Hottest Book Quotes

Katey's the hottest bookworm you'll ever meet. If you took all the books that she's read and piled them in a stack, you could climb to the Milky Way.

I can't tell if you reciting Newton's first Law of Physics is the hottest thing to date or if it makes you more intimidating.

…Read…packaged food labels like they’re the hottest thing from Oprah’s book club.

Adriana: I can never decide whether Paris is more beautiful by day or by night. Gil: No, you can't, you couldn't pick one. I mean I can give you a checkmate argument for each side. You know, I sometimes think, how is anyone ever gonna come up with a book, or a painting, or a symphony, or a sculpture that can compete with a great city. You can't. Because you look around and every street, every boulevard, is its own special art form and when you think that in the cold, violent, meaningless universe that Paris exists, these lights, I mean come on, there's nothing happening on Jupiter or Neptune, but from way out in space you can see these lights, the cafés, people drinking and singing. For all we know, Paris is the hottest spot in the universe.

Q: What are the hottest days during summer? A: Sundays! Q: What dog can tell time? A: A watch dog! Q: Why did the man shoot the clock? A: He wanted to kill some time! Q: What time is it when an elephant sits on your car? A: Time to get a new car!

Even in the hottest fire there's a bit of water. my The Opposite Of Magic.

The Days can spin yarns that seem so real that if one of them told you a tale about a blizzard, you’d get frostbite even if you were standing in your kitchen on the hottest day of the year.

Women that just threw themselves at him. He must’ve had enough thrown at him to make a quilt of panties. I don’t blame them either. Declan Hart, the hottest thing since Nutella.

Lincoln: When your girlfriend is the hottest woman on the planet, you don’t take chances. Meeting you on a plane—that’s fucking romance book shit. Not happening.

You are probably the only girl on the planet that would spend so much time with Dylan Porter, who might just be the single most hottest guy on the planet, and try to get him to date other women,” Clara laughed and shook her head in disbelief.

I'd like to be a handsome corpse. At my funeral, I'd like people to look in my coffin and say, "Wow. He's so handsome when he's dead!" I guess it'd be kind of okay, too, if they made my books required reading in schools or something, but as far as leaving a legacy goes, I just want to be the hottest cadaver in the graveyard.

And so you know, every guy in this room wants to know who you are. They’re still staring. As for me? Straight guys and deeply closeted guys aren’t normally my thing, but you… Yeah, you’re sexy as hell. And now I’m glad I pushed, because I get to be here tonight with the hottest man in the room.” Tristan flashed that killer smile at him.

Here’s what happens when a single mom meets New York City’s hottest fireman… “Then…seductively…as if he received instruction not from the FDNY’s training school but at Chippendale’s…he slowly inches each suspender off his bare shoulders.” “You must know that exhilarating feeling of a man’s body on top of yours, all that power and muscle pressing you into the bed, the glorious taste of his tongue in your mouth, the manly scent that washes over you and makes you want to melt underneath him.” “Let’s not forget about his nine inches of shapely fireman hose dangling so close in front of my face the scent launches me into a blissful fever.” “Every place he touches contradicts his chosen profession, because instead of putting out a fire he surely starts one.” “I’m so darn helpless in the arms of this powerful, young, ripped personification of New York’s Bravest that I feel myself about to erupt in the most earth shattering explosion since Mount Vesuvius last announced her presence.” “I wonder if he could be enticed to show us a few maneuvers on the brass pole.” “He orchestrates his own personal opera, inspiring high notes with kisses and licks along my elongated nipples, and deep moans with hands that caress my belly.” “We are drawn uncontrollably to each other and have no power to resist, only the tremendous desire to experience everything in its most intense form.

one of the hottest topics today is ethics—ethics discussions, ethics curriculum, ethics training, codes of ethics. This book shows that while ethics is fundamentally important and necessary, it is absolutely insufficient. It shows that the so-called soft stuff is hard, measurable, and impacts everything else in relationships, organizations, markets, and societies. Financial success comes from success in the marketplace, and success in the marketplace comes from success in the workplace. The heart and soul of all of this is trust. This work goes far beyond not only my work, but also beyond anything I have read on the subject of trust. It goes beyond ethical behavior in leadership, beyond mere “compliance.” It goes deep into the real “intent” and agenda of a person’s heart, and then into the kind of “competence” that merits consistent public confidence.

No field trip. No pancakes. And a boring lecture. As we took our seats in the auditorium, I wanted to complain to Buzzy about how unfair it was. But he was talking to Summer Magee, who sat on his other side. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Summer is one of the hottest girls in school. I’ve had a mad crush on her since third grade, when we built a volcano together for the science fair. Summer saved my life when the volcano exploded and a wave of burning hot lava gushed onto the front of my T-shirt. She grabbed the shirt in both hands—and ripped it off my body before I was too badly burned. The class went wild. I’ve had a thing for her ever since. But let’s face facts. In the past three years, Summer hasn’t paid much attention to me at all. I think maybe she was disappointed that our volcano was such a loser. Or maybe she doesn’t even remember the whole thing. Summer has wavy blond hair, dimples in both cheeks, sky-blue eyes,

Bow was originally billed as the “Brooklyn Bonfire,” then as the “Hottest Jazz Baby in Films,” but in 1927 she became, and would forevermore remain, the “It Girl.” “It” was first a two-part article and then a novel by a flame-haired English novelist named Elinor Glyn, who was known for writing juicy romances in which the main characters did a lot of undulating (“she undulated round and all over him, twined about him like a serpent”) and for being the mistress for some years of Lord Curzon, former viceroy of India. “It,” as Glyn explained, “is that quality possessed by some few persons which draws all others with its magnetic life force. With it you win all men if you are a woman—and all women if you are a man.” Asked by a reporter to name some notable possessors of “It,” Glyn cited Rudolph Valentino, John Gilbert, and Rex the Wonder Horse. Later she extended the list to include the doorman at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. It the novel was a story in which the two principal characters—Ava and Larry, both dripping with “It”—look at each other with “burning eyes” and “a fierce gleam” before getting together to “vibrate with passion.” As Dorothy Parker summed up the book in The New Yorker, “It goes on for nearly three hundred pages, with both of them vibrating away like steam-launches.

Mason was looking hard at the men of the Safak family, but they’d alibied out—so far. Even the hottest case went cold without a new lead. Soon Burroughs would be pulled off to work with other teams on other cases.

This sizzling menage romance series is the hottest book you'll have read in a really long time!

In college, I wanted to be Perry Mason, the hottest defense lawyer around. Then I realized that defense lawyers represented the scum of the earth, and most of their clients were guilty. Kinda blew the image for me. In my sophomore year, I took a journalism course and was hooked. I discovered investigative reporting, and soon realized I could be judge, jury, and prosecutor. So who needed to be a lawyer

Henny started to check things over—cables, speedometer, tire pressure, mirror adjustment—and then he sprayed the chain with WD40. He always does this, even if he’s going two blocks to the grocery. “Almost ready,” he said, when I thought he was all done. “I’m going to fill the water bottle and throw a bag of dried fruit into the seat pack.” Then he made one more trip for a bandage, just in case. When we finally got going, it was the hottest part of the day. I didn’t want to know how hot it was, but I knew Henny was going to tell me. “Did you check the thermometer?” he called up to me at the first intersection. “A hundred and five in the shade. It’s hot enough to uncurl your hair. We’ll die of heat exhaustion out here on the high-way. Can’t we go in something air-conditioned?” Henny never does anything without a few complaints. He has terrible things to say about trumpet lessons but he likes to play the trumpet. And then there are book reports. Henny reads the long, nonfiction books, the Yellow Pages, everything. Just don’t ask him to write up a report, because he will complain about it forever, and then turn in thirty pages.

It’s not just you . . . I guess it’s been a slow week for news.” I laughed. “We’re now the hottest story in town.” He smirked at me. “Oh, good, and I was worried that this would be awkward.” Stephens, S.C. (2012-08-16). Effortless (Thoughtless Book 2) (p. 282). Gallery Books. Kindle Edition.

A waste. If I’d been ten years younger, I’d have stolen her meself. That hair she had. Well, the hottest fires burn out quickest.” He

Applicants must also choose whether to be in or near a city or whether to attend college in a rural area. City suburbs are always a favorite because they combine access to the urban area with the safety that parents crave. During the 1970s, rural hideaways were popular among students who wanted to curl up with a book on bucolic hillside. Today, cow colleges are out as students hear the siren song of the city. Boston has always been preeminent among student-friendly big cities, offering an unparalleled combination of safety, cultural activities, and about fifty colleges. Chicago and Washington, D.C., are also immensely popular. On the West Coast, Berkeley, California, is a mecca for the college-aged, though today an overcrowded one. Legendary college towns like Ann Arbor, Michigan; Boulder, Colorado; and Burlington, Vermont, provide wonderfully rich places for a college education. Perhaps the hottest place of all among today’s students is New York City, where private institutions such as Columbia University, Barnard College, and New York University are enjoying record popularity.

No field trip. No pancakes. And a boring lecture. As we took our seats in the auditorium, I wanted to complain to Buzzy about how unfair it was. But he was talking to Summer Magee, who sat on his other side. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Summer is one of the hottest girls in school. I’ve had a mad crush on her since third grade, when we built a volcano together for the science fair. Summer saved my life when the volcano exploded and a wave of burning

A man who tries to impress his wife by cutting down a tree with a scythe during the hottest time of the day has many failings.

In my desperation to try to lull myself into a gentle sloom, I have created a list of things that will often assist my descent into delicious treacle-sleep. The list includes a series of things I can do if I go to bed and wake up early, and includes things like playing games and reading books, but one item that continually seems to work is telling myself: The faster I go to sleep, the faster I can have cookies for breakfast. This idea might seem rudimentary, but it staves off the sulks long enough that I can find a few hours of sleep, even on the hottest of days. If only Biscuit Power worked for other insomniacs, cookies might save humanity from itself.

Vengeance belonged to the young, after all. The time when emotions burned hottest, when life was sharp enough to cut, fierce enough to sear the soul.

—Katey’s the hottest bookworm you’ll ever meet. If you took all the books that she’s read and piled them in a stack, you could climb to the Milky Way.

Easy. You’ll say, ‘Wow, that’s the hottest Wanderling I’ve ever seen! Who knew a tree could have awesome hair?’ And then you’ll all sit under my stunning leaves and write poems about my general amazingness.” Sophie shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to joke about this.” “Well, believe it, Miss F. I can joke about anything!” He nudged her with his elbow, but she refused to smile. And she hated her brain for suddenly picturing his Wanderling. But she could see it so clearly now. The tree would have yellow spiky leaves and ice blue flowers and pale bark—and it would be lopsided somehow, mirroring his crooked smirk. “The thought of you dying will never be funny,” she whispered, wishing her eyes weren’t burning.

McKinsey has listed agri-business as one of the hottest areas for Chinese investment. The logic was pretty simple. There is rising demand from consumers and the entire supply chain needs to be improved: land, water, farming, fertilizer, technology, logistics, retail, etc. Almost everything.

We love rainy days, don’t we, baby?” Dominic’s voice

He’s waiting for me to speak, to say something. But I’m so overwhelmed that the first thing that leaves my mouth is, “Where is your hair?” 
He huffs, amusement in his eyes. “Sorry, baby. I shaved it off when I was on the run, and I’ve been keeping it short ever since. Am I no longer the hottest man you’ve ever encountered in your lifetime?” 
A loud, unladylike snort comes out of the deep pits of my throat and my eyes widen in embarrassment.
 “That almost sounded demonic. You sure you’re alive?” he teases, and that makes me snort even louder.


Katey’s the hottest bookworm you’ll ever meet. If you took all the books that she’s read and piled them in a stack, you could climb to the Milky Way.

How would you like to be the agent for the hottest swing musician in the world?” he asks. “Who is it — Nero and his fiddle?” I crack. But he doesn’t bend. “No, this is the genuine jive,” he tells me. “A hep Joe from Buffalo. A walkie-talkie from Milwaukee. Strictly a mutt from Connecticut.

It was the hottest day in July, and the island’s humidity was draped over me like a mourning veil, yet my body went cold and sweaty. Even my skin was crying.

Within four years, Belmont's name was on the lips of every New Yorker. He was the city's leading investment banker and the hottest thing to hit society-and he was a Jew.

Spiritual maturity isn’t merely something you do with your mind. It’s not about the books you read. It’s not about the conferences you attend or speak at. It’s about the life you live. It’s possible to listen to ten podcasts weekly, and to sing with the hottest bands, and be in four Beth Moore Bible studies, but miss the call to care for the least of these—and all the while live in a deceived state of thinking you’re mature.

Pepper Spray — One alternative is to carry “pepper” or OC (Oleoresin Capsaicin) spray. Pepper spray is a derivative of the hot cayenne (chili) peppers containing an oil alkaloid called “capsaicin”. Capsaicin generates a “felt” heat against the skin or mucus membrane (but has no thermal effect). This spicy heat, or piquance, is measured in Scoville Heat Units (SHU). The range of the Scoville heat scale ranges from zero to maximum 16 million (pure capsaicin). Some examples of heat ranges are: Banana peppers – 800 SHU, Cayenne or tabasco pepper – 40,000 SHU, Red Savina habanero (hottest chili pepper) – 450,000 SHU. Most pepper sprays are rated at one to three million SHU.

Piers Morgan Piers Morgan is a British journalist best known for his editorial work for the Daily Mirror from 1995 through 2004. He is also a successful author and television personality whose recent credits include a recurring role as a judge on NBC’s America’s Got Talent. A controversial member of the tabloid press during Diana’s lifetime, Piers Morgan established a uniquely close relationship with the Princess during the 1990s. The conversation moved swiftly to the latest edition of “Have I Got News for You.” “Oh, Mummy, it was hilarious,” laughed William. “They had a photo of Mrs. Parker Bowles and a horse’s head and asked what the difference was. The answer was that there isn’t any!” Diana absolutely exploded with laughter. We talked about which was the hottest photo to get. “Charles and Camilla is still the really big one,” I said, “followed by you and a new man, and now, of course, William with his first girlfriend.” He groaned. So did Diana. Our “big ones” are the most intimate parts of their personal lives. It was a weird moment. I am the enemy, really, but we were getting on well and sort of developing a better understanding of each other as we went along. Lunch was turning out to be basically a series of front-page exclusive stories--none of which I was allowed to publish, although I did joke that “I would save it for my book”--a statement that caused Diana to fix me with a stare, and demand to know if I was carrying a tape recorder. “No,” I replied, truthfully. “Are you?” We both laughed, neither quite knowing what the answer really was. The lunch was one of the most exhilarating, fascinating, and exasperating two hours of my life. I was allowed to ask Diana literally anything I liked, which surprised me, given William’s presence. But he was clearly in the loop on most of her bizarre world and, in particular, the various men who came into it from time to time. The News of the World had, during my editorship, broken the Will Carling, Oliver Hoare, and James Hewitt scoops, so I had a special interest in those. So, unsurprisingly, did Diana. She was still raging about Julia Carling: “She’s milking it for all she’s worth, that woman. Honestly. I haven’t seen Will since June ’95. He’s not the man in black you lot keep going on about. I’m not saying who that is, and you will never guess, but it’s not Will.” William interjected: “I keep a photo of Julia Carling on my dartboard at Eton.” That was torture. That was three fantastic scoops in thirty seconds. Diana urged me to tell William the story of what we did to Hewitt in the Mirror after he spilled the beans in the ghastly Anna Pasternak book. I dutifully recounted how we hired a white horse, dressed a Mirror reporter in full armor, and charged Hewitt’s home to confront him on allegations of treason with regard to his sleeping with the wife of a future king--an offense still punishable by death. Diana exploded again. “It was hysterical. I have never laughed so much.” She clearly had no time for Hewitt, despite her “I adored him” TV confessional.

I'd like to be a handsome corpse. At my funeral, I'd like people to look in my coffin and say, "Wow. He's so handsome when he's dead!" I guess it'd be kind of okay, too, if they made my books required reading in schools or something, but mostly, I just want to be the hottest cadaver in the graveyard.

What are the hottest days during summer? A: Sundays!

Right, yeah.” He nods. “Hey, Magnolia, I know that you and Beej shared a really tender moment the other night and then you’ve just watched him be vigorously dry-humped by a random girl, but do me a grand favour and don’t go home with the hottest man in England.

World’s Hottest Billionaire.” “I hate you.” “Nah. You love me. I’m the sunshine to your grumpy.” My brows pinch together. “What?” “It’s a thing in romance books⁠—

Iron is made stronger in the hottest part of the fire, Seth. You didn't break me, you forged me. - Zodiac Academy Book 2 Ruthless Fae