Smile And Drink Quotes & Sayings

I was still Quinn-kiss-tipsy enough to feel no mortification when I asked, "If you could have magic sperm, what kind of creatures would you want to create?"

His smile widened; he shook his head looking around at the people packing up, "I don't know how much good magic sperm would do me without a snake haired girl to put it in."

Quinn reached for his own water and took a gulp but he choked when I said, "You could use me!"

He abruptly set his drink down, sat back on his heels, and picked up a napkin; his eyes were wide as he coughed. — Penny Reid

He made some tea and began to sip it along with the soup. The drink comforted him, not so much because of its flavor, but because its heat reminded him of the warmth he always felt from Natasha's smile. — Antonio Garrido

Do not write. I am sad, and want my light put out.
Summers in your absence are as dark as a room.
I have closed my arms again. They must do without.
To knock at my heart is like knocking at a tomb.
Do not write!
Do not write. Let us learn to die, as best we may.
Did I love you? Ask God. Ask yourself. Do you know?
To hear that you love me, when you are far away,
Is like hearing from heaven and never to go.
Do not write!
Do not write. I fear you. I fear to remember,
For memory holds the voice I have often heard.
To the one who cannot drink, do not show water,
The beloved one's picture in the handwritten word.
Do not write!
Do not write those gentle words that I dare not see,
It seems that your voice is spreading them on my heart,
Across your smile, on fire, they appear to me,
It seems that a kiss is printing them on my heart.
Do not write! — Louis Simpson

I bet you're a real heartbreaker," he said, giving me a nearly irresistible smile.
"I've never broken a single heart," I admitted. "I've broken more than a few noses and stomped on several ball sacks though."
Vaughn's grin widened. "Let me buy you a drink."
"I have a drink."
"Fine. Let me take you to a booth and sweet talk your sexy ass into my bed tonight."
"I'm abstaining from fucking guys like you."
"Guys like me? You mean, sexy bastards that'll make you scream their names?"
"Yeah, basically. — Bijou Hunter

For once I didn't look away immediately. I forced myself to meet her contemptuous gaze. I allowed myself be swept away by it, to drown in it - the way I'd done so many times before. The way I would willingly do again. Because at least she was here to hate me. At least I had that. I watched my daughter conjure up the filthiest look in her vast arsenal before she turned away with complete disdain. I didn't mind that so much. It meant I could watch her, drink her in without her protest.
Look at our daughter, Callum. Isn't she beautiful, so very beautiful? She laughs like me, but when she smiles ... Oh Callum, when she smiles, it's picnics in Celebration Park and sunsets on our beach and our very first kiss all over again. When Callie Rose smiles at me, she lights up my life.
When Callie Rose smiles at me. — Malorie Blackman

Sometime you just need to be silent, have a drink and crack a smile or somethin', because the human condition, in general, is just overwhelming in so many ways. — Cornel West

I sense that the thing I am seeking is higher than love and higher than the joy of life and higher than science and glory and higher even than starts. Don't keep my wings tied in Your embrace.
You are only a shadow and only a smile in the great journey of my soul. Your eyes are the two clear springs where my thoughts came to drink and rest for a moment. And between Your breasts hides the soft pillow where I slept for a moment in order to waken again. Don't hold me bound. The enigma is not hidden in Your Lions nor in Your enormous eyes. And Your arms are small and weak and do not embrace my entire soul. There is a magnet above the stars that pulls me. And my entire body shudders, magnetized by the Great Nostalgia and the Great Longing. Someone is pulling at me from the stars. Do not hold me bound. The thing I am seeking is higher than love and higher than the joy of life. — Nikos Kazantzakis

He had strong, steady hands, and I could tell from looking at them there was little he couldn't do. Mossy always said you could tell everything you needed to know about a man from his hands. Some hands, she told me, were leaving hands. They were the wandering sort that slipped into places they shouldn't, and they would wander right off again because those hands just couldn't stay still. Some hands were worthless hands, fit only to hold a drink or flick ash from a cigar, and some were punishing hands that hit hard and didn't leave a mark and those were the ones you never stayed to see twice.
But the best hands were knowing hands, Mossy told me with a slow smile. Knowing hands were capable; they could soothe a horse or woman. They could take things apart
including your heart
and put them back together better than before. Knowing hands were rare, but if you found them, they were worth holding, at least for a little while. — Deanna Raybourn

Monsters, monsters, big and small,
They're gonna come and eat you all.
Corsai, Corsai, tooth and claw,
Shadow and bone will eat you raw.
Malchai, Malchai, sharp and sly,
Smile and bite and drink you dry.
Sunai, Sunai, eyes like coal,
Sing you a song and steal your soul.
Monsters, monsters, big and small,
They're gonna come and eat you all! — Victoria Schwab

I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".
Moral: "You mustn't. — Lewis Carroll

Lex's long eyelashes almost brushed her eyebrows as she looked up at him, her cheeks pink, a secret smile in the corner of her rosy lips. And he was supposed to stay away from that? A battle of will, indeed. He took a long pull of his drink as she walked by. — Staci Hart

Fiji, I'm betting you don't drink a lot," he said, trying to suppress a smile.
"I don't," she confessed. "How did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"You think he'd like my phone number?"
"Feej, that guy is tough as nails, and he's not only been around the block, he's run a marathon. He could eat you for breakfast," Olivia said, half smiling.
"And wouldn't that be a great way to wake up?" Fiji said, with a broad wink. Manfred laughed; he couldn't help it. — Charlaine Harris

Horgias nodded, his lips drawn back in a smile that was a wolf's snarl. 'They want us all flogged. Why us?'
'Lupus,' Syrion said. 'The other centurions hate him, even among the Fourth. He's too distant. He doesn't drink with them or whore with them. They don't know who he is, and so they hate him.'
'He loves war,' I said, who had seen the ice melt from his eyes, and the fire behind it, and these two made sense to me now. I felt the truth in my marrow, and it warmed me. 'He's bored with camp life. The Fourth are making a huge mistake giving him a reason to fight them. — M.C. Scott

No, I'm not shy." I folded my arms across my shell-covered chest. The press of the hard material against my sensitive nipples caused my core to tighten. "But I usually have to buy a girl a couple of drinks in order to be treated to a show like that."
She turned to look at me, the fringe on her dress swaying with her movement. A thin eyebrow arched, her cherry lips pulled into a dazzling smile. "Well." The intensity locked in her bright eyes as her green gaze moved from my head to my toes and back again made my entire body tingle. "I guess you owe me a drink, Meghan. — Elizabeth Morgan

Good health! Whenever you go out of doors, draw the chin in, carry the crown of your head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. Do not fear being misunderstood and never waste a minute thinking about your enemies. — Elbert Hubbard

Hey, pumpkin head," she said, her ancient smile bright, albeit toothless. "I heard you stumble your way to the bathroom, so I figured I'd earn my keep and make us some coffee. Sure looks like you could use some."
I grimaced. "Really? How sweet." Damn. Aunt Lillian couldn't really make coffee. I sat at the counter and pretended to drink a cup.
"Is it too strong?" she asked.
"No way, Aunt Lil, you make the best."
Pretending to drink coffee was similar to faking an orgasm. Where in the supernatural afterlife was the fun in that? — Darynda Jones

Bingley prowled his library like a caged animal. The rain separating him from Jane imprisoned him in the house, creating his own personal hell. His sisters worked themselves into a frenzy over the ball, his brother-in-law consoled himself with increasing amounts of drink, and Darcy stared into space with a small smile on his lips. He wondered if the world had turned upside down if Darcy was the besotted man, smiling too much while he grumbled over every detail. — Rose Fairbanks

From time to time, to remind ourselves to relax and be peaceful, we may wish to set aside some time for a retreat, a day of mindfulness, when we can walk slowly, smile, drink tea with a friend, enjoy being together as if we are the happiest people on Earth. — Thich Nhat Hanh

A lot of people are actually surprised when I do open up my mouth and smile a little bit, and crack a joke and drink a beer. — Tim Kang

I see you have modified your interpretation of the rules of decorum in deference to the heat," the earl noted, helping himself to a glass of lemonade. "Good God!" He held the glass away from him after a single sip. "It isn't sweetened." "You helped yourself to my glass," Anna said, suppressing a smile. She passed him the second glass, from which he took a cautious swallow. She was left to drink from the same glass he'd first appropriated or go back to the kitchen to fetch herself a clean glass. Looking up, she saw the earl watching her with a kind of bemused curiosity, as if he understood her dilemma. She took a hefty swallow of lemonade - and it did have sugar in it, though just a dash - and set her glass on the blotter. — Grace Burrowes

Louie's mother, Louise, took a different tack. Louie was a copy of herself, right down to the vivid blue eyes. When pushed, she shoved; sold a bad cut of meat, she'd march down to the butcher, frying pan in hand. Loving mischief, she spread icing over a cardboard box and presented it as a birthday cake to a neighbor, who promptly got the knife stuck. When Pete told her he'd drink his castor oil if she gave him an empty candy box. "You only asked for the box, honey," she said with a smile. "That's all I got." And she understood Louie's restiveness. One Halloween, she dressed as a boy and raced around town trick-or-treating with Louie and Pete. A gang of kids, thinking she was one of the local toughs, tackled her and tried to steal her pants. Little Louise Zamperini, mother of four, was deep in the melee when the cops picked her up for brawling. — Laura Hillenbrand

Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher counts with a smile. Be philosophers, as I am, gentlemen; sit down at the table and let us drink. Nothing makes the future look so bright as surveying it through a glass of chambertin. — Alexandre Dumas

He gave her a smile that wasn't really a smile at all. "Eh, it wouldn't be so bad. I wouldn't have to study for the SATs or get a summer job or figure out my major. I can drink Elderflower wine all day, dance all through the night, and sleep on a bower of roses."
Hazel made a face. "I'm pretty sure there are some colleges where you can do that. I bet there are some colleges where you can major in that. — Holly Black

When you cannot feel,
The purity of love,
The tenderness of beauty,
The drinkability of wine,
The simplicity of a smile,
You have to go back and drink coffee — M.F. Moonzajer

If anyone poisoned your drink, I'm not to blame." She bared her teeth. "This time." A hard swat on her shoulder made her jerk away. Cinnia glared at her, a blush dusting her cheekbones. "Lou, stop being so rude!" She offered a conciliatory smile to Ambrose. "My apologies, Ambrose. She's always been a scold in the morning." He huffed and raised his tankard in mock toast to Louvaen. "You must live a life of eternal morning. — Grace Draven

Ah, mistress, you're an angel. Sure there's not a drop left? I might have remembered one more person ... ."
"Up yours," I said rudely with another belch. "It's empty. You should tell me the name anyway, after making me drink all that sewage."
Winston gave me a devious smile. "Come back with a full bottle and I will."
"Selfish spook," I mumbled, and staggered away.
I'd made it a few feet when I felt that distinct pins-and-needles sensation again, only this time it wasn't in my throat.
"Hey!"
I looked down in time to see Winston's grinning, transparent form fly out of my pants. He was chuckling even as I smacked at myself and hopped up and down furiously.
"Drunken filthy pig!" I spat. "Bastard!"
"And a good eve'in' to you, too, mistress!" he called out, his edges starting to blur and fade. "Come back soon!"
"I hope worms shit on your corpse!" was my reply. A ghost had just gotten to third base with me. Could I sink any lower? — Jeaniene Frost

I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art. — Helena Bonham Carter

That's our cue," Dr. Chadwick noted, managing to approximate a cheerful smile, addressing the room at large. "Everyone please stand behind the yellow line until the doors open. No food, drink, flash photography, or video cameras are permitted. Once aboard the ride, please keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times until we come to a full and complete stop. Otherwise, they're apt to end up in another universe somewhere without ya, and wouldn't that fry your noggin? — Stephanie Osborn

Whenever you go out-of-doors, draw the chin in, carry the crown of the head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in the sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. — Dale Carnegie

If you went twenty-four hours without cigarettes, I'd drink a can of pop. Regular pop. The whole can."
Isaw the glimmer of Adrian's earlier smile returning. "You would not."
"I totally would."
"Half a can would put you into a coma."
Sonya frowned. "Are you diabetic?" she asked me.
"No," said Adrian, "but Sage is convinced one extraneous calorie will make her go from super skinny to just regular skinny. Tragedy."
"Hey," I said. "You think it'd be a tragedy to go an hour without a cigarette."
"Don't question my steel resolve, Sage. I went without one for two hours today."
"Show me twenty-four, and then I'll be impressed."
He gave me a look of mock surprise. "You mean you aren't already? And here I thought you were dazzled from the moment you met me. — Richelle Mead

So many requests, always, from a lover!
None when they fall out of love.
I'm glad the water does not move
under the colourless ice of the river.

And I'll stand - God help me! - on this ice,
however light and brittle it is,
and you...take care of our letters,
that our descendants not misjudge us,

That they may read and understand
more clearly what you are, wise, brave.
In your glorious biography
No row of dots should stand.

Earth's drink is much too sweet,
love's nets too close together.
May my name be in the textbooks
of children playing in the street.

When they've read my grievous story,
may they smile behind their desklids...
If I can't have love, if I can't find peace,
give me a bitter glory.


1913 — Anna Akhmatova

I was even starting to relax - a little - until he took me to his parents' house for dinner. I've never met two people more in need of a divorce. They bickered and fought all evening. Royce said that's how they express their love. I don't believe him. I mean, please. You tell me if you feel the love from this conversation (written word for word as I remember it):
Linda: Elliot, be a dear and get me another drink.
Elliot: Get it yourself.
Linda: Get up and fix me a drink, you lazy man.
Elliot: Woman, don't push me on this. I've finally gotten comfortable.
Linda: (sugary sweet smile) I'll push you only when you're standing on a bridge.
Elliot: If I were standing on a bridge and saw you coming, you wouldn't have to push me. I'd
jump.
See? Does that sound "loving" to you? — Gena Showalter

She wet her lips. "And she didn't warn you about me?"

"Should she have?"

Erica finished her drink, relishing the burn in her belly and the flush of heat in her cheeks as she nodded. "Definitely."

His gaze smoldered. "It's a good thing danger is my calling, then."

"Good to know," she said with a sly smile. — Lisa Kessler

Freedom continues to be the thing I prize most in the world. Of course, this has led me to drink wines I did not like, to do things I should not have done and which I will not do again; it has left scars on my body and on my soul, it has meant hurting certain people, although I have since asked their forgiveness, when I realized that I could do absolutely anything except force another person to follow me in my madness, in my lust for life. I don't regret the painful times; I bear my scars like medals. I know that freedom has a high price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears. — Paulo Coelho

Drink it," I told her. "It's good for what ails you. Caffeine and sugar. I don't drink it, so I ran over to your house and stole the expensive stuff in your freezer. It shouldn't be that bad. Samuel told me to make it strong and pour sugar into it. It should taste sort of like bitter syrup."
She gave me a smile smile, then a bigger one, and plugged her nose before she drank it down in one gulp. "Next time," she said in a hoarse voice, "I make the coffee. — Patricia Briggs

Clay nudged my leg with his surprisingly warm and dry nose, and I glanced down. He stared at me a moment then shifted his gaze to Scott, who was moving his drink for the waitress. Clay returned his glance to me and pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. Without the growl, it looked more like a scary, crazy wolf smile, but I got his meaning. Scott was getting on Clay's nerves, and Clay wouldn't put up with too much more. Peter — Melissa Haag

You know, I wouldn't mind more than a kiss."
He let out a laugh. "Believe me, neither would I, but not right now." Drink your tea, get some food in your stomach, and, maybe, we'll talk."
A frown creased her brow. "Talk?"
He had to smile at her persistence. "We'll talk about possibly doing more than kissing, deal? — Cat Johnson

I try to greet my friends with a drink in my hand, a warm smile on my face, and great music in the background, because that's what gets a dinner party off to a fun start. — Ina Garten

Myrnin blinked, looked at Eve, and smiled. It was his seductive smile, and it came with a lowering of his thick eyelashes. "Sweet lady," he said, "could you get me one of those delicious drinks you prepared for my friend, here?" He gracefully indicated Oliver, who remembered the cup of blood still sitting in front of him, and angrily choked it down. "Perhaps warm the bag a bit in hot water first? It's a bit disgusting, cold."
"Yeah, sure," Eve sighed. "Want a shot of espresso with that?"
Myrnin seemed to be honestly considering it. Claire urgently shook her head no. The last thing she - any of them - needed just now was Myrnin on caffeine. — Rachel Caine

CLEOPATRA TO THE ASP

The bright mirror I braved: the devil in it
Loved me like my soul, my soul:
Now that I seek myself in a serpent
My smile is fatal.

Nile moves in me; my thighs splay
Into the squalled Mediterranean;
My brain hides in that Abyssinia
Lost armies foundered towards.

Desert and river unwrinkle again.
Seeming to bring them the waters that make drunk
Caesar, Pompey, Antony I drank.
Now let the snake reign.

A half-deity out of Capricorn,
This rigid Augustus mounts
With his sword virginal indeed; and has shorn
Summarily the moon-horned river

From my bed. May the moon
Ruin him with virginity! Drink me, now, whole
With coiled Egypt's past; then from my delta
Swim like a fish toward Rome. — Ted Hughes

Wine give strenght to weary men. and
And wine can of their wits the wise beguile.
Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile. and
Let those who drink not, but austerely dine,
Dry up in law; the muses smell of wine. and
No poem was ever written by a drinker of water. and
Bacchus opens the gate of the heart. and
Might to inspire new hopes and powerful
To drown the bitterness of cares. — Homer

Golf and alcohol don't mix
And that's why I don't drink and drive
Because, good grief I'd knock out my teeth
And have to kiss my smile goodbye — Owl City

Get up and dance, get up and smile, get up and drink to the days that are gone in the shortest while. — Simon Fowler

Leah tilted her chin and smiled. "I thought we disliked each other."
"Oh, we do," he said, taking another sip. "I detest you quite thoroughly. Especially when you smile."
Her lips flattened. "Do you?"
He gestured toward her with the drink, the liquid sloshing out the side to drip over his thigh. Leah's gaze followed the brandy's path where it darkened on his trousers, then jerked upward again as he spoke. "You're too bloody happy. It's very offensive. — Ashley March

Cambodian dust whipped up in the wind and stuck to my clothes like clay. I put a hand between my face and the sun and blinked Phnom Penn dust from my tired eyes. One idea, drink, beamed light in all directions across my dark consciousness.
A slim lady walked toward me with a big smile and a bigger head. Her left hand rested on her waggling hips and her right hand rose above her head, limp-wristed, like she'd just thrown a winning ball toward a basket and was leaving her hand in the shot position. The lady walking toward me was a man. At least that much was clear, but the nature or our relationship was still a fog to me. She wore blue jeans and a white top accentuating her breasts, but her Adam's apple and cow sized hands revealed more in daylight than she could hide at night. — Craig Stone

She smiled from ear to ear at the thought of knowing his name. She perched herself up onto her tip toes to try to be able to get a good look at him. He was smiling a charming smile and he escorted his bridesmaid through the manmade aisle. Again, like before as his proximity got closer, so did the intense feelings she felt burning inside of her body. She tried really hard to not feel them. She wished she had something stronger to drink to dull the uncomfortable and scary emotions he was bringing out in her. — J.B. McGee

He let out a breath. "How old are you?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"Twenty-five." She gave him a wry smile. "And since you yelled it at Heather, I know you're 'forty fucking years old'."

He would have laughed, but he couldn't breathe. Jesus, he'd known she was young, but hearing her actual age..."That's fifteen years."

"I can do the math, but you know what else? I'm legal. I can drink. I have decent car insurance since I hit the quarter century mark, and I own this house." she paused. "Well the bank owns most of it, but I qualified for a loan and everything since I have decent credit." Her nose wrinkled. "I'm getting off subject. If the age difference truly bothers you, then I will see you at the shop to finish your tattoo. No hard feelings."

He growled softly. Well, something was hard, and it wasn't his feelings. — Carrie Ann Ryan

Because this week I've started in on a hundred reproductions of Rembrandt van Rijn, a hundred portraits of the old artist with the mushroom face, the face of a man pushed to the brink of eternity by art and drink, the door handle starting to turn, the final door pushed open from without by an unknown hand, and I'm beginning to have his puff-paste face, that peeling, piss-soaked wall of a face, I'm beginning to smile his half-moronic smile, to look at the world from the other side of human causes and events, and all my bales these days are framed with that portrait of Rembrandt van Rijn as an old man while I keep filling my drum with wastepaper and open books. — Bohumil Hrabal

ghost. No way am I gonna get bullied by anyone or anything - especially ghosts. "Mattie, you okay?" Mrs. Olson is eyeballing me with concern. I haven't moved to get out of the car. "All good, Mrs. O," I smile weakly at her. "Just tired." Taking a deep breath, I open the door and force myself out. I am not afraid, I chant over and over. The other kids are still at school, so the house is pretty empty. Mrs. O had told me earlier we had a new foster kid in the house, but I'm betting he's at school too. She sends me upstairs with the promise to bring me a sandwich and a glass of milk. The doctors said no caffeine for a while, so my favorite drink in the world, Coke, is off limits. At least until I can escape and get to a gas station. I need it like an addict needs crack. My room is exactly as I left it, the bed turned down and my clothes thrown into a corner. A simple white dresser and mirror, desk, and a twin bed covered in my worn out quilt decorate the room. — Apryl Baker

She looked at the skull and laughed. Death is a good thing in Mexico; it is a thing to talk of at dinner, at breakfast, with or without a drink, with or without a smile.
("The Candy Skull") — Ray Bradbury

Really, all we managed to do was to ride fast and not all die, but that itself felt as rewarding as routing the enemy, considering how quickly that trap closed around us. Despite my throbbing tongue, sweat pouring double time from every pore, and my heart racing faster than any horse's, I couldn't suppress a huge smile. Survival was the greatest prize of all. I wanted to yell, to cry, to drink, and yes, to whoop, loudly, maniacally. We'd lost men, we'd been bloodied and injured, but no matter what, we survived. And that felt as sweet and wonderful as anything I could imagine. I — Jeff Salyards

I reached for a Coca-Cola.
"Want some?" I asked.
"I do not drink caffeine," he said.
"Wow, you make me look like a bad girl; that's hard to do."
He cracked a big smile for the first time I'd seen, and a huge dimple appeared in his right cheek. A butterfly wing flapped in my stomach. I turned my attention back to the drinks, fumbling a little for a cup.
"Don't let me pressure you," I said. "I was only kidding. We don't need you all hyped up on caffeine. How about ginger ale instead?"
"Is that drink not only for upset stomachs? — Wendy Higgins

She was unhappy. I'd made her unhappy. Making Jennifer unhappy was officially the worst feeling in the world, right up there with disappointing my brother Billy and seeing my sister cry.

So I blurted, "Have you ever done a cookiestand?"

She shook her head, sniffing, turning away from me to grab two cups.

"What's that?" Her voice was rough.

"It's like a keg stand, but with cookies."

Jenn's movements stilled. She blinked. A new frown formed, but this one was thoughtful, not miserable.

"You mean where those people do a handstand and drink beer?"

"That's right. But with cookies."

"That sounds awful."

"At least you don't get crumbs on your shirt." I bit into the third cookie.

"Yes, but," Jenn shook her head, a hesitant smile claiming her luscious lips, "then they'd go up your nose."

"That's the best part. You can save them for later. — Penny Reid

I make grilled cheeses for lunch, one for me, two for Will. We don't have any chips, but I find a far of pickles in the pantry.
"This is the best thing I've ever eaten." He pauses for a drink, staring at me over the rim of his glass of juice.
"It's the provolone," I say, swallowing my last bite.
"It's the chef."
I smile and look away.
We listen to music. Talk. Kiss until my flesh glimmers gold-red. Warms to the touch from the deep scald at my core. He stops to watch. Leans his face close to my neck and smells my skin. Like I'm something he might taste. He sweeps his hands along my arms ... making me burn hotter.
"Is this what it's like for other fire-breathers?" he asks, winks, holding my hand up in his broad palm. "Or is it just me and my magic hands? — Sophie Jordan

Watch out for that one, Grace 2.0 whispered. That smile will have you tucking your heart into your panties and handing the whole shebang over before he even buys you a drink. — Lauren Layne

Drink this."
"Um, how 'bout no," I replied, staring at the dark green contents. Whatever the liquid was, it smelled like pine trees and dirt, and seeing how this woman was Izzy's mom, I figured it was poisoned.
But Aislinn just shrugged. "Don't, then. No skin off my nose if your head hurts."
"It's okay," Mom said, never taking her eyes off Aislinn. "It'll make you feel better."
"By making me dead?" I asked. "I mean, I'm sure that would make my headache go away, but that's a heck of a side effect."
"Sophie," Mom murmured, a warning tone in her voice.
But Aislinn just regarded me shrewdly, a tiny smile playing on her lips. "She's got a mouth on her, that's for sure," she said. Her eyes flicked to Mom. "Must've gotten that from him. You were always quiet. — Rachel Hawkins

You're going to choke one of these days," I tell him, feeling some of the tension from dealing with Flint ebb away. Eir shakes his head, still chewing and I say, "Wait until you swallow to speak, please." I smile and get up to get coffee for myself. Eir swallows and says, "How many cups does that make for you today, sister dear?" I grin at him and lean against the counter.

"I'd rather not say," I tell him and he laughs.

Eir looks at Flint. "My sister is the only person I know who can drink her weight in coffee and still come back for more. She has a serious caffeine addiction." I laugh despite myself, ignoring Flint and the smirk I'm certain is on his face.

Flint chuckles. "I never would have guessed. — Melissa Simmons

I know this, that if I had the luck, or maybe the misfortune," said Dick with a melancholy smile, "to have the woman, it would not be this way with me! - and what in the wide world is a man without a wife? He's no more surely than a bottle without a drop of drink in it, or dancing without music, the left leg of a scissors, or a fishing line without a hook, or any other matter that is in no ways complete. — T. Crofton Croker