Soft Grunges Quotes

I'm sick of all the pressure. I'm sick of feeling like I'll ruin all their happiness if I don't do what they want me to do. ~ Holly Bourne

A hedgehog flies from the safety of a bush, startling me. It darts past us in a terrible hurry. Kartik nods toward the furry little thing. "Don't mind him. He's off to meet his lady friend."
"How can you be sure?"
"He has on his best hedgehog suit."
"Ah, I should have noticed." I say, happy to be playing this game-any game-with him. I put my hand on the tree's trunk and swing myself around it slowly, letting my body feel gravity's pull. "And why has he worn his best?"
"He's been away in London, you see, and now he has returned to her," Kartik continues.
"And what if she is angry with him for being away so long?"
Kartik circles just behind me. "She will forgive him."
"Will she?" I say pointedly.
"It is his hope that she will, for he didn't mean to upset her." Kartik answers, and I am no longer sure we speak of the hedgehog.
"And is he happy to see her again?"
"Yes," Kartik says. "He should like to stay longer, but he cannot."
The bark chafes against my hand. "Why is that?"
"He has his reasons, and hopes his lady will understand them one day." Kartik has changed direction. He comes around the other side of the tree. We are face to face. A palm of moonglow reaches through the branches to caress his face.
"Oh," I say, heart beating fast.
"And what would the lady hedgehog say to that?" he asks. His voice soft and low.
"She would say..." I swallow hard.
Kartik steps closer. "Yes?"
"She would say," ~ Libba Bray

The only writer who gives me unfeigned pleasure is P.G. Wodehouse. And even him I find a bit heavy. He takes a lot out of me. Scratching my hair, with soft whistles, with lips aquiver, I frown over Sunset at Blandings. ~ Martin Amis

Every time I look down on this timeless town
Whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize:
I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.
I love Paris every moment,
Every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near. ~ Cole Porter

This is just the way it goes: there's always a cycle with music - it goes up and it goes down, it goes risque and it goes back, it goes loud then it goes soft, then it goes rock and it goes pop. ~ Suzi Quatro

A hard head makes a soft ass. ~ Will Leamon

The Awakening

I dreamed that I was a rose
That grew beside a lonely way,
Close by a path none ever chose,
And there I lingered day by day.
Beneath the sunshine and the show'r
I grew and waited there apart,
Gathering perfume hour by hour,
And storing it within my heart,
Yet, never knew,
Just why I waited there and grew.

I dreamed that you were a bee
That one day gaily flew along,
You came across the hedge to me,
And sang a soft, love-burdened song.
You brushed my petals with a kiss,
I woke to gladness with a start,
And yielded up to you in bliss
The treasured fragrance of my heart;
And then I knew
That I had waited there for you. ~ James Weldon Johnson

Calmly, deliberately, he moved his hands down to her breasts and molded his fingers over them. Jay inhaled sharply, and he said, "Easy, easy," as he stroked the soft mounds.
"Steve, no." But her eyes were closing as warm pleasure built in her, her blood beating slowly and powerfully through her veins. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples and she quivered, her breasts beginning to tighten.
"You're so soft." His voice roughened even more. "God, how I've wanted to touch you. Come here, sweetheart. ~ Linda Howard

I have a soft spot in my heart for tree houses, which have always imparted certain magic and practical knowledge. ~ Richard Louv

Something soft turn to stone within her. She had no choice. She had to fight. She had to win.
She would learn. And then she'd free them.
Or join them. ~ Amber Argyle

I like to touch you," Claudia said, in her soft, sultry voice. "There are times when I want so badly to touch you that it hurts not to." She lifted one hand to his face and brushed her fingertips along his cheek. ~ Elizabeth Elliott

But watch where you step, I don't want any clues trampled on.' 'I will trample on your soft and delicate bits if you patronize me again,' said Penny. I looked at MacKay. 'It's true. She would. ~ Simon R. Green

Having a soft major is nowhere near the career death sentence that so many make it out to be. The world is changing, and the U.S. economy with it. Our economy is shifting to a service- and information-based economy, and soft majors are already becoming more and more valuable. ~ Tucker Max

Humans are similar to plasticine. Society is the pattern, but a pattern has the characteristics of being inflexible, hard, and unbreakable, while plasticine has the characteristics of being pliable, soft, metamorphic, and expandable. The current situation clearly shows us how the mass of plasticine no longer fits into that narrow social pattern. ~ Paola Sanjinez

By all accounts this evening promised to be yet another in the long progression of dog days that oozed like a piece of soft, runny brie with a hunk of moldy French bread and washed down with a mug of room-temperature Clamato. ~ Chris Elliott

I want to stay a while, wrapped in silence, the way the trees and rocks and the ground beneath my feet are wrapped in moss and ivy and soft, green lichen. ~ Cathy Cassidy

I enjoy the vibration of the sound against my lips, the heat of her breath against mine. Everything is visceral now, an explosion of sensations and my vision blurs.
She is soft and I am hard and I rage against her, taking her over and over until her eyes glaze and her screaming stops.
Her heart is pounding against my chest and her body is so very fragile.
So I break it. ~ Courtney Cole

If grief could burn out
Like a sunken coal,
The heart would rest quiet,
The unrent soul
Be still as a veil;
But I have watched all night

The fire grow silent,
The grey ash soft:
And I stir the stubborn flint
The flames have left,
And grief stirs, and the deft
Heart lies impotent. ~ Philip Larkin

Gage and Rebecca finally succumb to one another and I never get tired of him calling her "beautiful"...

He sat up, noticing her distress. "If you don't want to - "
"No. I mean, yes. I do. Want to."
"Are you sure?" he asked, brushing the hair away from her face and looking into her eyes.
She nodded. No matter what had happened in his past, Rebecca knew she wanted this, wanted him. She reached out, running a hand down his chest and lower.
He smiled, jerking his hips up into her hand.
He pulled her down, her mouth to his as he rekindled that fire deep inside. For some reason, it grew faster than it had before. She gripped his shoulders, holding on, ready to embrace whatever came next.
He roamed his hands all over her body. Sometimes they were soft and gentle, at other times strong and passionate. She gasped and all thought left her mind as his fingers disappeared between her legs.
"Are you ready, beautiful?" he whispered against her lips. She nodded, and he slid inside her. ~ Sherri Hayes

You think history is the history of loving hearts? You fool! Look at these millions of dead. Can you pity them, feel for them? You can nothing! There were too many. We burned them to ashes, we buried them with bulldozers. History is the history of cruelty, not love as soft men think. We have experimented with every human capacity to see which is strong and admirable and have shown that none is. There is only practicality. If the old God exists, he must be a murderer. But the one true god is Death. This is how it is - without cowardly illustrations. ~ Saul Bellow

What will you do if I kiss you right now?"

"I'll kiss you back."

"In what way? Sweet, soft, and slow like a first kiss? Or passionately and rude until I make you breathless?"

"Just do it on your own style."

"Bad then. I've never kissed any woman before. ~ Yuli Pritania

Hunt seemed similarly indifferent to the show, his head inclined toward hers, his gaze
locked on her face. Though his breathing remained soft and disciplined, it seemed to her that its rhythm
had changed ever so slightly.
Annabelle moistened her dry lips. "You ... you mustn't stare at me like that."
Soft as the murmur was, he caught it. "With you here, nothing else is worth looking at. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I've done five films directed by women. I did like it. They had qualities, particularly in the romantic tenderness of scenes. I felt sometimes they were a little bit soft, but maybe they were clever to get the guys working the way they wanted them to. ~ Jacqueline Bisset

Soft kiss gives strength. ~ Lailah Gifty Akita

He'd never forgotten the sweep of her soft mouth against his, the taste of her sweetness, like strawberries, and the way she fired his insides to life. ~ Katherine McIntyre

No," he said, leaning back to take my face in his hands and dropping another soft kiss on my lips. "All I've wanted since you limped out of my life the first day I met you was to have you back in it. Does that scare you?"

I stood on tiptoe to return his kiss. "Not even a little bit. Thank you, Tanner Graham."

He smiled. "For what?"
"For being patient. I'll make it worth it."
"You've always been worth it," he said punctuating his opinion with another kiss...

Tanner smiled down at me, tightening his hold. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"for being you. I love you, Pepper. ~ Melanie Jacobson

I hadn't even spoken to him, other than to breathe his name, and I was suddenly wrapped around him in a rainstorm, in the middle of the road. Slowly, I felt his strong arms come up around me, holding me, enfolding me. I was enveloped in warmth. The pleasure of the embrace was so intense I shuddered with it. I felt his hand in my hair, and he made those soft shushing noises. I realized I was crying. We stood in the rain, and he held me up, letting me hold him in return. No comments, no questions, just comfort. ~ Amy Harmon

But before he left, he asked, "Still best friends, right?"
A soft smile curled her lips, and her heart pull back into its place.
"Forever. ~ Shannon Messenger

It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one
the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. ~ C.S. Lewis

For many centuries people have believed that there is continuity between the individual in utero and the individual in the world; now there is solid evidence that this ancient belief is correct, albeit in a far more complex and nuanced way than our ancestors ever imagined.
But science can't tell us everything we need to know about this new perspective; there's always a gap where the hard evidence of the laboratory meets the soft flesh of our bodies. ~ Annie Murphy Paul

He stepped around the island and toward the cabinet, which would have been way too high over her head for her to reach anything anyway. It was a dumb place to put everyday glassware in his opinion. She moved in the same direction he did, and they crashed against each other hard enough to knock his breath out of him with an oomph.
He reached out to steady her.
"I'm sorr---" Becca never quite finished the word. Her eyes went soft as they gazed into his, and Tuck found his hands were no longer safely on her arms but now down holding on to her hips. Those round, beautiful hips he'd held on to for dear life while plunging into her in the hotel.
Tuck swallowed hard and found it hard to breathe. The situation only got worse when she took a single step closer, putting her dangerously near the rising erection in his jeans. He drew in a deep breath, which filled him against with her scent. It was all too much.
There was no fighting this attraction. Tuck dipped his head low and claimed Becca's mouth with his own. ~ Cat Johnson

Her rage filled the house, flat stale smoke. It got into everything, into our hair and our food, like the fallout they talked to us about in school that would one day drift down soft as snow. ~ Junot Diaz

Even so, [ ... in the silence after a winter storm has ceased to howl, in the soft whisper of a morning snowfall, in the way the moonlight sparkles over new-fallen snow, you can feel when she has been near by, ever searching. You can sense the presence of the Winter Child. ~ Cameron Dokey

I know nothing about her. Just some books, and some stories she tried to tell me, and things I didn't understand, and I remember big red soft hands and that smell. I never knew who she really was. I mean, she must have been nine too, once. ~ Terry Pratchett

It's already clear to me how much of life is forgotten even as it happens. Most of it. The unregarded present spooling away from us, the soft tumble of unremarkable thoughts, the long-neglected miracle of existence. ~ Ian McEwan

I smirk. There is no weird pillow talk and no pretending we're soft delicate people. No apologies, limits yes, but no shame. ~ Tara Brown

Maybe it's not a coincidence that I've always been interested in heroes, starting with my dad, Phil Robertson, and my mom, Miss Kay. My other heroes are my pa and my granny, who taught me how to play cards and dominoes and everything about fishing (which was a lot), and my three older brothers, who teased me, beat me up, and sometimes let me follow them around. Not much has changed in that department.
I've always loved movies, and when I was about seven or eight years old, I watched Rocky, Sylvester Stallone's movie about an underdog boxer who used his fists, along with sheer will, determination, and the ability to endure pain, to make a way for himself. He fought hard but played fair and had a soft spot for his friends. I fell in love with Rocky. He was my hero, and I became obsessed.
When I decide to do something, I'm all in; so I found a pair of red shorts that looked like Rocky's boxing trunks and a navy blue bathrobe with two white stripes on the sleeve and no belt. I took off my shirt and ran around bare-chested in my robe and shorts. Most kids I knew went through a superhero phase, but they picked DC Comics guys, like Batman or Superman. Not me. I was Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion, and proud of it. Mom let me run around like that for a couple of years, even when we went in to town.
Rocky had a girlfriend, Adrian, who was always there, always by his side. When he was beaten and blinded in a bad fight, he called out for her before anybody else. "Yo, A ~ Jep Robertson

This garden was peaceful and calm. Pink cherry blossoms and violet plum blossoms graced the sweeping trees. The petals fell like snowflakes, dancing and swirling until they touched the soft, verdant grass.
There was something familiar about this place.
Her eyes traveled down the flat stone steps. She knew this path, knew those stones. The third one from the bottom had a crack in the middle- from when she was five and the neighbor's boy convinced her there were worms on the other side of the stones. She'd hammered the stone in half, eager to catch a few worms to play with.
There weren't any, of course, but her mother had helped her find some dragonflies by the pond instead, and they'd spent an afternoon counting them in the garden.
Mulan smiled wistfully at the memory. This can't be the same garden. I'm in Diyu.
Yet no painter could have re-created what she saw more convincingly. Every detail was as she remembered. At the bottom of the stone-cobbled path was a pond with rose-flushed lilies, and a marble bench under the cherry tree. She used to play by the pond when she was a little girl, catching frogs and fireflies in wine jugs and feeding the fish leftover rice husks and sesame seeds until her mother scolded her.
And beyond the moon gate was-
Mulan's hand jumped to her mouth.
Home.
That smell of home- of Baba's incense from the family temple, sharp with amber and cedar; of noodles in Grandmother Fa's special pork broth; of jasmine ~ Elizabeth Lim

And now the birds were singing overhead, and there was a soft rustling in the undergrowth, and all the sounds of the forest that showed that life was still being lived blended with the souls of the dead in a woodland requiem.
The whole forest now sang for Granny Weatherwax. ~ Terry Pratchett