Fine. Sit around being inconsiderate asses... and you wonder why none of you are married. (Zarina) (Sway cleared his throat meaningfully.) Oh, shush. You don't count. You had an arranged marriage. These losers can't get a girl for more than three and half minutes it takes them to embarrass themselves with their feeble gropings that always disappoint. (Zarina)
Sometimes,' he whispered at last, 'sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.' He couldn't see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. 'What do you sing?' she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head. 'No song I've ever heard, or know,' he said softly. 'But I know I'm singing it for you.
So tonight to shush you how about if I say I have administrative bones to pick with God, Boo. I'll say God seems to have a kind of laid-back management style I'm not crazy about. I'm pretty much anti-death. God looks by all accounts to be pro-death. I'm not seeing how we can get together on this issue, he and I, Boo.
David Foster Wallace
You poor girl, what sort of aged, unfriendly Libraries have you met in short life? A silent Library is a sad Library... A Library should be full of exclamations!... A Library should be full of now-just-a-minutes and that-can't-be-rights and scientifick folk running skelter to prove somebody wrong... A Library should not shush ; it should roar !
Catherynne M. Valente
They sat quietly together for a few minutes, Joe holding Fiona's hand, Fiona sniffling. No flowery words, no platitudes passed between them. Joe would have done anything to ease her suffering, but he knew nothing he might do, or say, could. Her grief would run its course, like a fever, and release her when it was spent. He would not shush her or tell her it was God's will and that her da was better off. That was rubbish and they both knew it. When something hurt as bad as this, you had to let it hurt. There were no shortcuts.
A silent Library is a sad Library. A Library without patrons on whom to pile books and tales and knowing and magazines full of up-to-the-minute politickal fashions and atlases and plays in pentameter! A Library should be full of exclamations! Shouts of delight and horror as the wonders of the world are discovered or the lies of the heavens are uncovered or the wild adventures of devil-knows-who sent romping out of the pages. A Library should be full of now-just-a-minutes and that-can't-be-rights and scientifick folk running skelter to prove somebody wrong. It should positively vibrate with laughing at comedies and sobbing at tragedies, it should echo with gasps as decent ladies glimpse indecent things and indecent ladies stumble upon secret and scandalous decencies! A Library should not shush; it should roar!
Catherynne M. Valente
Miss Bridgerton, ' he said, 'the devil himself couldn't scare you.' She forced her eyes to meet his. 'That's not a compliment, is it?' He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. 'You'll have to figure that out for yourself, ' he murmured. To all who observed, he was the soul of propriety, but Hyacinth caught the daring gleam in his eye, and she felt the breath leave her body as tingles of electricity rushed across her skin. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say, not a single word. There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply. And then he straightened as if nothing had happened and said, 'Do let me know what you decide.' She just stared at him. 'About the compliment, ' he added. 'I am sure you will wish to let me know how I feel about you.' Her mouth fell open. He smiled. Broadly. 'Speechless, even. I'm to be commended.' 'You-' 'No. No, ' he said, lifting one hand in the air and pointing toward her as if what he really wanted to do was place his finger on her lips and shush her. 'Don't ruin it. The moment is too rare.