposal, right?" Sidney
continued. "A marriage proposal?"
His eyes, a warm green-gold, daringly held hers as he softly sang the next line of the song. "'You
smiled . . . and then the spell was cast.'"
Okay, he pretty much just melted her heart right there. — Julie James

Tom grinned wide at the woman in Baltsaros's arms, his fingers quickly undoing the buttons that held the flap up at the front of his pants, and wondered again whether the captain did this with all of his lovers. Sharing a woman with another was something that Tom had never considered before and, despite his preference for men, the thought of it made him horny as hell. The captain let out a low chuckle and then a soft hiss when the pretty young whore bit his nipple with a smile. As her tongue licked a wet trail across Baltsaros's furry chest, Tom could see the woman's hand working quickly below the waist of the captain's pants. Tom's heart thudded in his chest, and he crawled forward, intent on freeing the captain's cock. — Bey Deckard

Yeah, I guess I do." My heart plummets again. "Or I did. Maybe I still do. I don't know. But I didn't bring her to the dance. I brought you. It seems I spend all my time with you."
"Why is that?" I'm genuinely curious but aware that I could be opening a door I don't want opened. I quickly rephrase. "I mean, why do you want to?"
He looks thoughtful.
"You're funny," he finally says. "I laugh a lot when I'm with you. I always have fun when I'm with you. And you try to hide it, but you're actually pretty sweet."
"That's a horrible thing to say," I say petulantly, crossing my arms tightly again. He chuckles.
"And you're really smart."
"Now I know you're lying."
"You are. But you try to hide that as well. And you're pretty."
"Worse and worse," I moan. He grins.
"And when I'm with you, I don't want to be anywhere else or with anyone else. — Cindy C. Bennett

Hey, hey, just a little scare." Said Nico, backing away from a very guarded Katty. "Gotta get used to those if your going to be a Vampire. Just wanted to see if you were on your game. As far as I can tell, you are."
Katty immediately retreated, putting her dagger back inside of her purse. Now instead of stabbing Nico in his chest, she slapped him hard across his arm. "Jerk! Don't ever do that again! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" After her heart stopped fluttering for a moment, Katty drew her attention towards Nico and what he was wearing. Nico was lookin' pretty hot tonight. Jumping out and scaring her, now took second place. For what she saw before her was nothing less than a dark, Gothic dream. Mmm ... oh yes..Yum..Yum..Yum! — Keira D. Skye

Are you glad I came?" "Delighted, dear Carmilla," I answered. "And you asked for the picture you think like me, to hang in your room," she murmured with a sigh, as she drew her arm closer about my waist, and let her pretty head sink upon my shoulder. "How romantic you are, Carmilla," I said. "Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance." She kissed me silently. "I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on." "I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you." How beautiful she looked in the moonlight! Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled. Her — J. Sheridan Le Fanu

The sounds of people entering the kitchen snap me out of my thoughts. Before I can react, creepy moaning noises and breathless giggles erupt from the other side of my counter."Oh, Grant," a familiar voice sighs.I pop up suddenly, unable to believe my ears. Guess what I see? Jane, locked in the embrace of a balding middle aged man whom I'm pretty sure is married."Jane!" I gasp.They both scream a little and break apart, wide-eyed.
"Violet!" Jane gasps, holding a hand against her heart."I thought you were a lesbian," I blurt out.
"It's not what it - what? Why would you think I'm a lesbian?""Oh ... " I shrug. "Never mind. I should go. — Nicole Christie

Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" She asks.
Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Peeta!"
Clove jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Peeta appears to save me, she turns back to me.
"Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it. — Suzanne Collins

Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist-a master-and that is what Auguste Rodin was-can look at an old woman, protray her exactly as she is ... and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be ... and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart ... no matter what the merciless hours have done to her. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn't matter to you and me; we were never meant to be admired-but it does to them. — Robert A. Heinlein

Alone and lost, appeared this saint,

With pretty gray eyes, darkness can't taint.

He stole her from cold, from blustering storm,

Kind and gentle, he took her from harm.

Fearful of dark, he created her light,

A jar of gold, chasing demons of night.

Telling stories of love, he brought to her life,

A moment by his side: no pain, no strife.

He gifted her poems, a gesture on whim,

With every word read, she could see only him.

She counted the days until he returned home,

The boy with his light, the girl not alone.

Invisible to all, a shade wandering in dark,

He brought back her faith, with his pure kind heart.

- Elsie — Tillie Cole

I'm thinking about it," she mused, almost to herself. "The building burned. . . . There was a DNA match. I recall the report. There were some typos in it, remember?" Claire duBois was older than her adolescent intonation suggested, though not much. Short brunette hair, a heart-shaped and delicately pretty face, a figure that was probably very nice - and I was as curious about it as any man would be - but usually hidden by functional pantsuits, which I preferred her wearing over skirts — Jeffery Deaver

She allowed herself to relax and enjoy the wave of applause breaking over them. Marta glanced at her mother, who had tears running down her face, but her smile was the happy one Marta hadn't seen in a long time. She no longer looked drawn and sad, but the pretty Mutti her Vati had adored.
A hand brushed her head. But when she turned to look, no one stood close to that side of her. But she caught a whiff of a familiar scent, cigars- and-Vati smell, and knew in her heart her father had come to listen to her sing. — Debra Holland

she wore a Walther TPH .22 automatic in her right hand. The TPH is a pretty little thing. It has a straight blowback action, a six-round box magazine and two-and-a-quarter-inch barrel. It's also utterly useless as a firearm, because unless you can guarantee hitting either the heart or the brain first time, you're only going to annoy the person you're shooting at. For most people, a wet mackerel is the better choice of weapon. — Hugh Laurie

Her heart sprang up into her throat.
Watching that shadow play was like paying a quarter for a peep show. Only she got it for free.
He thinks I'm pretty.
Butterflies did a dance around her heart before she could swat them away.
Behind the shade. his shadow unbuttoned those soft, worn, butt-hugging jeans and slid them down his lean hips. Charli sucked in a big gulp of air, then headed back to the veranda and her glass of wine.
With all the estrogen doing a conga line through her blood, she needed a drink.
Well, she really needed something else.
But she'd settle for a drink. — Candis Terry

Pretty enough to make Henley the Huntsman want to save me ... but not too pretty, because too pretty is what sets my stepmother off. And she wants me gone - she wanted me gone years ago."
Viv twisted restlessly. "I don't know what she's waiting for. Waiting to make him hate me, I guess. Make him loyal to her so he'll cut my heart out when she asks him to ... And then if Henley doesn't kill me, there's the matter of being pretty enough to attract some necrophiliac playboy. Someday my prince will come - and be enamored of my lifeless body. There's some happily-ever-after for you. — Sarah Cross

You're pretty sassy this morning, son. Is it all about Reingold's rulings?"
"That didn't suck, but I've got me a fascinating, beautiful woman I'm falling for. Falling hard."
"Quick work."
"In the blood. My mama and daddy barely did more than look at each other, and that was that. She's got me, Russ. Right here." He tapped a fist on his heart.
"Surely it's not considerably lower where she's got you?"
"There, too. But, Jesus, Russ, she does it for me. I just think about her, and ... I swear I could look at her for hours. Days."
Brooks let out a half-laugh, edged with a little surprise. "I'm done. I'm gone. — Nora Roberts

A Glass Cat!" exclaimed Ojo, astonished. "Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little more than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch mice," explained Margolotte. "My husband made the cat some pink brains, but they proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she thinks it is undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty blood-red heart, but it is made of stone - a ruby, I think - and so is rather hard and unfeeling. — L. Frank Baum

(He remembered resting against her afterward, listening to the beat of her heart, taking her breath into his lungs, and thinking that he was the luckiest man in the world, that you couldn't connect with a human being any more perfectly than that. And sure enough, he'd been right.) — Beatriz Williams

He looked at her, smiling. Her heart - which had been beating pretty rapidly all evening, increased in pace. His hair was ruffled and he had a scattering of sand on his arms. He was gorgeous. And he was looking at her as if she were covered in maple syrup and he wanted to lick it off. She couldn't believe her luck. — Serenity Woods

Fate refuses to stop at the pretty part of the tale; Fate insists on more tests of courage and wit, a terrible end, even if the heroine's heart be pure and her crime accidental. — Susann Cokal

Mi bella Princesa, your funny little dwarf will never dance again. It is a pity, for he is so ugly that he might have made the King smile.'
'But why will he not dance again?' asked the Infanta, laughing.
'Because his heart is broken,' answered the Chamberlain.
And the Infanta frowned, and her dainty rose-leaf lips curled in pretty disdain. 'For the future let those who come to play with me have no hearts,' she cried, and she ran out into the garden. — Oscar Wilde

Then I saw Juli. She was two tables away from me, facing my direction. Only she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Jon, her eyes all sparkly and laughing.
My heart lurched. What was she laughing about? What were they talking about? How could she sit there and look so ... beautiful?
I felt myself spinning out of control. It was weird. Like I couldn't even steer my own body. I'd always thought Jon was pretty cool, but right then I wanted to go over and throw him across the room. — Wendelin Van Draanen

I urge all parents, but especially fathers, to work at building your daughter's self-concept throughout her childhood. Tell her she is pretty every chance you get. Hug her. Compliment her admirable traits. Build her confidence by giving her your time and attention. Defend her when she is struggling. And let her know that she has a place in your heart that is reserved only for her. She will never forget it. — James C. Dobson

I looked at her. my lovely, tall mother with her pretty coil of hair and her hard, bitter mouth. Her veins were never open. Her heart never leapt out to flop helplessly on the lawn. She never melted into puddles. She was normal. Always. At any cost. — E. Lockhart

when your little girl
asks you if she's pretty
your heart will drop like a wineglass
on the hardwood floor
part of you will want to say
of course you are, don't ever question it
and the other part
the part that is clawing at
you
will want to grab her by her shoulders
look straight into the wells of
her eyes until they echo back to you
and say
you do not have to be if you don't want to
it is not your job
both will feel right
one will feel better
she will only understand the first
when she wants to cut her hair off
or wear her brother's clothes
you will feel the words in your
mouth like marbles
you do not have to be pretty if you don't want to
it is not your job — Caitlyn Siehl

I said, "Pretty." "Yes. She is." "You had to be seeing her, when, before you knew me?" His eyes never left the picture. "I knew you, but I was still on the job." I remember Joe dating back then, but the relationships seemed as they were now, none more important than any other. "I guess you were tight with this girl." Joe nodded. "So what happened?" Pike handed back the picture. "I broke her heart." "Oh." Sometimes prying is a lousy idea. — Robert Crais

On a cold, fretful afternoon in early October, 1872, a hansom cab drew up outside the offices of Lockhart and Selby, Shipping Agents, in the financial heart of London, and a young girl got out and paid the driver.
She was a person of sixteen or so
alone, and uncommonly pretty. She was slender and pale, and dressed in mourning, with a black bonnet under which she tucked back a straying twist of blond hair that the wind had teased loose. She had unusually dark brown eyes for one so fair. Her name was Sally Lockhart; and within fifteen minutes, she was going to kill a man. — Philip Pullman

My father not only broke her heart, he pretty much shat all over her pride and self-worth. — Jennifer Niven

The Redwood Tree

My father once told me a story about an old redwood tree - how she stood tall and proud - her sprawling limbs clothed in emerald green. With a smile, he described her as a mere sapling, sheltered by her elders and basking in the safety of the warm, dappled light. But as this tree grew taller, she found herself at the mercy of the cruel wind and the vicious rain. Together, they tore relentlessly at her pretty boughs, until she felt as though her heart would split in two.

After a long, thoughtful pause, my father turned to me and said, "My daughter, one day the same thing will happen to you. And when that time comes, remember the redwood tree. Do not worry about the cruel wind or the vicious rain - but do as that tree did and just keep growing. — Lang Leav

My love," he said with great patience, "you're hair is a rat's nest. Your eyes are swollen from weeping, your nose is red, your clothing is tattered, and you face is streaked with mud. You are still beyond passing fair, but not enough to tempt my immortal soul." He wiped a patch of mud from her delicate cheekbone. "I love you because you have a fierce heart, a brave soul, a tender touch, and woman's grace. I love you for a thousand reasons that I cant even begin to understand, when I didn't want to love you at all. I love your mind and your heart and soul, and yes, I love your pretty face as well. — Anne Stuart

I have never thought you weren't good enough for me. The fear I always had, deep down in my heart, is that I'm not good enough for you."
Murmurs of astonishment rippled through the room but he didn't seem to notice.
"You see, I was never the one who could make you laugh." He glanced at Lawrence, then back at her.
"I was never the one who made coronets of rosebuds for your hair and told you that you were pretty."
He swallowed hard, and his chin lifted a notch, telling her as clearly as any word how difficult it was for him to reveal himself this way.
"I always wanted to say those things, do those things, but I couldn't, for a gentleman is not supposed to behave that way. A gentleman is not supposed to fall in love with the chef's daughter. But right now, today, I don't give a damn what gentlemen do. I'm just a man, and the only thing I care about is you. — Laura Lee Guhrke

Maybe it's not a lesson so much as it's a magic trick. You can make a little girl into anything if you say the right words. Take her apart until all that's left is her red, red heart thumping against the world. Stitch her up again real good. Now, maybe you get a woman. If you're lucky. If that's what you were after. Just as easy to end up with a blackbird or a circus bear or a coyote. Or a parrot, just saying what's said to you, doing what's done to you, copying until it comes so natural that even when you're all alone you keep on cawing hello pretty bird at the dark. — Catherynne M Valente

Celia
Celia, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;
Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen.
How cruel Celia's fate, who hence
Our heart's devotion cannot try;
Too pretty for our reverence,
Too ancient for our gallantry! — Alexander Pope

For she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart, sleeping in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candywhistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood's eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of moss and daphnedews, how all so still she lay, neath of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled, as fain would she anon, for soon again 'twill be, win me, woo me, wed me, ah weary me! — James Joyce

Will!"
He turned at the familiar voice and saw Tessa. There was a small path cut along the side of the hill, lined with unfamiliar white flowers, and she was walking up it, toward him. Her long brown hair blew in the wind - she had taken off her straw bonnet, and held it in one hand, waving it at him and smiling as if she were glad to see him.
His own heart leaped up at the sight of her. "Tess," he called. But she was still such a distance away - she seemed both very near and very far suddenly and at the same time. He could see every detail of her pretty, upturned face, but could not touch her, and so he stood, waiting and desiring, and his heart beat like the wings of seagulls in his chest.
At last she was there, close enough that he could see where the grass and flowers bent beneath the tread of her shoes. He reached out for her - — Cassandra Clare

I hate to break it to you," he said, "but this time a pair of sunglasses isn't going to cut it. People are probably going to know you've been crying."
"I thought you were dead," she told him, her voice muffled, her face buried in his shirt. "When those bullets hit you, I thought . . . I thought . . ."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said, stroking her hair. His heart was in his throat. Was it possible she really cared that much? "I know you pretty well by now, Al. You thought, 'Oh, fuck, the dumb son of a bitch is dead. Now who are they going to send to annoy the crap out of me? — Suzanne Brockmann

Your kisses. Your smile. You're pretty close to perfect to me." I kiss her forehead, and draw circles with the pad of my thumb against her neck. She goes calm, like a hurricane suddenly becoming a light breeze.
She nods, letting go of me. Funny thing, it still seems like she's squeezing my heart. — Tammy Faith

I'd somehow always expected love to be primarily a mental state, so I still felt unaccustomed to the physical manifestation of my feelings for her: the way my stomach would grow tight, the way my chest would press in, my heart pounding blood hard and fast through my arteries. — Christina Lauren

She'd just poured herself another cup of coffee, when Jack walked in. He smiled when he saw her, and her heart did a little flip. "Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?" She felt heat in her cheeks. "I slept well, thank you. Thanks for staying with me. Did you get any sleep in that chair?" "Oh, yeah." He reached for a coffee cup. "I can sleep pretty much anywhere - a benefit of having served with the Rangers. If I get five hours a night, I'm good. — Pamela Clare

She never even told me how she felt," Valerie thought aloud, feeling the betrayal in her gut. How had she been so blind? Her sister had loved Henry silently. Did she know about the engagement? Did she overhear our parents planning? Valerie supposed it was possible, but it seemed unlikely since they were always together. Would it have broken her heart?
"Don't worry, you poor child," Madame Lazar said, seeming almost disinterested in the subject of Lucie's death. "I know you're worried about your sister, but Henry always had his eye on you. You are - were always the pretty one. — Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

She wore a tan robe and headscarf, the clothes of a local... but didn't feel like a market regular. She moved slowly and gazed at everything with a child's wonder. Her eyes were large and clear, her hair as black as midnight. She had a warm smile on her pretty lips and was obviously murmuring 'hellos' and 'excuse mes' to people who really didn't care or want to talk. She walked with the grace of a cloud in the wind, like her body weighed nothing at all, and held her head high with easy dignity. Easy.
Aladdin felt his heart contract. He had never seen her- or anyone like her- before.
When the girl adjusted her scarf, she revealed an intricate diadem in her hair that had a ridiculously sized emerald in it.
'Ah, a rich girl, out for a day of shopping in the market without her servants. Living dangerously, playing hooky. — Liz Braswell

It's just a pretty song until the singer starts. Then something happens. I don't know shit about music, so I couldn't tell you if it's the key she's singing in, or the way her voice slides in between the notes like she's flirting with them, or just the simple truth of her sorrow, coming straight out of her mouth, but whatever it is, the song lays me down and eases all my blissfully aching muscles. It creeps inside my heart, circulates into my bloodstream. — Daniel Jose Older

In addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morland's personal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all the difficulties and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it may be stated, for the reader's more certain information, lest the following pages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her character is meant to be; that her heart was affectionate, her disposition cheerful and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind - her manners just removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person pleasing, and, when in good looks, pretty - and her mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is. — Jane Austen

He's charmed by her as if she were some fairy!" continued Arabella. "See how he looks round at her, and lets his eyes rest on her. I am inclined to think that she don't care for him quite so much as he does for her. She's not a particular warm-hearted creature to my thinking, though she cares for him pretty middling much
as much as she's able to; and he could make her heart ache a bit if he liked to try
which he's too simple to do. — Thomas Hardy

Oil and Water, Daddy calls us. At four years younger than me, Katie is only fourteen and she already has half the boys in town eating from her pretty little hand. She tells me I am too tall and too wicked looking to capture the heart of any sensible young man. — Gwenn Wright

You were the biggest mistake of my life, Kellan. You were right - we're not friends, never were. I wish you would just go away.
I felt like she'd just reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it burst open in her hands. Her words hurt me more than anything I'd ever heard before, and I'd heard some pretty shitty things in my lifetime. This was worse than anything my father had ever said or done to me. It was worse than hearing her have sex with Denny five seconds after me. This ... destroyed me. — S.C. Stephens

Somebody better be dead or dying."
He froze mid-step when he saw her. It might have been wishful thinking but she could've sworn his face lit up.
"Or just sitting there looking pretty," he finished with a heart-stopping grin. — Cherrie Lynn

She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, "Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die - die, sweetly die - into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit."
And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek.
— J. Sheridan Le Fanu

I have lived for four centures," he said. "Perhaps I am still a youth, in that all of us are, compared to the timeless age of the Wheel itself. That said, I am one of the oldest people in existence."
Moiraine smiled. "Very nice. Does that work on the others?"
He hesitated. Then, oddly, he found himself grinning. "It worked pretty well on Cadsuane."
Moiraine sniffed. "That one ... Well, knowing her, I doubt you fooled her as well as you assume. You may have the memories of a man four centuries old, Rand al'Thor, but that does not make you ancient. Otherwise, Matrim Cauthon would be the patriarch of us all."
"Mat? Why Mat?"
"It is nothing," Moiraine said. "Something I am not supposed to know. You are still a die-eyed sheepherder at heart. — Robert Jordan

My honourable barbarian. I wouldn't have picked that as your type.' 'Type?' 'A pretty face, a devious mind and a ruthless nature.' 'No. That isn't - I didn't know she was . . . I didn't know what she was.' 'Didn't you?' said Laurent. 'Perhaps I . . . I knew she was ruled by her mind, not her heart. — C.S. Pacat

A woman in the depths of despair proves so persuasive that she wrenches the forgiveness lurking deep in the heart of her lover. This is all the more true when that woman is young, pretty, and so decollete as to emerge from the neck of her gown in the costume of Eve. — Honore De Balzac

If you start by hating one or two people, you won't be able to stop. Pretty soon you'll hate a hundred people."
"A zillion?"
"Even a zillion. A little hatred goes a long, long way. It grows and grows. And it's hungry."
"Like Cimmamum?"
"Even hungrier. You keep feeding it more and more people, and the more it gets, the more it wants. It's never satisfied. And pretty soon it squeezes all the love out of your heart"
I pointed to her heart; she looked down at her chest
"and all you'll have left is a hateful heart. — Jerry Spinelli

He had given Daphne a spectacular diamond bracelet before she left, and a ruby heart pin that he had bought for her at Fred Leighton. Sam had always been generous and he had bought something pretty for Alex too, though nothing quite as important. He had bought her a very handsome Bulgari watch that he knew she'd wanted for a while, but none of the thoughtful little things that expressed his interest and affection. He didn't want to mislead her. There — Danielle Steel

A lady who sets her heart upon a lad in uniform must prepare to change lovers pretty quickly, or her life will be but a sad one. — William Makepeace Thackeray

[H]is first purpose was to explain himself, and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well that Catherine did not think it could ever be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own; for, though Henry was now sincerely attached to her, though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine's dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild imagination will at least be all my own. — Jane Austen

Kill her for me," she said in that whiny little-girl voice.
Diego took a step toward me, wearing an expression that told me he was only too happy to oblige his lady love.
"Oh, what?" I said. I wasn't even scared. I didn't care anymore. The numbness in my heart had pretty much taken over my whole body. "You always do what she tells you? You know, we have a word for that now. It's called being whipped. — Meg Cabot