Who Is She Quotes

“It had been years since he'd seen a woman handle a crowd of admirers so deftly- not since Lily in her gambling days. Fascinated, he wondered where the hell she had come from. He knew about all the new arrivals in London, and he'd never seen her before. She must be some diplomat's wife, or some exclusive courtesan. Her lips were red and pouting, her pale white shoulders enticingly bare above the blue velvet of her gown. She laughed frequently, tossing her head back in a way that caused her chestnut curls to dance. Like the other men present, Derek was captivated by her figure, the luscious round breasts, the tiny waist, all revealed by a well-fitted gown that was unlike the shapeless Grecian styles of the other women.
"A toast to the loveliest bosom in London!" Lord Bromley, a rakish ne'er-do-well, exclaimed. Titillated and excited, the crowd raised their glasses with a cheer. Waiters rushed to bring more liquor.
"Miss," one of them begged, "I entreat you to cast my dice for me."
"Whatever good luck I have is yours," she assured him, and shook the dice in the box so vigorously that her breasts quivered beneath their shallow covering. The temperature in the room escalated rapidly as a host of admiring sighs greeted the display. Derek decided to intervene before the crowd's mood became too highly charged. Either the vixen didn't realize the lust she was inciting, or she was doing it deliberately. Either way, he wanted to meet her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Who is Zozie? I ask myself. Those eyes see much farther than dishes to be washed, or a banknote folded under the rim of a plate. Blue eyes are easier to read, and yet the trick of the trade that has served me so often- if not so well- along the years, for some reason fails to work at all with her. Some people are like that, I tell myself. But dark or light, soft-centered or brittle, bitterest orange or rose cream or manon blanc or vanilla truffle, I have no idea whether she even likes chocolate at all, still less her favorite.
So- why is it I think that she knows mine?”
― Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow

“But her relationship with food was all about being Carmen of Seville. It was her truth, her statement to the world. And she didn't care if she had to use her beauty queen smarts to get people too take a bite- because once they had a taste of her flavors, of the garlic and olive oil and pinches of smoked paprika, pimentón,they would know. Carmen Vega wasn't just another pretty face. She was an artist.”
― Kate Jacobs, Comfort Food

“Unfortunately, Candace wasn't the one who'd stood out last night. And hell, did Thea stand out. I'd felt her potential before she'd even parked her van. She exhibited open fascination with Marcel's paintings, and the way she relished every bite on her plate made me remember a time when things could still be new and fascinating. And this wasn't even faerie food--- I wondered what expression she would make if that crossed her lips. She breathed life and pleasure with her every movement. Liveliness--- was that the nature of a fae from the Summer Court, or was that simply Thea?”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Faeries

“It was a delicate silver frame, small enough to fit within her hand, containing a photograph of a woman. She was young, with long hair, light but not blond, half of which was wound into a loose knot on the top of her head; her gaze was direct, her chin slightly lifted, her cheekbones high. Her lips were set in an attitude of intelligent engagement, perhaps even defiance.
Elodie felt a familiar stirring of anticipation as she took in the sepia tones, the promise of a life awaiting rediscovery. The woman's dress was looser than might be expected for the period. White fabric draped over her shoulders, and the neckline fell in a V. The sleeves were sheer and billowed, and had been pushed to the elbow on one arm. Her wrist was slender, the hand on her hip accentuating the indentation of her waist.
The treatment was as unusual as the subject, for the woman wasn't posed inside on a settee or against a scenic curtain, as one might expect in a Victorian portrait. She was outside, surrounded by dense greenery, a setting that spoke of movement and life. The light was diffuse, the effect intoxicating.”
― Kate Morton, The Clockmaker's Daughter

“So, Nora leaves him in the end," she said, as they walked down the stairs.
"What?"
"In the play. A Doll's House."
"That's right." Beatrice went to the sink. "She says she can't be anyone's wife or anyone's mother until she knows who she is. She walks out of their house and closes the door behind. It's this iconic moment. At least, that's what our teacher said."
"That's very interesting.”
― Jennifer Weiner, That Summer

“Who was the artist? The line of her body was slim and softly feminine in a way that spoke to every one of his senses. Her hair, a rich mahogany had smelled wonderful, though he'd be hard-pressed to describe just exactly what it smelled like... fresh, he would have said, Or clean. Or sweet. But none of those words really seemed to apply, precisely. How he loved discovering the unique smell of a woman... a good place to start discovering it, he knew, was the nape of the neck. But there were other delightful places, too.
He smiled, a wicked, private smile, which faded when he remembered he was not to be discovering the smells of females while he was in Barnstables.
You were bloody quiet, she'd said. As though he'd thwarted her.
He gave a bark of delighted laughter. It rather sounded like something he would have said.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy