You Make My Heart Flutter Quotes & Sayings

Look, if you're going to insist that I've taught you something, I guess I should give you a final exam." "Really?" "One question." "Sure." "Go look at an electron microscope photograph of an atom, okay? Don't just glance at it. It is very important that you examine it very closely. Think about what it means." "Okay." "And then answer this question. Does it make your heart flutter?" "Does it make my heart flutter?" "Yes or no. It's a yes or no question. No equations allowed." "All right, I'll let you know." "Don't be dense. I don't need to know. You need to know. This exam is self-graded. And it's not the answer that counts, it's what you do with the information." We locked eyes. His younger face flashed in my mind. The energetic, smiling bongo drum player I had seen pictured in the front of his book, The Feynman Lectures on Physics. A question popped from my lips. — Anonymous

The difference between shooters and scorers is that shooters usually need plays to be run for them or screens to get their shot. — Walt Frazier

My ideal type of lover? A person who is completely into me. It's fine even if the person is so into me that it's a bit strange. Doesn't spend time with friends, and doesn't go out, but instead is unconditionally attached to me. I'm not joking. I really want someone like that. The one to make my heart flutter. — Aster Argent

Any time there's racism somewhere in sports, we should get it out of there because sports is a place where everything's supposed to be fair. — Ice Cube

You're a wonderful dancer, Ria."
"Mademoiselle Geraldine's takes such things seriously."
"Ah. And how many ways do you know to kill me, while we dance?"
"Only two, but give me time."
"You have lovely eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"What rot. They are a muddy green. What are you about, Lord Mersey?"
Felix sighed, looking genuinely perturbed. His air of ennui was shaken. "I am trying to court you. Truth be told, Miss Temminnick, you make it ruddy difficult!"
"Language, Lord Mersey." Sophronia felt her heart flutter strangely. Am I ready to be courted?
"See! — Gail Carriger

I love these pet names," she said, gazing soulfully up into his eyes, "Nitwit. Sap skull. Termagant. How they make my heart flutter! — Loretta Chase

No man is obliged to be what he might have been. — David Berlinski

Life isn't worth living unless you have someone to share it with, Jacqueline. The good times, and the bad times. In sickness and in health. Even toward the end, she could still make my heart flutter when I looked at her. — J.A. Konrath

Sure, she'd come across one or two things she couldn't explain. Cold spots, disembodied voices, Lady Gaga. Unfortunately, Bigfoot was not one of them. — Stephanie Julian

Luke is dark, intense, and can make my heart flutter with one look. Logan is sweet, makes me laugh, and gives me the biggest urge to climb in his lap and let him have his way with me. — Alexa Riley

She pinned him to the bulkhead with a kiss that was pure alchemy, and his hands found their way down her tunic, down to her breeches, where he unhitched her weapons belt with as much gratuitous fondling of the areas not covered by it as he could manage.
She took the belt from his hands and flung it against one of the stiffened canvas walls, where it struck with a clattering racket and slid to the floor. "If there is no way, make a way, Jean Tannen. Losers don't fuck in this particular cabin."
He picked her up, making a seat for her from his crossed arms, and whirled her around so that her back was against the bulkhead and her feet were dangling. He kissed her breasts through her tunic, grinning at her reaction. He stopped to put his head against her chest; felt the rapid flutter of her heart against his left cheek. — Scott Lynch

I have fun on stage, so people think maybe they should, too. — Bill Engvall

THE MOCKINGBIRD All summer the mockingbird in his pearl-gray coat and his white-windowed wings flies from the hedge to the top of the pine and begins to sing, but it's neither lilting nor lovely, for he is the thief of other sounds - whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges plus all the songs of other birds in his neighborhood; mimicking and elaborating, he sings with humor and bravado, so I have to wait a long time for the softer voice of his own life to come through. He begins by giving up all his usual flutter and settling down on the pine's forelock then looking around as though to make sure he's alone; then he slaps each wing against his breast, where his heart is, and, copying nothing, begins easing into it as though it was not half so easy as rollicking, as though his subject now was his true self, which of course was as dark and secret as anyone else's, and it was too hard - perhaps you understand - to speak or to sing it to anything or anyone but the sky. — Mary Oliver