She Belongs To Me Quotes & Sayings

She was still hugging the cat. "Poor slob," she said, tickling his head, "poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like." She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. "It's like Tiffany's," she said.
[ ... ]
It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany's, then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name. — Truman Capote

She reached out and touched the bright colors of the cashmere scarf, her face filled with wonder as much as shock. "This ... this is Ibrahim's scarf ... it's a family heirloom ... "
"No, it belongs to this mobster guy named Abe ...
[ ... ]
"Mom," I said disbelievingly. "You know Abe."
"Yes, Rose. I know him."
"Please don't tell me ... "
Oh, man. Why couldn't I have been an illegitimate half-royal like Robert Doru? Or even the mail-man's daughter?
"Please don't tell me Abe is my father ... "
She didn't have to tell me. It was all over her face.
"Oh God, " I said. "I'm Zmey's daughter. Zmey Junior. Zmeyette, even."
That got her attention. She looked up at me. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Nothing," I said. — Richelle Mead

We were interrupted by a girl with a strawberry birthmark on her nose; she had some papers in her hand and asked if we had signed the petition for the imprisoned Argentinean comrades. Belbo signed without reading it. "They're even worse of than I am," he said to Diotallevi, who was regarding him with a bemused expression. "He can't sign," Belbo said to the girl. "He belongs to a small Indian sect that forbids its members to write their own names. Many of them are in jail because of government persecution." The girl looked sympathetically at Diotallevi and passed the petition to me.
"And who are they?" I asked.
"What do you mean, who are they? Argentinean comrades."
"But what group do they belong to?"
"The Tacuarus, I think."
"The Tacuarus are fascists," I said. As if I knew one group from the other.
"Fascist pig," the girl hissed at me. She left. — Umberto Eco

Unhand her," said a voice behind her. A voice she had never before thought she would be glad to hear. A voice that was commanding, strong and deep.
Her eyes popped open and she whirled around to find the duke standing right behind her. The man made a grab for her but the duke had already caught her waist and deposited her behind him.
"Let us go and I will not inform the authorities," the duke suggested.
The man sneered, "Lady in mine."
"Dear fellow, I would love to hand you over this young lady with all my sympathies, believe me. But my sister and my mother would have my head. She, you see, belongs to them. — Anya Wylde

Look!You want to see? See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like? Oh, you women are so inquisitive! Well, are you satisfied? I'm a good-looking fellow, eh? ... When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me.She loves me forever! I am a kind of Don Juan, you know! ... Look at me! I am Don Juan Triumphant!
-Erik in The Phantom of the Opera — Gaston Leroux

Many years after animating Ariel, I continue to draw her, doodling as I talk on the phone, absent-mindedly passing time in a sketchbook. She has become a part of me and yet now belongs to the world and generations to come. — Glen Keane

Then it sounds to me like you love her. And if you love her, then tell her she belongs to you and she needs to get over it. Show her who's in charge. That's what I did with Sara.
Zach seemed less than pleased when they all laughed so hard Conall actually fell off the bed. — Shelly Laurenston

All he wanted was a long, hot shower and a long, deep sleep.
Meaning that whoever this pissed-off brunette was, whatever deal she'd arranged with his flaky mother, they could talk about it after he'd scrubbed the jungle from his skin and rinsed the shampoo from his hair.
"What do you mean it belongs to you? It can't belong to you. I just rented it," said the girl aiming that pink blow-dryer right at his heart.
If he wasn't so damn exhausted, he might find that funny. She was holding the thing as if it would protect her. It was a blow-dryer! He nodded at it. "What do you plan to do with that thing, honey? Style me to death? — Tracy Brogan

Murphy," I hissed. "Are you absolutely sure about this hair? That it belongs to Kravos?" If it didn't, the doll wouldn't do diddly to the sorcerer, unless I managed to throw it into his eye.
"We're reasonably sure," she whispered, "yes."
"Reasonably sure. Great." But I knelt down, and marked out the circle around me, then another around the Ken doll, and wrought my spell. — Jim Butcher

You are beautiful, but you are empty. One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you
the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars; because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or bloated, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose. — Antoine De Saint-Exupery

Then listen to me,' he said and cleared his throat. 'It's true that a child belongs to its father. But when a father beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother's hut. A man belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is sweet. But when there is sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect you. She is buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme. Is it right that you, Okonkwo, should bring your mother a heavy face and refuse to be comforted? Be careful or you may displease the dead. Your duty is to comfort your wives and children and take them back to your fatherland after seven years. But if you allow sorrow to weigh you down and kill you, they will all die in exile. — Chinua Achebe

I don't remember why it all went so wrong. I mean, I do remember. I remember what i did. I just don't remember why anymore. This - you and me - this feels so right. It just seems stupid - so stupid - that we had it before, and we let it go. We wasted so much time. I'm sorry.' She was close to tears.
'Hey. Don't. There's no point in that. It's the past, and that's where it belongs. This is us now. We're here.'
But where's here? We're hiding out. We're playing house. This isn't real life.'
'It feels real to me.'
'But it isn't. — Elizabeth Noble

Oh, but this gift isn't the same as an ermine. This is property. Don't you understand how rare that is for a woman? Property always belongs to our fathers, brothers, husbands, sons. We never get to own anything."
"Don't tell me you're one of those women with radical ideas."
"No," she returned. "I'm one of those women with nothing. There are a great many of us. — Tessa Dare

You're different than you used to be. A few months ago you wouldn't have followed me onto this porch." The compliment, if it was that, brought tears to her eyes. "I - I'm sorry for treating you so badly. I'm ashamed now of how I snubbed you - acted afraid of you - " "It's common enough." The admission startled her - made her feel grieved and defensive and tender toward him all at once. She longed to lay a reassuring hand on his sleeve but checked herself. There was no self-pity in his manner, only truth telling, and she sensed he didn't want her sympathy, just her friendship. And her forgiveness. "A half blood belongs to no one, red or white," he said. "You belong to God," she said softly. — Laura Frantz

Does she belong to you, Finnikin?" Yata asked, her eyes piercing. "No," he said after a moment. "But she belongs to my heart. I feel her absence strongly and it brings me ... sorrow. — Melina Marchetta

Deep down inside, I'm a selfish bastard, but I'm a selfish bastard that will love her in ways no other man ever will. She has been mine since that first day in English class, since the first time I kissed her and told her I loved her. And really, it's not my fault another man fell in love with the woman whose heart belongs to me. — Stevie J. Cole

Her mascara ran in streaks
down her face
lipstick smeared across her
alabaster cheeks like a porcelain
doll that had been flung around
before the paint had dried.

...

barely blinking
eyes like content little suns
poking through dark mascara
clouds
she is broken
yet whole at the same time
and she belongs to him

(excerpt from "Content" in Make Me Take It From You by HL37) — HL37

I'm here because she's here, and she belongs to me. ~Rephaim — P.C. Cast

Un homme qui lit, ou qui pense, ou qui calcule, appartient a' l'espe' ce et non au sexe; dans ses meilleurs moments, il e chappe me me a' l'humain. A person who reads or thinks or calculates, belongs to a kind and not to a gender; in his or her best moments, he or she escapes being human. — Stephanie Crayencour

He took a hold of her hand and brought it to his chest. "Do you feel that?"
"Your heart?" At his nod, she replied, "Yes."
"It's beating just for you. From the first moment I saw you, it was yours. And, until my last breath on this Earth, it will belong to you." He brought his hand to her chest and placed it over her heart. "Now, I need to know if yours belongs to me. Not a part, but the whole thing. A person can't live with half a heart. I need your whole heart to survive. — Sarah Curtis

I grab on to her wrists, pull them away from her face and kiss her lips, lips that can't kiss me back. "Please, wake up. I'm right here."
I take in her bottom lip, and it's hard to do when her body trembles and her arms shake for freedom. As I move away, Echo briefly stills. My heart pounds hard once. She heard me. "It's a bad dream, Echo. It's not real."
Her arms relax as she stops fighting, and when I link my fingers with hers, she holds me back. Behind her closed lids, her eyes dart. She still belongs to the dream, but for the first time, I'm in there with her. I lower my forehead to hers. "Come back to me, baby." — Katie McGarry

I wrote that song for my wife, and it's what some guy who's sitting under a tree would be singing to the woman of his life, telling her how wonderful she is. To me, that's more lasting than something that sounds like it belongs on a movie soundtrack. — John Fogerty

I don't want to be called Hope or Sky or Princess or anything else that separates me from any other part of myself. I'm suddenly feeling like I'm completely different people, wrapped into one. Someone who doesn't know who she is or where she belongs, and it's disturbing. I've never felt so isolated in my life; like there isn't a single person in this entire world I can trust. Not even myself. I can't even trust my own memories. — Colleen Hoover

War proves nothing. To kill a man does not prove that he was in the wrong. Bloodletting cannot change men's spirits, neither can the evil of men's thoughts be driven out by blows. If I go to my neighbor's house, and break her furniture, and smash her pictures, and bind her children captive, it does not prove that I am fitter to live than she - yet according to ethics of nations it does. I have conquered her and she must pay me for my trouble; and her house and all that is left in it belongs to my heirs and successors, forever. That is war! — Nellie L. McClung

Though they love people, the Christians are enemies of our life, our gods and our crimes; hence she fled from me, as from a man who belongs to our [Roman] society, and with whom she would have to share a life counted criminal by Christians ... I should not have stopped her from believing in her Christ, and would myself have reared an altar to Him in the atrium. What harm could one more god do me? Why might I not believe in Him, - I who do not believe over much in the old gods? ... It would not be difficult for me even to renounce other gods, for no reasoning mind believes in them at present. But it seems that all this is not enough yet for the Christians. It is not enough to honor Christ, one must also live according to His teachings; and here thou art on the shore of a sea which they command thee to wade through.
Quo Vadis — Henryk Stanczyk

I've been sleeping in the same bed as her. I've been taking care of her. She's mine. She feels like she belongs to me. I don't want to share her with any other fucking guy. And I don't want to be with any other fucking girl. — Krista Ritchie

That's mine!" Kostya said in a still somewhat strangled voice as he lurched forward.

Gabriel reached for the box but Misha held tight to it, backing up a couple of steps as he eyed us.

"You are who?" he asked.

"Konstantin Fekete, wyvern of the black dragons. The phylactery belongs to me."

"The black dragons," Misha said slowly. "Surely they all died centuries ago?"

"Not all. There are still a few of us. And we will regain what we once held-"

Everyone in the room except Cyrene chanted in unison, "-but was taken from us. We will face death to restore to the sept the pride, the glory, the true essence, of what it once was."

Kostya glared at us all.

"Don't get him going about that, please," Aisling said from where she stood behind us, leaning against Drake. "It's late, and once he starts, it can take hours. — Katie MacAlister

She belongs with me, not to me. — Madeline Ashby

I missed her every fucking day too. I don't know if I believe in soul mates, but she belongs with me. She belongs to me. — Kristen Proby

I'm pleased to know you realize she is mine, gypsy. Care to explain why it is that I find you here in the Gwarda arena and touching what belongs to me? — Madison Thorne Grey

I can't give you the moon," the tinker said. "She doesn't belong to me. She belongs only to herself. — Patrick Rothfuss

It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago."
"The worst men in our country are not those who are 'in the country.'"
"Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply them with ammunition."
"Brother," said Colomba, in a serious voice, "you are master here, and everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will give this little girl my mezzaro, so that she may sell it; rather than refuse powder to a bandit. — Prosper Merimee

When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me forever. — Gaston Leroux

She heard him mutter, 'Can you take away this grief?'
'I'm sorry,' she replied. 'Everyone asks me. And I would not do so even if I knew how. It belongs to you. Only time and tears take away grief; that is what they are for. — Terry Pratchett

I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil. Then I went back to writing and I entered far into the story and was lost in it. I was writing it now and it was not writing itself and I did not look up nor know anything about the time nor think where I was nor order any more rum St. James. I was tired of rum St. James without thinking about it. Then the story was finished and I was very tired. I read the last paragraph and then I looked up and looked for the girl and she had gone. I hope she's gone with a good man, I thought. But I felt sad. — Ernest Hemingway,

You are mine, now and forever - mine. I will provide for you. You want clothes - I will buy them. When I choose to. I prefer you naked, so you will be naked." That hot gaze swept her, licking fire all across her skin. "No one would dare to harm you. Yes, there are people looking for you, but you are never, ever unprotected. We will leave when it's time to do so. Not before. And Michelene, I keep what is mine. No one dares take what belongs to me. Do you understand?" Nothing could keep the smile off her face now. That was exactly what she wanted to hear. "Yes. Thank you. — Shara Azod

They're just clothes,' she remembered writing down in the leafy, thin pages of her journal. 'And the warmth of them no longer comforts you nor belongs to you. They're just fabric without an owner. A familiarity that has faded and an attachment that no longer has a name, just a brand mark stitched into the seams.' She remembered her hand flowing quickly and purposefully across the page as her eyes shifted from the journal to the sweater to the journal again.
'And when I slip them over my head. I smell not your fragrance and feel no longer the emptiness you left behind. I see me in a mirror, with a sweater on. And I look as radiant and beautiful, and broken, and whole, and relentlessly happy as you left me. — Adriana Rodrigues

Beckett, where's Eve?"
When he had her pressed to his chest, she tried again. "Are you going to tell me or what?"
Beckett sighed and looked into her face. "I left her, babycakes. She needs wings, not handcuffs."
He held Livia tighter, like she was a teddy bear.
She stopped moving her feet and hugged him around the neck. "You're not handcuffs. Don't you know that? She loves you. She does, I've seen it."
Beckett resumed dancing, dipping her again. "Look around, Whitebread. She's not here. She didn't try to stop me from coming. Her heart belongs to a dead man and a dream. I'm neither of those things." Beckett released her and clapped for the end of the song. He reached in his pocket and produced a crumpled envelope. "Here's my gift to you guys. I'm sure Blake won't want to accept it, but I'm hoping you'll convince him. For me. — Debra Anastasia

Every year when I stands first in my class, Ma gives me the advice: Daughter, she say, never be gamandi. What you have, given to you by God. You just a basket into which God puts the flowers. Flowers not belong to you. They belongs to God. Same way, your clever belong to God. — Thrity Umrigar

I am torn open, unabridged, hot and a bit crazy inside. This is the feeling which belongs to me, she has always been mine. — Coco J. Ginger

Livia's eyes filled with grateful tears.
Blake brushed them away. "Now you cry? After I've made love to you?"
"It's just that you're the kindest person in the world. And you're here with me. I'll never stop feeling lucky." She burrowed her face into his warm hug. She felt his kiss on her hair.
"Livia, the luck belongs to me," he whispered. "The kindness belongs to you. One lifetime will never be enough for us. — Debra Anastasia

She belongs to me, he sent out on a heavy wave of Power and on all frequencies, including the one the scream had come on. It might not be obvious, but she is mine. Touch her again and die. — L.J.Smith

The names of the compact's signers, including Anne Hutchinson's husband, Will, are listed below the text. Here lies the deepest reason why the Woman's Healing Garden strikes me as so forlorn - that Hutchinson is remembered here by pink echinacea in bloom instead of on the Portsmouth Compact plaque, where she belongs. All of the signers were there because of her, because she stood up to Massachusetts and they stood with her. But all the signers were men. Anne Hutchinson wasn't allowed to sign the founding document of the colony she founded. — Sarah Vowell

Like every girl, I only need to look up and a little to the right of me to see the hysteria that belongs to me, the one that hangs om a hook like an empty jacket and flutters with disappointment that I cannot wear her all the time. I call her my hysteric, and this personal hysteric of mine is designer made (though I'm not sure who made her), flattering and comfortable, attractive even, if you're around people who like that sort of thing. She is not anyone, my hysteric; she is blank, electricity dancing around a filament, singing to kill. — Helen Oyeyemi