Dry Quotes - Page 9

• A lady must retain always her composure. Even in a rainstorm, she must appear joyous and dry. When she loses her composure, then the respect of her peers and her staff will follow in short order.

  Anna Godbersen

  Order, Peers, Staff

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• Strange how one person can saturate a room with vitality, with excitement. Then there are others, and this dame was one of them, who can drain off energy and joy, can suck pleasure dry and get no sustenance from it. Such people spread a grayness in the air about them.

  John Steinbeck

  Air, People, Joy

  John Steinbeck (1980). “Travels with Charley in Search of America”, p.30, Penguin

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• Andrius turned. His eyes found mine. I'll see you he said. My face didn't wrinkle. I didn't utter a sound. But for the first time in months I cried. Tears popped from their dry sockets and sailed down my cheeks in one quick stream. I looked away. The NKVD called the bald man's name. Look at me wispered Andrius moving close. I'll see you he said. Just think about that. Just think about me bringing you your drawings. Picture it because I'll be there.

  Ruta Sepetys

  Moving, Eye, Thinking

  Ruta Sepetys (2011). “Between Shades of Gray”, p.158, Penguin

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• He can make the dry parched ground of my soul to become a pool and my thirsty barren heart as springs of water. Yes he can make this habitation of dragons this heart which is so full of abominable lusts and fiery temptations to be a place of bounty and fruitfulness unto Himself

  John Owen

  Spring, Heart, Dragons

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• Because I liked you better Than suits a man to say, It irked you, and I promised I'd throw the thought away. To put the world between us We parted stiff and dry: 'Farewell,' said you, 'forget me.' 'Fare well, I will,' said I. If e'er, where clover whitens The dead man's knoll, you pass, And no tall flower to meet you Starts in the trefoiled grass, Halt by the headstone shading The heart you have not stirred, And say the lad that loved you Was one that kept his word.

  A. E. Housman

  Flower, Farewell, Heart

  A. E. Housman (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of A. E. Housman (Illustrated)”, Delphi Classics

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• Up until then it had only been himself. Up to then it had been a private wrestle between him and himself. Nobody else much entered into it. After the people came into it he was, of course, a different man. Everything had changed then and he was no longer the virgin, with the virgin's right to insist upon platonic love. Life, in time, takes every maidenhead, even if it has to dry it up; it does not matter how the owner wants to keep it. Up to then he had been the young idealist. But he could not stay there. Not after the other people entered into it.

  James Jones

  Love Life, Men, People

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• Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single, Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the dry cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms, and said, "Do your worst.

  Jim Butcher

  Men, Feet, Glasses

  Jim Butcher (2006). “Dead Beat: A Novel of The Dresden Files”, p.63, Penguin

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• They tied me back together, but they didn't use double knots. My insides are draining out of the fault lines in my skin, I can feel it, but every time I check the bandages, they're dry.

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  Together, Skins, Faults

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• Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.

  Sara Gruen

  Ink, Honey, Moments

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• As dew leaves the cobweb lightly Threaded with stars, Scattering jewels on the fence And the pasture bars; As dawn leaves the dry grass bright And the tangled weeds Bearing a rainbow gem On each of their seeds; So has your love, my lover, Fresh as the dawn, Made me a shining road To travel on, Set every common sight Of tree or stone Delicately alight For me alone.

  Sara Teasdale

  Weed, Stars, Sight

  Sara Teasdale (1917). “Love Songs”

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• How long can you keep me invisible?" "As long as were in physical contact." My throat felt dry. "Holding hands?" That's how we'd done it last time. "Unless you had something else in mind?

  Rachel Vincent

  Hands, Long, Mind

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• Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty, only shadow inside? No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. Not asleep, not dreaming— its eyes are opened wide watching distant signals, listening on the rim of vast silence

  Antonio Machado

  Running, Dream, Heart

  Antonio Machado, Alan S. Trueblood (1982). “Antonio Machado”, p.93, Harvard University Press

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• The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself, after a while it whirred and cleared its throat and struck six times.

  William Faulkner

  Profound, House, Pulse

  William Faulkner “The Sound and the Fury”, W. W. Norton & Company

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• When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.

  William Shakespeare

  Art, Hate, People

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• A good place to meet a man is at the dry cleaner. These men usually have jobs and bathe.

  Rita Rudner

  Funny, Jobs, Humor

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• And so, while the rest of the world went on unaware, drinking their coffee, reading the sports page, and picking up their dry cleaning, I leaned forward and kissed Dexter, making a choice that would change everything. Maybe somewhere there was a ripple, a bit of jump, some small shift in the universe, barely noticeable. I didn’t feel it then. I felt only him kissing me back, easing me into the sunlight as I lost myself in the taste of him and felt the world go on, just as it always had, all around us.

  Sarah Dessen

  Sports, Drinking, Coffee

  Sarah Dessen (2004). “This Lullaby”, p.85, Penguin

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• The place I like best in this world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it’s a kitchen, if it’s a place where they make food, it’s fine with me. Ideally it should be well broken in. Lots of tea towels, dry and immaculate. Where tile catching the light (ting! Ting!)” (p. 3).

  Banana Yoshimoto

  Light, Broken, Kitchen

  Banana Yoshimoto, Megan Backus (1979). “Three Plays”, p.3, Grove Press

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• The new America, instead, is fast becoming a vast ghetto in which all of us, conservatives and progressives, are being bled dry by a relatively tiny oligarchy of extremely clever financial criminals and their castrato henchmen in government, whose job is to be good actors on TV and put on a good show.

  Matt Taibbi

  Jobs, Clever, Ghetto

  Matt Taibbi (2010). “Griftopia: Bubble Machines, Vampire Squids, and the Long Con That Is Breaking America”, p.33, Spiegel & Grau

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• I came to hate the complainers, with their dry and crumbly lipsticks and their wrinkled rage and their stupid, flaccid, old-people sun hats with brims the breadth of Saturn's rings.

  Karen Russell

  Hate, Stupid, People

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• She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.

  Virginia Woolf

  Dust, Desire, Poppies

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.757, Wordsworth Editions

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• As though she had entered a fable, as though she were no more than words crawling along a dry page, or as though she were becoming that page itself, that surface on which her story would be written and across which there blew a hot and merciless wind, turning her body to papyrus, her skin to parchment, her soul to paper.

  Salman Rushdie

  Wind, Soul, Skins

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• On wet days I will go into the thickest parts of the forest, where the pine needles are everlastingly dry, and when the sun shines I'll lie on the heath and see how the broom flares against the clouds. I shall be perpetually happy, because there will be no one to worry me.

  Elizabeth von Arnim

  Lying, Clouds, Worry

  Elizabeth Von Arnim (2005). “The Solitary Summer”, p.5, 1st World Publishing

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• Eloiseis getting married as well.” “Eloise?” Michael asked with some surprise. “Was she even being courted by anyone?” “No,” Francesca said, quickly flipping to the third sheet of her mother‟s letter. “It‟s someone she‟s never met.” “Well, I imagine she‟s met him now,” Michael said in a dry voice.

  Julia Quinn

  Mother, Voice, Eloise

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• Phillip looked to Eloise. "Perhaps introductions are in order?" "Oh," Eloise said, gulping. "Yes, of course. These are my brothers." "I'd gathered," he said, his voice as dry as dust. She shot him an apologetic look, which, Phillip thought, was really the least she could do after nearly getting him tortured and killed, then turned to her brothers and motioned to each in turn, saying, "Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Gregory. These three," she added, motioning to A, B, and C, "are my elders. This one"—she waved dismissively at Gregory—"is an infant.

  Julia Quinn

  Brother, Dust, Order

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• I just stood there, looking at her. My head was spinning, my mouth dry, and all I could think about was that I wanted to go someplace safe, someplace I could be alone and okay, and that this was impossible. My old life had changed and my new one was still in progress, altering by the second. There was nothing, nothing to depend on. And why was I surprised?

  Sarah Dessen

  Thinking, Progress, Mouths

  Sarah Dessen (2008). “Lock and Key”, p.145, Penguin

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