Quotes About Admiration

They just want to be liked. Being liked is their . . . sugar rush.

being admired gives you more power than being feared.

Although Grandpa never put it in words for me, one thing I learned from him was that being admired gives you more power than being feared.

But our greatest treasure, hope, remains. It is a sturdy little motor within, purring, ticking, driving us on when reason would suggest surrender. It is both the most pathetic and noblest thing about us, the most absurd and the most admirable quality we possess, for as long as we have hope, we also have the capacity for love, for caring, for decency.

You know I'm living vicariously through you.

You are the most amazing woman I've ever known, Merry Knight, and I'm crazy about you and that dimple of yours.

I declare, that's the prettiest baby I ever saw." We say that even if the infant in question would draw a blister on an outhouse from a hundred yards away.

You could have arrived atop a wildcat and no one would have said a word. They will adore you.

They needed to share one secret after another with a beautiful woman, to peel away layer after layer, mask after mask, and still find themselves worshiped.

Love? The word streaked across the path of his thoughts like lightning across a stormy sky. He watched her now, watching Lulu, watching a moth flutter under the porch light, looking anywhere but at him, and sudden warmth flooded through him, making his knees weak. Yes, he loved her. He'd tried not to. But now here he was. On her porch, watching her watching a moth, and realizing he was the moth and she the light. It would always be this way.

I once again felt an odd flush of admiration for my partner's faith in a religion I had long ago abandoned. She doesn't advertise it or announce it at every turn, and she has nothing but scorn for the patriarchal hierarchy that runs the church, but she nevertheless holds firm to a belief in the religion and ritual with a quiet intensity that can't be shaken.

Also, the Israelites must have admired this man who chose to be one of them, when he could have led an utterly charmed life as an Egyptian prince.

I am the man my father loved and was.

The crowd wants a hero,not just someone cutting up meat

He realizes finally that the boy he's been watching snap his board into the air, then neatly touch down- long, black, gleaming hair, pale white skin- is Felice. He didn't know she'd learned how to skateboard. He's never seen her like this before- so intently focused and content- her beauty beside the point, merely part of the catalog of effects- speed, balance, daring. He admires her athletic form and feels moved in some unexpected way.

I love you, a nighean donn. I have loved ye from the moment I saw ye, I will love ye 'til time itself is done, and so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased wi' the world.

It's only that ye looked so beautiful, wi' the fire on your face, and your hair waving in the wind. I wanted to remember it.

Jamie shook his head at me admiringly. "And here I thought I married you because ye had a fair face and a fine fat arse. To think you've a brain as well!" He neatly dodged the blow I aimed at his ear, and grinned at me.

You're beautiful to me, Jamie," I said softly, at last. "So beautiful, you break my heart.

Ye've no idea how lovely ye look, stark naked, wi' the sun behind you. All gold, like ye were dipped in it.

I like ye fat, Sassenach," he said softly. "Fat and juicy as a plump wee hen. I like it fine.

Of course you would protect the woman," he said. "You protect everyone, John—I don't suppose you can help it." Astonished, Grey opened his mouth to contest this absurd statement, but was forestalled when Percy leaned forward and kissed him softly. "You are the bravest man I know," Percy said, his breath warm on Grey's cheek. "And you will not convince me otherwise.

He was generally aware that he had been blessed in her beauty; even in her usual homespun, knee-deep in mud from her garden, or stained and fierce with the blood of her calling, the curve of her bones spoke to his own marrow, and those whisky eyes could make him drunk with a glance. Besides, the mad collieshangie of her hair made him laugh.

The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy