She Who Smiles Quotes & Sayings

Near my feet is a glowing archway. The light is white and shimmery, like iridescent glitter, and it's so tall the top nearly brushes the ceiling. Inside, instead of seeing the cement wall of the basement, I'm looking at evenly spaced wooden pillars and a reed-mat floor. Standing on that mat is a woman with curves that would make a Playboy model jealous. She's wearing a long, butter yellow dress, and her white hair hangs down to her waist. She looks like an angel when she smiles at me, holding out her hands.
"Hudson, come with me." Her voice reminds me of the breeze rustling through the trees near the lake. Soft and subtle and calming. "Let me help you."
Did I die? Maybe the scratch on my side got infected. Maybe I've been slowly bleeding to death from internal injuries for the past week. Who knows? If this is death, if she's what's waiting for me on the other side, then fuck it. I'm letting go. — Erica Cameron

I stroke the back of her head. "You make me forget the worst parts of life." She actually smiles, focused back on the street. "And what's the term for that?" I think for a moment. A person who shrouds the painful moments, who conspires to make joyful ones. Who eliminates all the mundane shades in favor of ardent colors and keeps you burning alive. Is there a word for this rare person in someone's life? I think there is. "Soul mate, — Krista Ritchie

Here: an exercise in choice. Your choice. One of these tales is true.
She lived through the war. In 1959 she came to America. She now lives in a condo in Miami, a tiny French woman with white hair, with a daughter and a grand-daughter. She keeps herself to herself and smiles rarely, as if the weight of memory keeps her from finding joy.
Or that's a lie. Actually the Gestapo picked her up during a border crossing in 1943, and they left her in a meadow. First she dug her own grave, then a single bullet to the back of the skull.
Her last thought, before that bullet, was that she was four months' pregnant, and that if we do not fight to create a future there will be no future for any of us.
There is an old woman in Miami who wakes, confused, from a dream of the wind blowing the wildflowers in a meadow.
There are bones untouched beneath the warm French earth which dream of a daughter's wedding. Good wine is drunk. The only tears shed are happy ones. — Neil Gaiman

Love is different and more difficult. It has nothing to do with sex.
This is what I tried to make my voices understand. QUietly does love
happen. You're not even thinking about romance, then she smiles and
you notice for the first time that she's not all that plain, her face is
really quite sweet. You watch for her smile and notice that it pushes her
cheeks up into two mango shapes, why should this shape be so
pleaSing, I don't know. Then one evening she puts kajal round her eyes
and brushes her hair, looks quite transformed, and suddenly Sonali
Bendre is not so desirable as this one who's been under your nose for
so long, who's all dolled up to go somewhere you're not going, can
never go. — Indra Sinha

He smiles shyly at Leah. Aged ten he had a smile! Nathan Bogle: the very definition of desire for girls who had previously only felt that way about certain fragrant erasers. A smile to destroy the resolve of even the strictest teachers, other people's parents. Now she sees ten-year-olds and cannot believe they have inside them what she had inside her at the same age. — Zadie Smith

She smiles at them as they go by and continues to play, making it clear that this furnace of a place, full of planes that cannot fly, is more than it seems. It is a womb of redemption for every Unwind, and fora ll those who fought the Heartland War and lost - which was everybody. — Neal Shusterman

All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how any people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears. — Helene Wecker

And in that second, we, who have so long stood and watched, feel a shudder as her gaze sweeps the room, and know that she sees us too. She sees us, impossible though it is, and she knows. She knows who we are, and what we desire, and in that moment when we fear that she will destroy us all, instead it seems to us that she smiles. — Claire North

I realised I never wanted to leave her side, and I never wanted her to have to struggle to be released from her sadness. I could never suggest she required release; for she did not require release. It was a true thing, this sadness of hers; a true thing about the world, about life, about herself. I just wanted Daphne. I wanted who she was, how she was, only her, all of her, always. And I knew I would be forever treading the long path towards that shrouded chamber of dusky luminance I glimpsed in her flickering sort of half-smiles. — R.M. Miller

You built your walls too, she tells him. So I have my wall. She says it glittering in a beauty he cannot stand. She with her beautiful clothes with her pale face that laughs at everyone who smiles at her ... — Michael Ondaatje

Who can say what they'd have done in her situation. She's stronger than she knows. I tried to tell her that every day, too."
"Was that the truth?" Grant asks.
Joseph smiles. "You ever see a tree that's dying, it's nothing but a bunch of dried out branches? You can talk to this tree, tell it all about how its leaves are growing green and healthy. Then you sit back and watch how it changes. — Ilie Ruby

Just giving Jenny a last minute pep talk before the race," Drew informs him.
"There's no need for that, Claire is going to kick everyone's ass." Carter says.
Drew laughs and shakes his head. "Oh that's hilarious, limp dick! I know for a fact that Jenny will be the victor."
"The Victor? Who's Victor? Is that like some vibrator champion or something? Is the race named after this Victor guy?"
Claire pats my shoulder and just smiles at me. I guess she already knows about Victor. I'm always the last to know everything. — Tara Sivec

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she
sings. — D.H. Lawrence

ALBUS: Who are you? Because this is sort of my house and . . .
DELPHI: I'm a thief, of course. I'm about to steal everything you own. Give me your gold, your wand, and your Chocolate Frogs! (She looks fierce and then smiles.) Either that or I'm Delphini Diggory. (She ascends the stairs and sticks out a hand.) Delphi. I look after him - Amos - well, I try. (She indicates AMOS.) And you are?
ALBUS (rueful grin): Albus. — J.K. Rowling

On this thanksgiving, I would like to thank that one girl, who never lost hope despite all odds were against her, who always worked, and moved on, despite losing all friends just after leaving school, a time when you need friends the most! Who had immense strength and will-power and so much inspiration inside her that she ended up being happy, satisfied, and successful, all alone.
That one girl who always smiles in the mirror, and says, 'Bitch, you have a long way to go, and you gotta travel all alone, depending upon anyone will make you weak, so buck up, there's a lot you gotta do!' On this thanksgiving, I thank myself, my soul for being so majestically robust!
I would have thanked other people, but sadly, nobody ever helped me, more than I helped myself ... — Mehek Bassi

So," she asks, "did we decide on a movie?"

She settles up against me, and my arm goes naturally around her. "I was thinking Braveheart."

"Ugh. What is it with that movie? Why are all men addicted to it?"

"Ah, the same reason women are obsessed with the freaking Notebook. That is what you were going to suggest, right?"

She smiles slyly, and I know I guessed right.

"The Notebook is romantic."

"It's fucking gay."

She hits me in the face with the "perfect" pillow.

"It's sweet."

"It's nauseating. I have friends who are flaming homosexuals - and that movie is too gay for them. — Emma Chase

Besides, as much as she loved Bruckner's symphonies, he just couldn't touch a man who had painted his bedroom walls with views of the sea to please her, who gave his precious smiles to her alone, who wept when he watched his daughter sleep. — Lynn Kurland

We all line up except for this guy in a wheelchair, Devyn. He smiles at me when I line up, introduces himself. He has a movie star smile, just white teeth and charisma, big eyes, dark skin. He'd be perfect looking if he didn't have such a large nose, but the truth is it looks good on him, natural and powerful. He winks at Issie, who blushes.
"You can do it, Is," he says.
She rolls her eyes, twists her lip, and says, "As long as I don't pass out."
"If you pass out, I'll put you in my lap and wheel you across the finish line," he says, and it somehow isn't sleazy because you can tell by his eyes how much he cares about Issie. I instantly like him.
She blushes worse. Her face looks like she's already sprinted a mile. — Carrie Jones

She remembers blood.
A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss.
Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms. — Amanda M. Lyons

Yvette is a woman who looks like a church bell. Her copper body curves with purpose, angles on a chair as if from a tower overlooking a village by the sea. Her bones are strong everywhere, in her cheeks, her shoulders, her hands. They are made from something more durable like iron or brass. When she smiles, it is as if a bell has been struck, as if music has entered the world the way God intended: at noon by the sea. — Daisy Hernandez

Mrs Farleigh," he called. She stopped and gave him her shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. Still wary, and that made him angrier yet. "I want you to trounce me."
Her head snapped up. "Pardon?"
"It is down to you and me. We are battling it out, to see who will be king of the indifferent shots in this competition. Only one of us will prevail.I shall shoot to win." He really was angry, he realized - furious to imagine her spending her autumns deliberately hiding what she could do, hiding the extent of her ability from the man who should treasure it. It was as if she'd left a vast swath of her ability unclaimed, hidden behind a swirl of feminine smiles. He didn't like the idea. He didn't like it at all. — Courtney Milan

Good, stupid high school boys aren't worth It" She throws an arm over my shoulder. "They're trained to like a certain type of girl, with highlights and pretty nails- the kind who are good at remembering to put on lotion every morning after they shower." She smiles like she's got a dirty secret. "And let's face it ... sluts. — Siobhan Vivian

When I got here my first thought was: Maybe I achieved such an effort with my thoughts that time has made a complete revolution; here I am at the station from which I left on my first journey, it has remained as it was then, without any change. All the lives that I could have led begin here; there is the girl who could have been my girl and wasn't, with the same eyes, the same hair ... "
She looks around as if making fun of me; I point my chin at her; she raises the corners of her mouth as if to smile, then stops: because she has changed her mind, or because this is the only way she smiles. "I don't know if that's a compliment, but I'll take it as one. And then what? — Italo Calvino

She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles. — Mary Shelley

It was the program from her ceremony, and on the side was a love note that I could not recognize as such. It was written in that vague, noncommittal way of a girl who wants you to know what she feels but wants to protect herself all the same. I did not know what I was holding, and was caught on the price in self-esteem for figuring it out. I talked to her that night and thanked her, but I did not push like I was supposed to. I could not see that beneath the shield, beneath the smiles and laughter that were her armor, behind the glowing ax, all of us are waiting to be swept away. — Ta-Nehisi Coates

How many times in the past three months have I been reminded of Ruby's two selves, the careful courteous young woman who spoke so sweetly to strangers and the person she let loose at home, where she was safe, where she could be spiky and harsh and uncertain and at sea? I have two selves now, too, the one that goes out in the world and says what sound like the right things and nods and listens and sometimes even smiles, and the real woman, who watches her in wonder, who is nothing but a wound, a wound that will not stop throbbing except when it is anesthetized. I know what the world wants: It wants me to heal. But to heal I would have to forget, and if I forget my family truly dies. — Anna Quindlen

What you're missing is loneliness. All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how many people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears. Add to that the effects of physical desire - and the excitement you spoke of - and all good sense and judgment fall away." The Rabbi paused, then said, "But love founded only on loneliness and desire will die out before long. A shared history, tradition, and values will link two people more thoroughly than any physical act. — Helene Wecker

Hey, who are you calling easy?" I say, clearing my throat. "I was just thinking how I haven't had sex in over a year. Is that the mark of a loose woman?"

He looks at me, eyes wide. "God, that is a long time."

"Yep, it is." I nod. "A personal record. Before that my longest dry spell was seven months. Definitely more tolerable, although I don't recommend it."

He whistles. "I'm at six now, and I may have watched all the porn on the entire Internet. My condolences to your vagina."

"My vagina thanks you."

Yeah, that's a thing to say. My vagina wishes she could thank him.

He smiles at me sweetly. "Did it like the wreath I sent? — Stacey Wallace Benefiel

An attractive blonde behind the receptionist's desk smiles at me as I walk in. I assume she's the receptionist, because I can't think of any other reason she would be sitting behind the receptionist's desk. Unless maybe she's filling in for the real receptionist, who could be on her lunch break. But then I remember: it's almost two, and I doubt anyone takes their lunch breaks that late. So this must be the actual receptionist. — Fanny Merkin

The St. Vincents arrived with their daughter Phoebe, a red-haired infant with an alarmingly changeable temperament. One moment the child was placid and adorable. The next, she was a squalling devil-spawn who could only be soothed by the sound of her father's voice. "There, darling," St. Vincent had been known to coo into the infant's ear. "Has someone displeased you? Ignored you? Oh, the insolence. My poor princess shall have anything she wants ... " And, appeased by her father's outrageous spoiling, Phoebe would settle into hiccupping smiles. — Lisa Kleypas

One day the girl is taking a bath and calls out. The widow comes into the tiny bathroom and the water surrounding the girl's legs is clouded with crimson. She slaps the girl in the face and smiles and kisses her on the cheeks. She says, "May you bloom." The girl doesn't flinch. The widow tells her, "This is the first language of your body. It is the word ne. When you bleed each month, as when the moon comes and goes in its journey, you leave the world of men. You enter the body of all women, who are connected to all of nature." The girl asks, "Why is it the word ne?" The widow responds, "When you bleed, this word is more powerful than any word you could ever speak. It is a blood word. It binds you to animals and trees and the moon and the sun. Where men take blood in the world in hunting and war, women give blood. It is the word ne because it closes the room of a woman's body to men." The widow places her hands into the water and says, "Good. You are alive. You and I are alive. — Lidia Yuknavitch

Don't you ever get scared?" I ask.
"Of what?" She says.
"Of not being good enough."
"You mean at writing?" L'il asks.
I nod. "What if I'm the only one who thinks I can do it and no one else does? What if I'm fooling myself-"
"Oh, Carrie." She smiles. "Don't you know that every writer feels that way? Fear is part of the job. — Candace Bushnell

Ruth smiles, which rearranges the lines on her face. She inverts her parentheses and transforms commas into apostrophes. The pattern is that of a woman who has no regrets. — Julie Buxbaum

Let every lady in Camlochlin swoon over a charming smile. She had won the love of a man who shared his most intimate smiles for her alone — Paula Quinn

and she smiles at me, my best friend, with her long, tangled blond hair and thick eyelashes and her smile that lights up any room. My other half. The girl who took my hand all those years ago and didn't let go until she had to. — Kristin Hannah

Cole Clayborne: I'm that transparent?
Daniel Ryan: No, but she is. She's always looking at you like she's thinking about shooting you.
Cole: *grins* It's love all right.
Daniel: How can you be so sure? Everyone who meets you wants to shoot you.
Cole: We're getting married.
Daniel: Has she agreed?
Cole: No.
Daniel: *laughs* Then how do you think you're going to get her to marry you?
Cole: *smiles* Ever hear of a shotgun wedding?
Daniel: No, but I've got a feeling I won't want to miss it.
Cole: Good, because your attendance is going to be required.
Daniel: Why?
Cole: Who do you think is going to hold the shotgun? — Julie Garwood

He had only thought, and Wolsey had only thought, that the Emperor and Spain would be against it. Only the Emperor. He smiles in the dark, hands behind his head. He doesn't say which people, but waits for Liz to tell him. 'All women,' she says. 'All women everywhere in England. All women who have a daughter but not a son. All women who have lost a child. All women who have lost any hope of having a child. All women who are forty. — Hilary Mantel

I'm no optimist", she said as she opened the cabinet door. " I'm just a realist who smiles too much. — Tiffany Reisz

Oh my! Did you see him?' Exie stops abruptly and turns to watch a man who smiles at her. ' Ooh yeah, he is fine.'
'You're not going to stop to talk to him?'
'Why ruin what we have by getting to know him?' She said with a wink. — Jennifer Loren

Laila watches Mariam glue strands of yarn onto her doll's head. In a few years, this little girl will be a woman who will make small demands on life, who will never burden others, who will never let on that she too had sorrows, disappointments, dreams that have been ridiculed. A woman who will be like a rock in a riverbed, enduring without complaint, her grace not sullied but shaped by the turbulence that washes over her. Already Laila sees something behind this young girl's eyes, something deep in her core, that neither Rasheed nor the Taliban will be able to break. something as hard and unyielding as a block of limestone. Something that, in the end, will be her undoing and Laila's salvation.
The little girl looks up. Puts the doll down. Smiles. — Khaled Hosseini

You are on my side," she says.
"What side is that?" I ask.
"The winning side," she says, and smiles. "The team of the artists."
"Who are we playing?"
"The barbarians," she says. "We are always playing them. — Jenny Hubbard

Piano
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past. — D.H. Lawrence

The girl, who sits in the middle, must read her feelings, because she smiles and says, "Don't worry, this isn't a test - we just want to help you find where you'll fit in here." It's an odd thing to say, since not fitting in is every Unwinds problem — Anonymous

Whever I came into the room, she'd light up, so happy to see me. No one ever in the course of my entire life was ever as happy to see me as she was. Looking back, now, I realize that you only ever need one person who lights up that way when you enter a room. One person is all it takes to give a kid confidence. — Adriana Trigiani

A girl who never smiles has such power - what men will do to turn up but one corner of her mouth! She already wears her red war-gown and her circlet of cinnabar poppies. They bring out the color in her grimace. — Catherynne M Valente

It's not about who loves her. It's about how you love her. You have to learn the difference between what she says, and what she means. Don't just make her laugh. Try and understand why she smiles. Plenty have told her she's beautiful, but can you make her feel that way too? There's a difference, see. Compliments might cage her, while empowerment sets her free. My God, what matters to her is not just who flatters her. There's a language to her love you'll need to learn. Speak it true, and I promise you, the best of her, is what you'll earn. — J. Raymond

But if it's not against the state?" I said. "What if it's only against the people who promote the state?" I looked pointedly at the short woman. "Me?" the short woman said. "Somebody did this to get to me?" I was touched by her modesty and gave her one of my warmest fake smiles. "You, or your agency," I said. She frowned, as if the idea of someone attacking her agency instead of herself was ridiculous. "Well ... " she said dubiously. — Jeff Lindsay

He smiled all the way to physics class. He almost laughed out loud when he passed through the door and saw her shadowy, hunched-over form casting around for a seat in the back.
She was in his class; this was excellent. Maybe she'd call him a name if he struck up another conversation. Even curse him out. That might fun. God, he'd probably earn himself a restraining order if he tried to sit next to her.
He was so tired of saccharine smiles and cloying tones of voice. People always plastered their eyes to his face for fear of looking anywhere else. He was fed up with everybody being so goddamned nice.
That's why he'd already fallen in love with this weird, maladjusted, beautiful girl who carried a chip the size of Ohio on her shoulder. Because nobody was ever mean to the guy in the wheelchair. — Francine Pascal

I am a man that finds Death beautiful. If I have lived a million lives before this one, I know that I have spent each one searching for Death. It's hard to be entranced by those who aren't your soulmate, which is I why I don't acknowledge those like her, but her. Our hearts are meant to join again. Our souls are meant to join again. I am a man that finds Death beautiful, for Death doesn't wear a mask or lie. She simply smiles, and takes the breath of life away ... — Lionel Suggs

I like people, kind of. I even like boys, mostly. But I was beginning to feel like that stewardess who smiles at you when you get off the plane. Behind the smile you know she really wishes she could trip someone. — Gwen Hayes

Sometimes, God smites. Other times, he smiles. And all we are left with is to wonder why. A little girl dies crossing a street she's crossed a thousand times. Meanwhile, at that very same moment somewhere far away, another child escapes the wheels of an oncoming car by the skin of her milk teeth. Is there reason there? Purpose? Or are we all simply the victims of a God who can't tell his Ls from his Ts? — Christopher John Boyce

She looked again at Fitz Alan. He was bent over with his hands in the water as if to wash them, but he looked stuck in the awkward position and did not move so much as a muscle. Curiosity finally loosened her tongue. "What are you doing?"
"Fishing," he whispered.
Kenric gave a snort of laughter. "Ian Duncan is the only man I know who can catch fish that way."
"What way?" Claudia asked.
"With his hands," Kenric answered. "Fitz Alan thinks his face irresistible, even to fish. See how he smiles down at them? He thinks to seduce a fat trout into his arms."
Claudia giggled. Even Fitz Alan's smile grew broader. — Elizabeth Elliott

Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
"Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you who hold it in your hands";
(slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see."
I smile, of course,
And go on drinking tea. — T. S. Eliot

The audience keeps singing, keeps making my case, and I just keep strumming until I get close enough to see her eyes. And then I start singing the chorus. Right to her. And she smiles at me, and it's like we're the only two people out here, the only ones who know what's happening. Which is that this song we're all singing together is being rewritten. It's no longer an angry plea shouted to the void. Right here, on this stage, in front of eighty thousand people, it's becoming something else. This is our new vow. — Gayle Forman

I want her. I want all of her. I want her smiles and her laugh. I want to be the one she leans on, runs to. I want to be the one who can make the sadness is her eyes disappear. I want to build a life with her. — Kaylee Ryan

Linnie. And this Winnie." They wore identical smiles, their bright black eyes sparked with curiosity. "Are you the doctor?"
"No, I'm just volunteering."
"I knowed that, too." Winnie gave her an exaggerated shake of the head. "Girls is never the doctor. They's the nurses."
"Oh no, what about Dr. Clare? Huh? The lady doctor who took care of Grammy in the hospital when she broke her hip bone?" Linnie asked.
"Yeah, but she was a white lady. They can be doctors." Winnie looked at Lucy. "Right? There are white lady doctors. I seen 'em."
Lucy felt her eyes go wide. Were there children who still believed your gender or color dictated your career? "There are white lady doctors, black lady doctors, white man doctors, black man doctors."
They stared at her.
She thought for a moment. "And there are white man nurses and black man nurses, too."
"Now you're just bein' silly," Linnie said and let out a laugh. — Mary Jane Hathaway