Charmed Cole Quotes

I grabbed Liam's arm as he passed me on his way to the tunnel door, kissing his cheek. "See you later tonight." He stepped down into the tunnel, shouldering a backpack Cole had left for him there. When I turned to say good-bye to the other Stewart, he'd stooped, turned his cheek toward me, and was waiting. I flicked it with my finger, making him laugh again. "You're impossible," I informed him. "It's all part of my charm," he said, shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder. "Take care of things, Boss." "Take care of him." I said, pointedly. He gave one last mock salute before shutting the door to the tunnel. I waited until the sound of his and the others' steps faded completely before locking the door after him.

I’m here,” I told him, picking at the taxi company decal on the interior of the car window.“My face is relaxed and content. My lips are curved upward.” Sam did not laugh, because he was immune to my charms. “Have you been to the place you’re staying yet? Is it okay?” “I’m fine, Mother,” I replied. “I haven’t been yet. I’m going to go see Baby now.

Her lip twitched, and she shook her head at my response. “Well . . . y’all are just regular spit-roasting Prince Charmings, huh?” I choked on a laugh,

Sometimes Prince Charming is everything you need when you didn’t know you needed it.

I open the little red box and push the tissue paper away. Inside, I find a silver necklace with a little tiny fork charm hanging off it.

I focus on my favorite daydream, the one where I return from London at the end of the summer and am all glamorous and drop-dead gorgeous and every girl in my school is completely jealous when Quinn McKeyan asks me to Fall Homecoming because he can’t resist my charm. Hey, it’s my daydream. I can dream what I want to. The thing is, Quinn’s face keeps getting replaced in my head by Dante’s. Since I’ve had a mad crush on Quinn from the time we started kindergarten all the way through our junior year last year, that’s saying something. Every daydream I’ve had for eleven years has been of him. I’m a very loyal daydreamer. And I suddenly feel like I’m cheating on my imaginary boyfriend, a boy who happens to be real, but who has been dating my best friend Becca for the past two years. And no. Becca has no idea that I’m secretly in love with her boyfriend. It’s the one secret that I’ve kept from her.

Charlie followed where they were looking and stopped dead in her tracks. Other people walked around her, grumbling and grouchy. She was bumped several times and none of it mattered. Because past the row of seats in the center aisle, right there at her gate, stood Cole, holding a sign with a rainbow on it that said “Charlie”. His handsome face sported a charming smile, which made her laugh and start crying like a total girl.

And I have no preference for where we would live. I’d go wherever you would be happy. Killing vampires? Fine. The Hie? Also acceptable—if I’m there with you.” “Acceptable.” Is he joking? “The more I get to know you, the more I realize your being a vampire is only part of why I’m indifferent to you.” Acceptable? As soon as he’d said it, even before her eyes flashed, he’d known that perhaps that wasn’t the best word to use with a daughter of gods. A fifth of any of his brothers’ charm.

in many ways, Eric Gill’s typeface, a follower of Edward Johnston’s type for the London Underground, is an awkward mix of Geometric and Humanist ideas — from its circular “o” to its dynamic, calligraphic “a.” Uppercase widths vary wildly. The long-legged “R” causes spacing issues, especially in the lighter weights. And the “g” is an odd concoction that even Gill himself fittingly called a “pair of spectacles.” Still, there is lasting charm in this face, and it has become synonymous with British culture ever since it

He came around with a red plastic gas can and got into one of the boats and filled its tank. “Watch out for those rat bastard ski boats,” he said. “Damn rich kids come out here and run wild all over the goddamn lake. Swamp you sure as I shit peanuts.” He was a charming old guy.

His lip quirked again—higher this time. “That, Miss Bellator, is why we call it magic.” Despite the mile-long list of reasons I had to hate him, his answer was so unexpected, so uncharacteristically charming, my grin spread from ear to ear.

You’re funny, and charming, and incredibly sexy… and you have a big dick?

You’re not the monster that you describe yourself to be.’ I couldn’t watch him suffer. ‘I didn’t say I am a monster. But a monster does lie inside me, and I’m not talking about the Cookie Monster this time. I can be both a glacier and an active volcano at the same time, Prince Charming and The Big Bad Wolf in a blink of an eye. I’m not like Brax, always determined to be made of stone, or Cole who needs obedience and adrenaline for his world to keep functioning. I can’t provide stability, except for the material one. Because, when it comes to my emotions, I don’t even know what’s going to happen next. I have no idea if I’ll wake up wanting to rule the world or burn it to the ground. But I do know one thing. I don’t want to lose you. I meant what I said. I want you here with me, in both my darkest and my brightest hours.’ He took a short pause, giving me a little space to hear the difficult part, ‘But I also know that I’ll only manage to hurt you along the way.’ ‘What if I consider it’s worth it?

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Porter’s next new Hollywood work, MGM’s High Society (1956), was second-division Porter. It hit his characteristic points—the Latin rhythm number in “Mind If I Make Love To You,” the charm song full of syncopation and “wrong” notes in “You’re Sensational.” Porter even turned himself inside out in two numbers for Louis Armstrong, “High Society Calypso” (the Afro-Caribbean anticipation of reggae had just begun to trend in America) and, in duet with Bing Crosby, “Now You Has Jazz.” And the film’s hit, “True Love,” is a waltz so simple neither the vocal nor the chorus has any syncopation whatever. This is smooth Porter, the Tin Pan Alley Porter who wants everyone to like him, even the tourists. Everything about High Society is smooth—to a fault. Armstrong gives it flair, but everyone else is so relaxed he or she might be bantering between acts on a telethon. These are pale replicas of the characters so memorably portrayed in MGM’s first go at this material, The Philadelphia Story, especially by Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. In their first moment, the two are in mid-fight; she breaks his golf clubs and he starts to take a swing at her, recalls himself to manly grace, and simply shoves her self-satisfied mug out of shot. This is not tough love. It’s real anger, and while Philip Barry, who wrote the Broadway Philadelphia Story, is remembered only as a boulevardier, he was in fact a deeply religious writer who interspersed romantic comedies with allegories on the human condition, much as Cole Porter moved between popular and elite composition. Underneath Barry’s Society folderol, provocative relationships undergo scrutiny as if in Christian parable; his characters are likable but worrisome—and, from First Couple Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly on down, there is nothing worrisome in this High Society.

You've got that thing, you've got that thing That thing that makes birds forget to sing Yes, you've got that thing, that certain thing You've got that charm, that subtle charm That makes young farmers desert the farm 'Cause you've got that thing, that certain thing You've got what Adam craved when he With love for Eve was tortured She only had an apple tree But you, you've got an orchard You've got those ways, those taking ways That make me rush off to Cartier's For a wedding ring, you've got that thing

A part of me thinks I should just go and leave you alone. But there’s a part of me that’s desperate to know…” “To know what?” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. If she wanted charming, he was sure he could figure out how to live up to it. He’d research it if he needed to. “To know how good we could be.” Olivia blushed as she ate more of her dinner. “I think we know how good we can be,” she muttered. Unable to resist, he ran his knuckle down her check and along her jaw. “I means how good we could be out of bed, Liv. We know how good we are in it.

Some guys can charm the stitches off a baseball.

she was. Loose and free, her shiny brown hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her face, open and disarming, held not a trace of the passage of time. Could today be any more depressing? Brandy turned to Cole who was eyeing a platter of hamburgers a waiter carried by. She put a hand on his arm to get his attention. While she signed my request, I turned to Jean-Charles. Before I spoke, he held up a hand. "A platter of hamburgers for your friends. I will prepare them myself, if you will excuse me." He gave a stiff little bow and a rueful half grin dialed back from its previous warmth. I watched him work his way through the tables, his practiced façade of charm falling into place, and wondered how to have a relationship with a man who bristled at the first barrier in his path.  Brandy and Cole were deep into a silent conversation, so I sipped my wine and pouted. Just being able to express a simple, albeit juvenile, emotion was so much better than my normal routine of bottling them inside. My job required eating too much crow as it was. I'd be damned if I'd conduct my personal life the same way.  Brandy snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "Do

As I’m looking out over the dance floor, I have the misfortune to catch Dimitri’s eye. He nods his chin at me, grinning what I’m sure he hopes is his most winning, charming smile. I flash a weird face and an even weirder dance move his way before pulling my gaze to Damian.