Isabelle Quotes

Quotes tagged as "isabelle" Showing 1-26 of 26
Cassandra Clare
“I am a man" he told her, "and men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone woman, and bring me something brown.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Cassandra Clare
“If you're texting Magnus to say 'I think u r kewl,' I'm going to kill you."
"Who's Magnus?" Max inquired.
"He's a warlock," said Alec.
"A sexy, sexy warlock," Isabelle told Max, ignoring Alec's look of total fury.
"But warlocks are bad," protested Max, looking baffled.
"Exactly," said Isabelle.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Cassandra Clare
“Isabelle!" he called again. "Let down your raven hair!'
"Oh my God," Clary muttered. "There was something in that blood Raphael gave you, wasn't there? I'm going to kill him.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

Cassandra Clare
“Clary wasn't sure what she'd expected -exclamations of delight, perhaps a smattering of applause. Instead there was silence, broken only when Jace said, "Somehow, I thought it would be bigger."
Clary looked at the Cup in her hand. It was the size, perhaps, of an ordinary wineglass, only much heavier. Power thrummed through it, like blood through living veins. "It's a perfectly nice size," she said indignantly.
"Oh, it's big enough," he said patronizingly, "but somehow I was expecting something… you know." He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat.
"It's the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl," said Isabelle.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

Cassandra Clare
“If you're texting Magnus to say 'I think u r kewl' I'm going to kill you”
Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

Cassandra Clare
“Dinnertime!" It was Isabelle, standing framed in the door of the library. She still had the spoon in her hand, though her hair had escaped from its bun and was straggling down her neck. "Sorry if I'm interrupting," she added, as an afterthought.
"Dear God," said Jace, "the dread hour is nigh."
Hodge looked alarmed. "I—I—I had a very filling breakfast," he stammered. "I mean lunch. A filling lunch. I couldn't possibly eat—"
"I threw out the soup," Isabelle said. "And ordered Chinese from that place downtown."
Jace unhitched himself from the desk and stretched. "Great. I'm starved."
"I might be able to eat a bite," admitted Hodge meekly.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

Cassandra Clare
“Honestly, Clary, if you don't start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority I just don't know what I'll do with you.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

Cassandra Clare
“Hello?" Isabelle called from the other side. "Simon, is your diva moment over? I need to talk to Jace.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Cassandra Clare
“Simon, don’t you think I’m scared of that too? You’re not the only one on that ledge. If we jump, we jump together. We fall together.”
Cassandra Clare, Pale Kings and Princes

Cassandra Clare
“Simon watched a kelpie skip past, carrying a glass of blue fluid, and raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not like Magnus’s party,” Isabelle reassured him. “Everything here ought to be safe to drink.”
“Ought to be?” Aline look worried.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Cassandra Clare
“Oooh, that was fun."
"That does it," said Jace. "I'm going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year."
"Why?" Isabelle said.
"So you can look up 'fun.' I'm not sure you know what it means.”
Cassandra Clare

Cassandra Clare
“It was only recently that Isabelle had realized other girls weren’t just for envying, avoiding, or disliking.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Cassandra Clare
“La belle Isabelle”
Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

Amy Reed
“Sometimes I think you don't really believe the things you say; you just like the sound of yourself having opinions.”
Amy Reed, Crazy

Cassandra Clare
“I've got plenty.” Isabelle smiled, kicking her feet up so that her anklets jingled like Christmas bells. "These, for instance. The left one is gold, which is poisonous to demons, and the right one is blessed iron, in case I run across any unfriendly vampires or even faeries, faeries hate iron. They both have strength runes carved into them, so I can pack a hell of a kick. "
"Demon hunting and fashion," Clary said. "I never would have thought they went together.”
Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

Amy Reed
“That's what dreams are really like, you know? They're not full of melting clocks or floating roses or people made out of rocks. Most of the time, dreams look just like the normal world. It's your feelings that tell you something's off. Not your mind, not your intellect, not something as obvious as that. The only part of you that really knows what's going on is the part of you that's most a mystery. If that's not Surrealism, I don't know what is.”
Amy Reed, Crazy

Jennifer Donnelly
“Isabelle had cut off her toes, but sometimes she could still feel them. Maman had cut out her heart. Sometimes, she could still feel that, too.”
Jennifer Donnelly, Stepsister

Jeaniene Frost
“You're a beautiful young woman walking without an escort at one in the morning. Why doesn't one of your staff at least see you to your car?"

"Because they're not sexist pigs who think women are incapable of taking care of themselves."

Chance rolled his eyes. "This has nothing to do with feminism. I'm all for gender equality, but the fact remains that women are targeted for more specific crimes than men, and the perpetrators of those crimes often look for circumstances such as these to attack."

"See this?" Isa pulled something dark and oblong out of her purse. Chance's mouth twitched.

"Turbo Vagisil?"

"No, It's a taser!" Isa said indignantly. "I can take care of myself, Chance. I've been doing that just fine for the past twenty-nine and a half years before you showed up, remember?”
Jeaniene Frost, Happily Never After

Jennifer Donnelly
“She was sorry for all the grim-tale girls locked in lonely towers. Trapped in sugar houses. Lost in the dark woods, with a huntsman coming to cut out their hearts.”
Jennifer Donnelly, Stepsister

Ashlyn Macnamara
“He grinned, a woman’s downfall wrought in a simple stretch of his lips. It was her downfall, certainly, her personal undoing because she never saw the expression outside their private chambers. It was her exclusive domain and never failed to turn her knees wobbly.”
Ashlyn Macnamara, A Most Devilish Rogue

Melyssa Winchester
“You might look like a princess, Isabelle Reagan, but if I had my way tonight, you’d also be a queen.”
Melyssa Winchester, Count on Me

“Writing is your soul on paper”
Isabelle Crane

Jennifer Donnelly
“At the edge of Saint-Michel is the Wildwood. The wolves who live there come out at night. They prowl fields and farms, hungry for hens and tender young lambs. But there is another sort of wolf, one that's far more treacherous. This is the wolf the old ones speak of.

"Run if you see him," they tell their granddaughters. "His tongue is silver, but his teeth are sharp. If he gets hold of you, he'll eat you alive."

Most of the village girls do what they're told, but occasionally one does not. She stands her ground, looks the wolf in the eye, and falls in love with him.

People see her run to the woods at night. They see her the next morning with leaves in her hair and blood on her lips. This is not proper, they say. A girl should not love a wolf.

So they decide to intervene. They come after the wolf with guns and swords. They hunt him down in the Wildwood. But the girl is with him and sees them coming.

The people raise their rifles and take aim. The girl opens her mouth to scream, and as she does, the wolf jumps inside it. Quickly the girl swallows him whole, teeth and claws and fur. He curls up under her heart.

The villagers lower their weapons and go home. The girl heaves a sigh of relief. She believes this arrangement will work. She thinks she can be satisfied with memories of the wolf’s golden eyes. She thinks the wolf will be happy with a warm place to sleep.

But the girl soon realized she’s made a terrible mistake, for the wolf is a wild thing and wild things cannot be caged. He wants to get out, but the girl is all darkness inside and he cannot find his way.

So he howls in her blood. He tears at her heart.

The howling and gnawing –it drives the girl mad.

She tries to cut him out, slicing lines in her flesh with a razor.

She tries to burn him out, holding a candle flame to her skin.

She tries to starve him out, refusing to eat until she’s nothing but skin over bones.

Before long, the grave takes them both.

A wolf lives in Isabelle. She tries hard to keep him down, but his hunger grows. He cracks her spine and devours her heart.

Run home. Slam the door. Throw the bolt. It won’t help.

The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside who will tear you apart.”
Jennifer Donnelly

Marta Savarino
“...Quando Isabelle alzò lo sguardo ebbe l’impressione che il cuore le si fermasse. Stava risalendo insieme a Jeanne la scalinata che dall’Orangerie riportava al castello dopo avere verificato che per loro quella poteva essere la via di fuga perfetta la sera dello spettacolo. Era emozionata e non vedeva l’ora di fare ritorno alla locanda per potere parlare liberamente dei dettagli del piano che aveva in mente con l’amica, quando all’improvviso si era trovata a guardare un uomo il cui sguardo avrebbe riconosciuto in mezzo a mille.
Lui era lì a pochi passi da lei e quell’incontro non aveva senso.
Perché mai Jacques si trovava lì a Corte,a Versailles e per giunta vestito da aristocratico?
No, c’era qualcosa di sbagliato.
L’uomo che aveva amato e che ancora non riusciva a dimenticare non era un semplice borghese che rientrava da un viaggio all’estero? Forse però quella era semplicemente l’idea che lei si era fatta di lui, dopotutto Jacques non le aveva mai detto chi fosse realmente.
«Cosa c’è?» domandò Jeanne vedendo l’amica ancora immobile e visibilmente sconvolta. Poi alzò lo sguardo anche lei e vide quel giovane bellissimo e riccamente vestito che fissava l’amica. Se però a lei quel volto non diceva nulla, diversamente fu quando il suo sguardo si spostò sull’altro uomo che intanto aveva raggiunto Jacques e si era fermato accanto a lui.
«Oh mio Dio» mormorò Jeanne.
La situazione che si era creata aveva qualcosa di surreale. Isabelle, Jacques, Jeanne e Nicolas che si fissavano l’un l’altro lì, immobili su quella scalinata e con le prime fredde gocce di pioggia che cominciavano a cadere sui loro visi.
Il rombo del tuono annunciò che il temporale era ormai arrivato.
Sembrava che il tempo fosse congelato.
Nessuno osava fare un gesto o pronunciare una parola.
Infine fu Isabelle a parlare per prima.
«Tu...qui?» riuscì a dire.
Gli occhi azzurri di Jacques puntati in quelli verde smeraldo di lei.
“Dio quanto è bella” pensò l’uomo avvicinandosi alla giovane che aveva lasciato due mesi prima. Vedere quegli occhi, quei lunghi capelli corvini legati in una treccia come ricordava di averli visti quella prima sera insieme alla locanda… e poi quel semplice vestito bordeaux che metteva in risalto il colore ambrato della sua pelle nonché le sue forme che ancora ricordava così bene. Il ricordo di loro due insieme era ancora troppo forte, troppo vivo in lui e quell’incontro non aveva fatto altro che riaccendere i suoi sentimenti e il suo desiderio.
«Isabelle» fu tutto quello che l’uomo riuscì a dire. Aveva sceso gli ultimi gradini della lunga scalinata che ancora lo separavano da lei e se avesse allungato un braccio avrebbe potuto sfiorarle il viso con la mano...”
Marta Savarino, La Vendetta di Isabelle

Yefon Isabelle
“Love withers but never dies. Its tendrils are embedded on fecund soil awaiting the nourishing spring to make it sprout once more.”
Yefon Isabelle

Erica Bauermeister
“They drained the red-tinged sherry from the cranberries, tasting as they went. Isabelle dropped the swollen berries like a long ruby necklace across the rosemary and garlic, Antonia adding a thin stream of milky-green olive oil, finally covering the mixture with slices of translucent pink and white pancetta.”
Erica Bauermeister, The School of Essential Ingredients