Quotes & Sayings About Sleepy Voice

We were both quiet a long time and I was about to fall back asleep in the curve of his arm with his warm body at my back when he called my name.
"Laurie?"
"Yes," I muttered, my voice sleepy.
"I was pissed last night."
"I know."
"You look good."
"Sorry?"
"No way you can look like all the rest."
My eyes shot open.
His arm curled me deeper into his body and I felt his face burrow into my hair.
"You'd always shine through," he muttered and now he sounded sleepy but I was again wide awake. "Somethin' special," he finished. — Kristen Ashley

It opened a little way, and a face came into the opening. It was Lona's. It's eyes were closed, but the face itself was upon me, and seemed to see me. It was as white as Eve's, white as Mara's, but did not shine like their faces. She spoke, and her voice was like a sleepy night-wind in the grass.
"Are you coming, king?" it said. "I cannot rest until you are with me, gliding down the river to the great sea, and the beautiful dream-land. The sleepiness is full of lovely things: come and see them. — George MacDonald

The man behind the counter at the donut store had been somewhat less than courteous ever since I had prematurely tried to hypnotize him during my first month of practice. Now as I re-entered the donut store he fixed me with a chilly glare. I sauntered up to the counter, then I threw upon him my hypnotizingest glare. "You are getting sleep," I told him. "No, you are getting sleepy," he retorted, his hypnotic eyes boring into mine. The son-of-a-bitch had been studying hypnotism too! "You are a young Georage Washington, and you've been chopping down the cherry tree," I asserted, and he became the boy President. "I cannot tell a lie," he piped in a childish voice. But it didn't last, and he shook my control free. "You are Anne Boleyn," he said, and it was true! "Don't cut off my head!" I begged... — Michael Kupperman

I am in love with your sleepy voice and crooked smile.
I am in love with your passion, for me and for life.
I am in love with your wisdom, gained from what has been lost and what is to come.
I am in love with the soft curls of your hair and dark hazel eyes.
I am in love with your sensitivity, your drive to always do better and be better.
I am in love with how you take me for who I am.
I am in love with your romantic side and with your serious side.
I am in love with the comfort you emit,
your ability to be my home when you're a thousand miles away.
I am in love with how you look at me.
I am in love with your motivation and your support for my silly dreams.
I am in love with your accessibility, my shoulder to cry on, my protector at three a.m. when I have nowhere else to turn.
And I am in love with the way you love me. — Shelby Leigh

Daddy had only just got into bed when, from the next room, a small voice called, "Hello?"
"What do you want?" Daddy demanded, perhaps a trifle less patiently than usual.
There came a long silence. Then from a sleepy child came the reply, "I don't want anything 'cept I just want to know somebody is there."
That is the cry of million of hearts, millions who feel they can manage along through life as long as there is someone to share it with. — Francis Gay

I didn't want to hear this. "What the hell are you talking about?" "Necromancer with a chaser of werewolf; a drink to make any vampire giddy." He giggled. Jean-Claude never giggled. I ignored him, if you can ignore an intoxicated vampire. "Jason, can you stand?" "I think so." His voice was thick, heavy but not sleepy, more the languor after sex. Maybe I was glad my bite had hurt. "Larry?" Larry walked over to us, glancing at Magnus, gun naked in his hand. He didn't look happy. "Can we trust him?" "We're going to," I said. "Help me stand up, and let's get out of here before fangface busts a gut." Jean-Claude was doubled over with laughter. He seemed to think "fangface" was outrageously funny. Ye gods. Larry — Laurell K. Hamilton

Gemma Davidson," she answered, her voice as groggy as I felt.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Who is this?"
"Elvis."
"What time is it?"
"Hammer time?"
"Charley."
"Did you text me? Did your car break down?"
"No and no. Why are you doing this to me?" She was funny.
"Check your cell."
I heard a loud, sleepy sigh, some rustling of sheets, then, "It won't come on."
"Not at all?"
"No. What did you do to it?"
"I ate it for breakfast. Check the battery compartment."
"Where the hell is that?"
"Um, behind the battery door."
"Are you punking me?" I heard her fumbling with the phone.
"Gem, if I was going to punk you, I wouldn't simply turn off your phone. I would pour honey in your hair while you slept. Or, you know, something like that."
"That was you?" she asked, appalled. — Darynda Jones

She stared at me "You have a message," she said. "On you machine."
I looked over at my answering machine. Sure enough, the light was blinking. The woman really was a detective.
"It's some girl," La Guerta said. "She sounds kind of sleepy and happy. You got a girlfriend, Dexter?" there was a strange hint of a challenge in her voice.
"You know how it is," I said. "Women today are so forward, and when you are as handsome as I am they absolutely fling themselves at your head." Perhaps an unfortunate choice of words; as I said it I couldn't help thinking of the woman's head flung at me not so long ago.
"Watch out," La Guerta said. "Sooner or later one of them will stick." I had no idea what she thought that meant, but it was a very unsettling image.
"I'm sure you're right," I said. "Until then, carpe diem."
"What?"
"It's Latin," I said. "It means, complain in the daylight. — Jeff Lindsay

And Clare, always Clare. Clare in the morning all sleepy and crumple-faced. Clare with her arms plunging into the papermaking vat, pulling up the mold and shaking it so, and so, to meld the fibers. Clare reading with her hair hanging over the back of the chair, massaging balm into her cracked red hands before bed. Clare's low voice is in my ear often.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going, and she cannot follow. — Audrey Niffenegger

I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the room was so warm and his voice was so deep and his knee was so snug that I slept. — Harper Lee

Oh for God's sake," came Morgan's sleepy voice, disembodied in the dark. "Go after the hot guy, would you?"

"The peanut gallery needs to shut up," Elle muttered into the cushion.

"Just sayin'," Morgan said. "I'd leave you alone out here in a hot minute to go have sex if I had the chance."

"I'm not going to go have sex while you're out here knowing I'm having sex!"

"Your loss," Morgan said.

"Oh my God," Elle said. "Stop talking! — Jill Shalvis

She went on to say something else, but Jamie found his attention drifting. He was feeling sleepy, for it was warm, and he could lie there for ever, he thought, listening to the sound of Isabel's voice, in the way one listens to the conversations of birds, or the sound of a waterfall descending the side of a Scottish mountain; sounds for which we cannot come up with a meaning, but which we love dearly with all our heart, and loving anything with all your heart always brings understanding, in time. — Alexander McCall Smith

I want pancakes."
"What? Right now?"
"No. For breakfast."
"Oh." He yawned. "You'd better get up early then."
"Me? I'm not going to make them."
"Yeah?" His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. "Who's going to make them for you then?"
"You are."
"Am I? You think I'm going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it's going to be?"
"You're so good at," I whined. "Besides, if you do, I'll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook."
His soft laughter segued into another yawn. "Oh. Well then." He kissed my ear again. "Maybe I'll make you pancakes. — Richelle Mead

Good Morning."
"You're not at work," he said, his voice raspier, sexier, than usual.
"Neither are you."
"Are you going in late?"
"Nope. And you're not either." I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He was still warm from the bed. My sleepy, sensual dream come true. "We're going to hole up today, ace. Just you and me hanging out in our pajamas and relexing. — Sylvia Day

Yes. It's there. It's all there. She's my blood mate, Jeb. I've found my blood mate." He couldn't suppress the joy rising inside him, knowing he had finally been blessed. Jeb chuckled at hearing his brother's happiness. "I remember it wasn't too long ago when I was in your pants, Simon." "Shoes," a sleepy voice interrupted, more amused than annoyed. "You were in his shoes, t'kor. Not his pants. — Linda Mooney

Michael fled up the steps and slipped back into their room. He undressed quickly and slid under the covers. Griffin stirred and pulled him close.
"Where did you disappear to?" Griffin asked in a sleepy voice.
"Santa made me blow him before he'd give up the presents. He's too old. Took him forever to come. — Tiffany Reisz

If I had the money, I would love to open up a movie theater that just played images and colors and beautiful music. For me, there's nothing like listening to a beautiful opera sometimes - on a record or seeing it live - just to be sleepy and let those beautiful voices take me somewhere I've never been before. — Peter Stormare

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. — Kenneth Grahame

But you have to learn to bend a little," said Clary with a yawn. Despite the story's content, the rhythm of Jace's voice had made her sleepy. "Or you'll break." "Not if you're strong enough," said Jace firmly. — Cassandra Clare

Hello, sexy. I knew that you couldn't get through the night without me," Finn's smug, slightly sleepy voice filled my ear. "So why don't you tell me what you're wearing?"
I rolled my eyes. Apparently, my foster brother hadn't bothered to check his caller ID before he picked up the phone. I wondered if this was how he answered all his late night calls, or if he was actually expecting to hear from Bria. I really hoped it was the second one.
"What am I wearing? Well, right now it would be the blood of two giants, among other naughty unmentionables," I purred. "What does that do for you, sexy?"
Silence.
Then Finn cleared his throat. "Uh Gin? Did you dial my number by mistake? Shouldn't you be cooing these sweet, sweet nothings into Owen's ear instead of mine? — Jennifer Estep

Since they weren't sleepy and nothing had been left unsaid, they began to read poetry to each other, taking turns like children and enjoying it. Bachir had a lovely voice, one that was already that of a man. He knew many poems by heart. He lovingly recited Victor Hugo, with warmth Rimbaud's Le bateau ivre, and poems written by young people going into battle; he then moved on to the poets of liberty - Rimbaud again, Eluard, and Desnos. — Assia Djebar

How are we going to say goodbye?" Will asks in a sleepfurry voice.
He means now. I mean forever. "I don't want to."
His sleepy smile slaughters me. If I was standing, it would have sent me to my knees. — Megan Hart

Where are you going?" Wesley asked in a semi-sleepy voice.
"Home." I pulled on my jeans. "I've gotta take a shower and get ready for school."
He pushed himself up on one elbow to look at me. His hair was a mess, brown curls falling into his eyes and sticking up in the back. "You can shower here," he offered. "I might even join you if you're lucky. — Kody Keplinger

You think you could come again?" he asked in a sleepy voice. "You're exhausted, Oliver. Go to sleep." "But my hand is jealous of my mouth," he whined playfully. "It wants to feel you come, too." My — L. H. Cosway

You should have invited him in," Nola's sleepy voice said from across the room. "Trust me," I said. "I tried." "You make falling in love look hard," she muttered as she rolled over. "Give it a whirl again one of these days," I said. "Show me how easy it is. — Devon Monk

Sleepy head," he whispers, slipping an arm around my waist, "you snore."
"Do not," I say in voice croaky from sleep.
He nibbles my earlobe. "It's cute."
"Middle-aged, overweight men snore. That's not cute."
He strokes my hip. "Everything you do's cute."
I love it when he talks like this. It means he has a softer, sweeter side. I hate it for the exact same reason. — Ashley Lynn Willis

Sin looked over at Boyd through sleepy looking, heavy lidded eyes. "Callate la boca, blanquito."
Hearing Sin speak Spanish didn't help any; he sounded especially sexy when he was drawling those words fluidly in his low, velvety voice. "What does that mean?" he asked, half with an edge and half just curious.
Full lips turned up into a small smirk and Sin raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to the window. "It's a secret."
"Putain de beau gosse," Boyd muttered under his breath in mild annoyance, flipping forward several pages. — Santino Hassell

Scotty, what's wrong?" For a moment, Scott ignored the sleepy, querulous voice of the man occupying the other half of his bed. Then he turned back from the window to look at the guy whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him and said, "Nothing, just a nightmare. Sorry. Go back to sleep." "Maybe I don't want to sleep now," the man pouted. Scott shrugged. "Then get dressed and go home. Makes me no nevermind." "Well, I never," the man huffed. "I guess I might as well. Looks like nothing more's going to be happening here." With a shrug, Scott grabbed his robe then put it on as he strode out of the bedroom. When he was downstairs in the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, sighing — Edward Kendrick