Sweet Lullaby Quotes

I was proud of you today, handling William Long the way you did." Her fingers stilled. "What did you think of him the first time you met him?" she asked quietly.
"That he was the kind of man you should have married."
"And now you don't think that anymore?"
"Now, it doesn't matter. You're married to me."
"I was the night you met him."
Jake's eyes met and held hers in the moonlight. "No, you weren't. Not really." His arm tightened around her. "But you are now. ~ Lorraine Heath

Closing his eyes, he saw every smile that Rebecca had ever directed his way and knew a pang of regret. He would have liked to have held her in his arms one last time before he died. ~ Lorraine Heath

Jake was hurting, emotionally and physically, and he was exhausted. He stared at her in wonder.
"You're going to name him after me?"
"I don't see any other father in this house."
Ignoring the pain throbbing in his hands, he drew her close, holding onto her tightly. It was the most precious gift she could have given him. ~ Lorraine Heath

I almost envy your horse," she said, "because these thighs hug him all day."
-Rebecca to Jake ~ Lorraine Heath

...When she'd skillfully turned it back towards the herd, Rebecca lifted an arm to wave at Jake, her smile vis­ible even from this distance. He felt a familiar tightening in his loins. How many times had he watched her ride across the Lazy A, experienced the same stirrings, and rid­den away so she'd never know what his true feelings were? He didn't have to ride away today. He could watch her graceful movements to his heart's content. ~ Lorraine Heath

Rebecca tilted her face up to Jake and she felt his lips brushing lightly against hers. Then his lips were beside her ear, whispering, A lifetime of happiness, Reb, I promise. ~ Lorraine Heath

He was lying in bed with the woman he loved . . . a woman he couldn't make love to. He closed his eyes. More than any­thing in this world, he wanted this woman to be happy. He'd give her anything, do anything to make her happy. Even if it made his own life hell. ~ Lorraine Heath

He heard a soft voice calling him and turned towards it, trying to focus the vision before him. It wasn't his mother. If he weren't so tired, he would have smiled. He hadn't expected to find an angel in Hell.
The angel, her image blurred, a whiteness surrounding her, would understand. The angel would know.
"Why couldn't she love me?" he asked. The angel's answer was garbled. He strained to understand the words, not all his senses failed him as he slipped back into the abyss on the edge of Hell.
And the angel knelt down beside the bed and wept. ~ Lorraine Heath

Miss Velvet."
"Lord, darlin'. You're the only man in this state who would tip his hat to a whore." She ushered the other women along and stopped beside Jake. "You haven't been back to see me, darlin'."
"No, ma'am."
"You won't be coming back to see me, will you?"
He shook his head. "No, ma'am. I won't."
She smiled, a warm, pretty smile. "It's just as well. A man like you, darlin', shouldn't have to pay a woman. You take care of yourself now, you hear?"
He returned her smile. "Yes, ma'am. I will."
She reached out, touching the raised comer of his mouth with the tip of her finger. "Lord, darlin', I don't know how any woman could walk away from that smile. ~ Lorraine Heath

I did absolutely love playing Tabaqui, the hyena, who is morally conflicted and a villain, but also quite sweet. ~ Tom Hollander

I've had so many people just come up to me and say, 'When you came up on the screen, everybody in the theater applauded.' It's just so sweet, really. ~ Karen Allen

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightaway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
Guess now who holds thee?
Death, I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang,
Not Death, but Love. ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

She wanted to touch him, to throw her arms around him - but something held her back. Maybe it was the fear that her arms would pass right through him, that she would have come all this way only to find a ghost after all.

As though he'd been able to read her thoughts, he slowly angled toward her. He raised his hands and held his palms out to her. Isobel lifted her own hands to mirror his. He pressed their palms together, his fingers folding down to lace through hers. She felt a rush of warmth course through her, a relief as pure and sweet as spring rain.

He was real. This was real. She had found him. She could touch him. She could feel him. Finally they were together. Finally, finally, they could forget this wasted world and go home.

"I knew it wasn't true," she whispered. "I knew you wouldn't stop believing." He drew her close.
Leaning into him, she felt him press his lips to her forehead in a kiss. As he spoke, the cool metal of his lip ring grazed her skin, causing a shudder to ripple through her.

"You..." His voice, low and breathy, reverberated through her, down to the thin soles of her slippers. "You think you're different," he said. She felt his hands tighten around hers, gripping hard, too hard.
A streak of violet lightning split the sky, striking close behind them.

The house, Isobel thought. It had been struck. She could hear it cracking apart. She looked for only a brief moment, long enough to watch i ~ Kelly Creagh

It doesn't seem fair," he murmured, once again smoothing out her messy bed head. "You get all the morning sickness, the kicks in the ribs and the bloated stomach and swollen ankles, and I get nine months of sex without condoms. ~ Linda Kage

Love is an excellent thing and a very great blessing, indeed. It makes every difficulty easy. It bears a burden without being weighted, and renders sweet all that is bitter. Love knows no limits, feels no burden, thinks nothing of troubles, attempts more than it is able, because it believes that it may and can do all things; for this reason it is able to do all, performing much where he who does not love fails and falls. Love is watchful. Sleeping, it does not slumber. Like a living flame, a burning torch, it tends upward and passes unharmed through every obstacle. Whatever faults may be committed, big or small, whatever clouds may pile up on the horizon, dark and threatening, love will overcome all. ~ Maria Augusta Von Trapp

It shall dwell roses, from your sweet tears in my heart. ~ Kristian Goldmund Aumann

There is something so innocent and sweet about romantic movies. The world doesn't always make sense, but in a good romantic comedy, I'm guaranteed a happily ever after. ~ Victoria Van Tiem

I'm coming. I'm coming." Michaels rose up on his knees, gripped Judge's hips and yanked him into him, sat him on his rod while his orgasm made its dramatic appearance. His back went ramrod straight, the rapture consuming him. Michaels came on a silent yell. His volume was lacking, but his load was heavy and deep as it flowed inside his partner. Gave Judge all his power. "Damn. I feel you, Austin. So warm," Judge breathed. His partner was floating beneath him. He knew exactly what Judge was feeling. That flooding of warm come, filling him up and searing him inside. Even in the outdoors, the air was thick with their combined scents. More pungent and masculine than the sweet aromas of lavender and lilies. Michaels ~ A.E. Via

I like sweet wines. My idea has always been that when you're young, you like sweet wines; and then you get sophisticated, and you drink dry white; and then you get knowledgeable, and you drink heavy reds; and then you get old, and you drink sweet again. ~ Sally Jessy Raphael

Tears flood in you
your eyes burning
your heart scars with my name scratched deep
My face is gone
my heart betrayed by your lullabies
I'm a shadow of a girl inside
Hands are touching you
nothing takes the place of you
Heart wrench, weeps goodbye
Lullabies, beautiful and trusting
Barely breathing as they break into dust
Lonely corners me
Sweeps me off my feet
Shows me it was better for me
Fingertips holding close
your grip not as soft
Follows me to an empty bed
I can't stop the weakening of my soul
my body is dying
your tune is holding my mind
Let me go
see what I do
No control
No you
You whisper your sweet goodbye
If it is small it won't interrupt my sleep
But my heart you keep
You say it's for me
But who would be happy?
Alone left out in the cold ~ Mercy Cortez

My mother is the most incredible woman on this entire Earth, and she's so giving and loving and sweet and she always raised me how to forgive and forget and move on. She's the catalyst behind it all, my mom is. And I'm 100% a momma's boy! ~ Brody Jenner

I will never return home to Elham. I can't. To see her would crush me. I need to let her go now. And I need to move on. I've come to realise that she was right. We were two completely different people, and we didn't belong together. But I will never hold any regrets of what we had. It will always be a time of my life that was perfect. Goodbye sweet Nell. ~ LeeAnn Whitaker

Truth is both reason and revelation - and both can surprise us. ~ Leonard Sweet

'Reach for a (cigarette) instead of a sweet' - ... advertising slogan..(of) Albert Lasker, (with) Mary Lasker, health philanthropist, and originator of the Lasker Awards, an American version of the Nobel Prize ... and Memorial Sloan Kettering trustees. ~ Ralph W. Moss

I once was a stranger to grace and to God,
I knew not my danger, and felt not my load;
Though friends spoke in rapture of Christ on the tree,
Jehovah Tsidkenu was nothing to me.

I oft read with pleasure, to sooth or engage,
Isaiah's wild measure and John's simple page;
But e'en when they pictured the blood sprinkled tree
Jehovah Tsidkenu seemed nothing to me.

Like tears from the daughters of Zion that roll,
I wept when the waters went over His soul;
Yet thought not that my sins had nailed to the tree
Jehovah Tsidkenu - 'twas nothing to me.

When free grace awoke me, by light from on high,
Then legal fears shook me, I trembled to die;
No refuge, no safety in self could I see -
Jehovah Tsidkenu my Saviour must be.

My terrors all vanished before the sweet Name;
My guilty fears banished, with boldness I came
To drink at the fountain, life giving and free -
Jehovah Tsidkenu is all things to me.

Jehovah Tsidkenu! my treasure and boast,
Jehovah Tsidkenu! I ne'er can be lost;
In Thee I shall conquer by flood and by field,
My cable, my anchor, my breast-plate and shield!

Even treading the valley, the shadow of death,
This "watchword" shall rally my faltering breath;
For while from life's fever my God sets me free,
Jehovah Tsidkenu, my death song shall be. ~ Robert Murray McCheyne

After Evie had finished her plate, Sebastian tugged her to the billiards table and handed her a cue stick with a leather tip. Ignoring her attempts to refuse him, he proceeded to instruct her in the basics of the game. "Don't try to claim this is too scandalous for you," he told her with mock severity. "After running off with me to Gretna Green, nothing is beyond you. Certainly not one little billiards game. Bend over the table."
She complied awkwardly, flushing as she felt him lean over her, his body forming an exciting masculine cage as his hands arranged hers on the cue stick. "Now," she heard him say, "curl your index finger around the tip of the shaft. That's right. Don't grip so tightly, sweet…let your hand relax. Perfect." His head was close to hers, the light scent of sandalwood cologne rising from his warm skin. "Try to imagine a path between the cue ball - that's the white one - and the colored ball. You'll want to strike right about there" - he pointed to a place just above center on the cue ball - "to send the object ball into the side pocket. It's a straight-on shot, you see? Lower your head a bit. Draw the cue stick back and try to strike in a smooth motion."
Attempting the shot, Evie felt the tip of the cue stick fail to make proper contact with the white ball, sending it spinning clumsily off to the side of the table.
"A miscue," Sebastian remarked, deftly catching the cue ball in his hand and repositioning it. "Whenever that happens, reach f ~ Lisa Kleypas

OLIVER DAVENANT did not merely read books. He snuffed them up, took breaths of them into his lungs, filled his eyes with the sight of the print and his head with the sound of words. Some emanation from the book itself poured into his bones, as if he were absorbing steady sunshine. The pages had personality. He was of the kind who cannot have a horrifying book in the room at night. He would, in fine weather, lay it upon an outside sill and close the window. Often Julia would see a book lying on his doormat.

As well as this, his reading led him in and out of love. At first, it was the picture of Alice going up on tiptoe to shake hands with Humpty Dumpty; then the little Fatima in his Arthur Rackham book, her sweet dusky face, the coins hanging on her brow, the billowing trousers and embroidered coat. Her childish face was alive with excitement as she put the key to the lock. "Don't!" he had once cried to her in loud agony.

In London, he would go every Saturday morning to the Public Library to look at a picture of Lorna Doone. Some Saturdays it was not there, and he would go home again, wondering who had borrowed her, in what kind of house she found herself that week-end. On his last Saturday, he went to say good-bye and the book was not there, so he sat down at a table to await its return. Just before the library was to be shut for lunch-time, he went to the shelf and kissed the two books which would lie on either side of his Lorna when she was returned an ~ Elizabeth Taylor

Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms so tightly that he would never come to harm ... ~ George R R Martin

Kindness without truth comes across as flattery.

Truth without kindness comes across as disrespect.

Those who manage to find the sweet spot are the most persuasive. ~ Vizi Andrei

There's this label called Neurotica by these sweet girls that have given me some lovely things to wear, and we might collaborate on making a little piece. They're really lovely, and I think they've been quite inspired by me in turn. ~ Bat For Lashes

A-Actually, the flower that sprang up would have been the iris or larkspur, not the modern hyacinth, but that is how it earned its name."
"Fascinating." His unfathomable eyes locked onto hers.
Elizabeth knew he was referring to her and not the history of the hyacinth, and though she commanded herself to move out of his reach, her legs refused to budge.
"Absolutely fascinating," he murmured again, and in slow motion she watched his hands reach out and gently grasp her shoulders, rubbing lightly. "Last night you were ready to do battle with a roomful of men because they dared believe I'd cheated, yet now you're afraid. Is it me you fear, sweetheart? Or something else?"
The endearment spoken in his rich baritone voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. "I'm afraid of the things you make me feel," she admitted desperately, trying to get control of herself and the situation. "I realize that this is merely a-a little weekend dalliance-"
"Liar," he teased, and he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. Her mind reeled from the brief touch, but the moment he lifted his mouth from hers she rushed into frightened speech. "Thank you," she blurted inanely. "H-Hyacinths are not the only flower with an interesting history. There are lilies, too, which are also part of the genus-"
A lazy, seductive grin swept across his handsome face, and, to Elizabeth's helpless horror, her gaze fastened on his mouth. She couldn't still the shiver of a ~ Judith McNaught

Aren't they sweet?" Andy mocked as he clapped his hands together near his face and batted his eyelashes dramatically.
"We are fucking sweet," I bellowed arrogantly. "Our bromance is amazing. We're like a modern-day Romeo and Romeo. ~ Beth Ehemann

I know now that it's the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is opposite of hate; and it's the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love. ~ Gregory David Roberts

I wrote a screenplay for a 'Sweet Valley High' adaptation, and it's really amazing to me how many women who are my age have responded to the idea and are excited about the movie. ~ Diablo Cody

God offers us counsel not just for our own safety, but for the safety of His other children, whom we should love. There are few comforts so sweet as to know that we have been an instrument in the hands of God in leading someone else to safety. That blessing generally requires the faith to follow counsel when it is hard to do. ~ Henry B. Eyring

Day after day there rose a smell which Lucy found very hard to describe: sweet- yes, but not at all sleepy or overpowering, a fresh wild lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain- ~ C.S. Lewis

For a cup brimful of sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however suddenly jolted. ~ Amy Carmichael

Everything we do is tinged with the knowledge that this may be the last time that we will do this, and that makes what we're doing incredibly sweet. ~ John Banville

You're not just doing that to impress her, are you?"
"Everything I do is to impress her. It's my mission in life," he said with a completely serious face, while he squeezed my knee under the table.
Mom burst out laughing. "I like him," she said.
"Me too. I think I'll keep him," I said, taking his hand and twisting my fingers with his.
"Good," he said, giving my hand a squeeze. ~ Chelsea M. Cameron

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day. ~ Richard Crashaw

The Empress said, her own breath coming in gasps, lips against her daughter's cold forehead and soft hair - her hair at least was still the same, soft, delicate, sweet cobwebs. . . . ~ Vera Nazarian

There in the sweet sacking smell of the mail bags he understood that he was dying, and it pleased him that he was going in the company of so many soft words home. ~ Chris Cleave

When it was proclaimed that the Library contained all books, the first impression was one of extravagant happiness. All men felt themselves to be the masters of an intact and secret treasure. There was no personal or world problem whose eloquent solution did not exist in some hexagon. The universe was justified, the universe suddenly usurped the unlimited dimensions of hope. At that time a great deal was said about the Vindications: books of apology and prophecy which vindicated for all time the acts of every man in the universe and retained prodigious arcana for his future. Thousands of the greedy abandoned their sweet native hexagons and rushed up the stairways, urged on by the vain intention of finding their Vindication. These pilgrims disputed in the narrow corridors, proffered dark curses, strangled each other on the divine stairways, flung the deceptive books into the air shafts, met their death cast down in a similar fashion by the inhabitants of remote regions. Others went mad ... The Vindications exist (I have seen two which refer to persons of the future, to persons who are perhaps not imaginary) but the searchers did not remember that the possibility of a man's finding his Vindication, or some treacherous variation thereof, can be computed as zero. ~ Jorge Luis Borges

- Shush sweet baby, I said, so tired, and mixed her gripe water with whiskey and dill weed, but it did no good, so I seen now why lullabies was all about cradles falling from trees, oh dear, when the wind blows, down will come baby, whoops too bad, but at least it's quiet. ~ Kate Manning

Graceful. Lean. Coordinated as she whirls, though how she knows what dancing is, [her grandfather] could never guess.

The song plays on. He lets it go too long. The antenna is still up, probably dimly visible against the sky, the whole attic might as well shine like a beacon. But in the candlelight, in the sweet rush of a concerto, Marie-Laure bites her lower lip, and her face gives off a secondary glow, reminding him of the marshes beyond the town walls, in those winter dusks when the sun has set but isn't fully swallowed, and big patches of red pools of light burn - places he used to go with his brother, in what seems like lifetimes ago. ~ Anthony Doerr

In addition to Tieren's list, she'd nicked a flask of something called "sleep sweet" and a tiny ampule marked "seer's tea," but she'd left the rest, feeling quite impressed with her restraint. ~ V.E Schwab

She wanted to be his candle, to light the darkness in his soul, to burn in the window and show him the way home. She wanted to be his rain, a sweet storm of the senses. She wanted to be his warmth, a solace for his soul. ~ Alison Kent

Happy the life, that in a peaceful stream,
Obscure, unnoticed through the vale has flow'd;
The heart that ne'er was charm'd by fortune's gleam
Is ever sweet contentment's blest abode. ~ James Gates Percival

Now alongside Scovell, John eased preserved peaches out of galliot pots of syrup and picked husked walnuts from puncheons of salt. He clarified butter and poured it into rye-paste coffins. From the Master Cook, John learned to set creams with calves' feet, then isinglass, then hartshorn, pouring decoctions into egg-molds to set and be placed in nests of shredded lemon peel. To make cabbage cream he let the thick liquid clot, lifted off the top layer, folded it then repeated the process until the cabbage was sprinkled with rose water and dusted with sugar, ginger and nutmeg. He carved apples into animals and birds. The birds themselves he roasted, minced and folded into beaten egg whites in a foaming forcemeat of fowls.
John boiled, coddled, simmered and warmed. He roasted, seared, fried and braised. He poached stock-fish and minced the meats of smoked herrings while Scovell's pans steamed with ancient sauces: black chawdron and bukkenade, sweet and sour egredouce, camelade and peppery gauncil. For the feasts above he cut castellations into pie-coffins and filled them with meats dyed in the colors of Sir William's titled guests. He fashioned palaces from wafers of spiced batter and paste royale, glazing their walls with panes of sugar. For the Bishop of Carrboro they concocted a cathedral.
'Sprinkle salt on the syrup,' Scovell told him, bent over the chafing dish in his chamber. A golden liquor swirled in the pan. 'Very slowly.'
'It will taint the sugar,' John o ~ Lawrence Norfolk

You're not nothing. ~ Tui T. Sutherland

Gos bless America, my home sweet home. ~ Irving Berlin

I'm not one of those people that wears something once and tosses it aside. I wear my shoes until they beg to be thrown away. Parting is such sweet sorrow - and then it's onto the next pair. ~ Rachel Nichols