Blushing Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 127 quotes )
It's a very odd feeling for a daughter to see her mother blush over a man.""You wouldn't?" Alan skimmed a thumb over her cheekbone. Shelby forgot her mother altogether."Wouldn't what?""Blush," he said softly, tracing her jawline. "Over a man.""Once-I was twelve and he was thirty-two." She had to talk-just keep talking to remember who she was. "He, uh, came to fix the water heater.""How'd he make you blush?""He grinned at me. He had a chipped tooth I thought was really sexy."On a quick ripple of laughter, Alan kissed her just as Myra opened the door."Well, well." She didn't bother to disguise a self-satisfied smile. "Good evening. I see you two have met.""What makes you think that?" Shelby countered breezily as she stepped inside. Myra glanced from one to the other. "Do I smell strawberries?" she asked sweetly."Your lamp." Shelby gave her a bland look and indicated the box Alan carried. "Where would you like it?
Do you know what constitutes a great poet? He is a person without shame, incapable of blushing. Ordinary fools have moments when they go off by themselves and blush with shame; not so the great poet.... If you really have to quote someone, quote a geographer; that way you won't give yourself away. (p 44)
There I was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles, same old tired lonely place, walls of insincerety, shifting eyes and vacancy, vanished when I saw your face, all I can say is it was enchanting to meet youall I know is I was enchanted to meet you. This night is sparkling, don't you let it go, I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home, I'll spend forever wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet you. The lingering question kept me up,2 am who do you love, I wonder till I'm wide awake, Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door, I'd open up and you would say, It was enchanting to meet you. This night is sparkling, don't you let it go, I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home, I'll spend foreverwondering if you knewthat this night is flawless, don't you let it go, I'm wonderstruck, Dancing 'round all alone, I'll spend forever wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet you. Please don't be in love with someone else, Please don't have somebody waiting on you
His daughters watched in the rain. The prettiest, shyest one hid far back in the field to watch and she had good reason because she was absolutely the most beautiful girl Dean and I ever saw in all our lives. She was about sixteen, and had Plains complexion like wild roses, and the bluest eyes, the most lovely hair, and the modesty and quickness of a wild antelope. At every look from us she flinched. She stood there with the immense winds that blew clear down from Saskatchewan knocking her hair about her lovely head like shrouds, living curls of them. She blushed and blushed... 'Oh a girl like that scares me,' I said. 'I'd give up everything and throw myself on her mercy and if she didn't want me I'd just as simply go and throw myself off the edge of the world'.
Calling it a simple schoolgirl crush was like saying a Rolls-Royce was a vehicle with four wheels, something like a hay-wagon. She did not giggle wildly and blush when she saw him, nor did she chalk his name on trees or write it on the walls of the Kissing Bridge. She simply lived with his face in her heart all the time, a kind of sweet, hurtful ache. She would have died for him..
The dowager said, “I was tremendously struck by what you said at the gym the other day. About powerlessness. About how powerlessness inflicts such damage on people. Do you remember?” Aomame nodded. “I do.” “Do you mind if I ask you a question? It will be a very direct question. To save time.” “Ask whatever you like,” Aomame said. “Are you a feminist, or a lesbian?” Aomame blushed slightly and shook her head. “I don’t think so. My thoughts on such matters are strictly my own. I’m not a doctrinaire feminist, and I’m not a lesbian.
Romeo: If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Romeo: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Juliet: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Juliet: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Romeo: Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. Juliet: Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Romeo: Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. Juliet: You kiss by the book.
Isabella." He pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with his free hand. A shock ran through my body at his casual touch. "Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." He looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold . . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses . . . it would be unendurable." he lifted his glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene. The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And waste its sweetness on the desert air"A good many flowers bloom and fade away in deserted places, seen by no one. In its context in Thomas Gray's "Elegy" it is actually a metaphor for common folk who do heroic things that are never reported in the news or recorded in history. Like a precious stone unmined at the bottom of the ocean or a beautiful flower blooming in the deep woods, their work may not be seen or known, but it is nevertheless heroic. Rubies and roses are beautiful, Gray would say, whether anyone ever sees them or not.
They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immoveable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.
On Stripping Bark from Myself(for Jane, who said trees die from it)Because women are expected to keep silent abouttheir close escapes I will not keep silentand if I am destroyed (naked tree!) someone willpleasemark the spotwhere I fall and know I could not livesilent in my own lieshearing their 'how nice she is!'whose adoration of the retouched image. I so despise. No. I am finished with livingfor what my mother believesfor what my brother and father defendfor what my lover elevatesfor what my sister, blushing, denies or rushesto embrace. I find my ownsmall persona standing selfagainst the worldan equality of wills. I finally understand. Besides: My struggle was always againstan inner darkness: I carry within myselfthe only known keysto my death? to unlock life, or close it shutforever. A woman who loves wood grains, the coloryellowand the sun, I am happy to fightall outside murderersas I see I must.
A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.
Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping." Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they can relate to. She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta. So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar encouraging-ly. I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning...won’t help in my case," says Peeta. Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because...because...she came here with me.
This woman is Pocahontas. She is Athena and Hera. Lying in this messy, unmade bed, eyes closed, this is Juliet Capulet. Blanche DuBois. Scarlett O'Hara. With ministrations of lipstick and eyeliner I give birth to Ophelia. To Marie Antoinette. Over the next trip of the larger hand around the face of the bedside clock, I give form to Lucrezia Borgia. Taking shape at my fingertips, my touches of foundation and blush, here is Jocasta. Lying here, Lady Windermere. Opening her eyes, Cleopatra. Given flesh, a smile, swinging her sculpted legs off one side of the bed, this is Helen of Troy. Yawning and stretching, here is every beautiful woman across history.
At the far end of the library, a number of men had gathered into a tight, jostling ring around a very pretty, very young woman who was talking at what must have been the top of her lungs. Joe could not really understand what she was telling them, but it appeared to be a story that reflected poorly on her own judgment - she was blushing and grinning at the same time - and it unquestionably ended with the word "fuck." She tugged on the word, drawing it out to several times its usual length. She wound it all the way around her in two or three big loops and reveled in it as if it were a luxuriant shawl.
Evening by evening. Among the Brookside rushes, Laura bow'd her head to hear, Lizzie veil'd her blushes: Crouching close together. In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and fingertips."lie close," Laura said, Pricking up her golden head:"We must not look at Goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: who knows upon the soil they fed. Their hungry thirsty roots?""Come buy," call the Goblins. Hobbling down the glen
Is it true, prince, that you once declared that "beauty would save the world"? Great Heaven! The prince says that beauty saves the world! And I declare that he only has such playful ideas because he's in love! Gentlemen, the prince is in love. I guessed it the moment he came in. Don't blush, prince; you make me sorry for you. What beauty saves the world? Colia told me that you are a zealous Christian; is it so? Colia says you call yourself a Christian.'The prince regarded him attentively, but said nothing.