Pendant Love Quotes

I imagined the lies the valedictorian was telling them right now. About the exciting future that lies ahead. I wish she'd tell them the truth: Half of you have gone as far in life as you're ever going to. Look around. It's all downhill from here. The rest of us will go a bit further, a steady job, a trip to Hawaii, or a move to Phoenix, Arizona, but out of fifteen hundred how many will do anything truly worthwhile, write a play, paint a painting that will hang in a gallery, find a cure for herpes? Two of us, maybe three? And how many will find true love? About the same. And enlightenment? Maybe one. The rest of us will make compromises, find excuses, someone or something to blame, and hold that over our hearts like a pendant on a chain.

There, written in French, were the words Je t’ai aimée pendant mille et un. –R. I stilled. Read it again. And again. Je t’ai aimée pendant mille et un. –R. I’ve loved you for a thousand and one. –R.

Cristina looked after Emma, her hand going to the pendant at her own throat. It was silver, in the shape of a circle with a rose inside it. The rose was wrapped around with thorny briars. Words were written in Latin on the back: she didn’t need to look at them to know them. She’d known them all her life. Blessed be the Angel my strength who teaches my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. The rose for Rosales, the words for Raziel, the Angel who had created the Shadowhunters a thousand years ago. Cristina had always thought Emma fought for her parabatai and for revenge, while she fought for family and faith. But maybe it was all the same thing: maybe it was all love, in the end.

Someday Summer, I’m going to replace that silver seashell pendant for something else more permanent, and I don’t want you arguing about it. Clear?”, Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

to cause constellations of victories to flash forth at each instant from the zenith of the centuries, to make the French Empire a pendant to the Roman Empire, to be the great nation and to give birth to the grand army, to conquer the world twice, by conquest and by dazzling, that is sublime; and what greater thing is there?’ ‘To be free’, said Combeferre.

Holding my pendant, I lay on my side without moving, noiseless tears streaming down my face until the pillow grew damp beneath my cheek. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live, to be with Alex, to experience so much more than I had so far. But just then, it was Alex I was crying for. All that he'd gone through, all those deaths of people he loved--and now he was having to experience it again, with me. Thinking of what he was going through was like being beaten up inside; it was even worse than imagining whatever might happen the next day. Part of me hoped that he really did hate me now--maybe it would help; maybe it would make it not hurt so much. And more than that, I guess I was crying for both of us...that it hadn't turned out to be always, after all.

To be incapable of taking one's enemies, one's accidents, even one's misdeeds seriously for very long—that is the sign of strong, full natures in whom there is an excess of the power to form, to mold, to recuperate and to forget (a good example of this in modem times is Mirabeau, who had no memory for insults and vile actions done him and was unable to forgive simply because he—forgot). Such a man shakes off with a single shrug many vermin that eat deep into others; here alone genuine 'love of one's enemies' is possible—supposing it to be possible at all on earth. How much reverence has a noble man for his enemies!—and such reverence is a bridge to love.—For he desires his enemy for himself, as his mark of distinction; he can endure no other enemy than one in whom there is nothing to despise and very much to honor! In contrast to this, picture 'the enemy' as the man of ressentiment conceives him—and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived 'the evil enemy,' 'the Evil One,' and this in fact is his basic concept, from which he then evolves, as an afterthought and pendant, a 'good one'—himself!

Carefully she took hold of the chain dangling from it, the jade pendant he had given her so long ago. The inscription on the back still gleamed as if new: When two people are at one in their most inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. "You remember, that you left it with me?" she said. "I've never taken it off." He closed his eyes. His lashes lay against his cheeks, long and fine. "All these years," he said, and his voice was a low whisper, and it was not the voice of the boy he had been once, but it was still a voice she loved. "All these years, you wore it? I never knew.

I held out the rune for Hearthstone. ‘I know what it feels like to be an empty cup, to have everything taken away from you. But you’re not alone. However much magic you need to use, it’s okay. We’ve got you. We’re your family.’ Hearth’s eyes rimmed with green water. He signed to us, and this time I think he actually meant I love you and not the giantesses are drunk. He took the rune and set it between the prongs of his new staff. The stone snapped into place the same way my pendant did on its chain. The symbol perthro glowed with a gentle gold light. My sign, he announced. My family’s sign. Blitzen sniffled. ‘I like that. A family of four empty cups!’ Sam wiped her eyes. ‘Suddenly I feel thirsty.’ ‘Al-Abbas,’ I said, ‘I nominate you for the role of annoying sister.’ ‘Shut up, Magnus.

Without asking, he moved behind her and brushed her hair over her shoulder. Drawing the necklace around her neck, he fastened the clasp. The amber felt cool against her sweltering skin. Lifting it, she rotated the pendant, watching as it caught the light. "It's lovely." Before she could change her mind, she dug into her pocket and shoved the rest of the coins into his hand.

I opened my eyes to see a silver chain, like his but thinner, longer, with a saint pendant on it. I wasn't the same as his, though; the image was of a man's profile, his eyes turned upward. 'Who is it?' I asked. 'No idea. I found it in a jar my mom has full of them,' he said. 'I was looking for someone like mine, then just someone I recognized. But then I thought maybe it was cooler to have it be a mystery, you know? So it's not just about one thing, but anything. That way, it can be about what you want it to be.' I turned it over in my hand. Like the image on the front, the back was well-worn, the few words there unreadable. 'Saint Anything.' I looked up at him. 'I love it. Thank you.

Je suis tombée amoureuse pendant qu'il lisait, comme on s'endort: d'abord doucement et puis tout d'un coup.

You think your love is dangerous?" "Oui, Pendant que je respire, je ne cesserai jamais de me battre pour nous. Rien d'autre ne compte." (Yes, While I breathe, I will never stop fighting for us. Nothing else counts.)

A qui écris-tu? -A toi. En fait, je ne t'écris pas vraiment, j'écris ce que j'ai envie de faire avec toi... Il y avait des feuilles partout. Autour d'elle, à ses pieds, sur le lit. J'en ai pris une au hasard: "...Pique-niquer, faire la sieste au bord d'une rivière, manger des pêches, des crevettes, des croissants, du riz gluant, nager, danser, m'acheter des chaussures, de la lingerie, du parfum, lire le journal, lécher les vitrines, prendre le métro, surveiller l'heure, te pousser quand tu prends toute la place, étendre le linge, aller à l'Opéra, faire des barbecues, râler parce que tu as oublié le charbon, me laver les dents en même temps que toi, t'acheter des caleçons, tondre la pelouse, lire le journal par-dessus ton épaule, t'empêcher de manger trop de cacahuètes, visiter les caves de la Loire, et celles de la Hunter Valley, faire l'idiote, jacasser, cueillir des mûres, cuisiner, jardiner, te réveiller encore parce que tu ronfles, aller au zoo, aux puces, à Paris, à Londres, te chanter des chansons, arrêter de fumer, te demander de me couper les ongles, acheter de la vaisselle, des bêtises, des choses qui ne servent à rien, manger des glaces, regarder les gens, te battre aux échecs, écouter du jazz, du reggae, danser le mambo et le cha-cha-cha, m'ennuyer, faire des caprices, bouder, rire, t'entortiller autour de mon petit doigt, chercher une maison avec vue sur les vaches, remplir d'indécents Caddie, repeindre un plafond, coudre des rideaux, rester des heures à table à discuter avec des gens intéressants, te tenir par la barbichette, te couper les cheveux, enlever les mauvaises herbes, laver la voiture, voir la mer, t'appeler encore, te dire des mots crus, apprendre à tricoter, te tricoter une écharpe, défaire cette horreur, recueillir des chats, des chiens, des perroquets, des éléphants, louer des bicyclettes, ne pas s'en servir, rester dans un hamac, boire des margaritas à l'ombre, tricher, apprendre à me servir d'un fer à repasser, jeter le fer à repasser par la fenêtre, chanter sous la pluie, fuire les touristes, m'enivrer, te dire toute la vérité, me souvenir que toute vérité n'est pas bonne à dire, t'écouter, te donner la main, récupérer mon fer à repasser, écouter les paroles des chansons, mettre le réveil, oublier nos valises, m'arrêter de courir, descendre les poubelles, te demander si tu m'aimes toujours, discuter avec la voisine, te raconter mon enfance, faire des mouillettes, des étiquettes pour les pots de confiture..." Et ça continuais comme ça pendant des pages et des pages...

There was a necklace inside. A thin silver chain with a small pendant, a silver pansy.

Where are you?” she shouted. “Don’t you see us?” taunted the woman’s voice. “I thought Hecate chose you for your skill.” Another bout of queasiness churned through Hazel’s gut. On her shoulder, Gale barked and passed gas, which didn’t help. Dark spots floated in Hazel’s eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they only turned darker. The spots consolidated into a twenty-foot-tall shadowy figure looming next to the Doors. The giant Clytius was shrouded in the black smoke, just as she’d seen in her vision at the crossroads, but now Hazel could dimly make out his form—dragon-like legs with ash-colored scales; a massive humanoid upper body encased in Stygian armor; long, braided hair that seemed to be made from smoke. His complexion was as dark as Death’s (Hazel should know, since she had met Death personally). His eyes glinted cold as diamonds. He carried no weapon, but that didn’t make him any less terrifying. Leo whistled. “You know, Clytius…for such a big dude, you’ve got a beautiful voice.” “Idiot,” hissed the woman. Halfway between Hazel and the giant, the air shimmered. The sorceress appeared. She wore an elegant sleeveless dress of woven gold, her dark hair piled into a cone, encircled with diamonds and emeralds. Around her neck hung a pendant like a miniature maze, on a cord set with rubies that made Hazel think of crystallized blood drops. The woman was beautiful in a timeless, regal way—like a statue you might admire but could never love. Her eyes sparkled with malice. “Pasiphaë,” Hazel said. The woman inclined her head. “My dear Hazel Levesque.” Leo coughed. “You two know each other? Like Underworld chums, or—” “Silence, fool.” Pasiphaë’s voice was soft, but full of venom. “I have no use for demigod boys—always so full of themselves, so brash and destructive.” “Hey, lady,” Leo protested. “I don’t destroy things much. I’m a son of Hephaestus.” “A tinkerer,” snapped Pasiphaë. “Even worse. I knew Daedalus. His inventions brought me nothing but trouble.” Leo blinked. “Daedalus…like, the Daedalus? Well, then, you should know all about us tinkerers. We’re more into fixing, building, occasionally sticking wads of oilcloth in the mouths of rude ladies—” “Leo.” Hazel put her arm across his chest. She had a feeling the sorceress was about to turn him into something unpleasant if he didn’t shut up. “Let me take this, okay?

Vous lui dites que vous voulez essayer, essayer plusieurs jours peut-être? Peut-être plusieurs semaines. Peut-être même pendant votre vie. Elle demande : Essayer quoi ? Vous dites : d’aimer

He took the necklace out of the box and carefully fastened it around her neck. Just like he'd imagined himself doing when he bought it. That might even be why he bought it - so he'd have this moment, under her hair. He ran his fingertips along the chain and settled the pendant on her throat.

Se pourrait-il que, pendant que nous regardons ailleurs, le cœur lance ses lianes et continue à s'attacher, à aimer, à se languir ?

I held out the rune for Hearthstone. ‘I know what it feels like to be an empty cup, to have everything taken away from you. But you’re not alone. However much magic you need to use, it’s okay. We’ve got you. We’re your family.’ Hearth’s eyes rimmed with green water. He signed to us, and this time I think he actually meant 'I love you' and not 'the giantesses are drunk.' He took the rune and set it between the prongs of his new staff. The stone snapped into place the same way my pendant did on its chain. The symbol

Do you know why the lotus is one of my favorite flowers?" I cocked my head to one side so I could see his expression. He shook his head. "This beautiful flower lives in the most vile, muddy water of swamps and bogs," I said and rubbed the smooth metal of the pendant between my fingers. He frowned. "No, seriously... the grosser the environment, the better," I said. "So let me get this straight. You like a flower that lives in disgusting places?" One of his eyebrows rose. "That ain't right." "No, I love this flower," I corrected. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, "Seriously?" "What?" You don't believe me?" "Sure, I believe you. It's just weird." "I'll tell you why, but only if you promise not to laugh," I said. He nodded. Taking a cleansing breath, I rested my head against the seat, closed my eyes, and took that scary first step. "This flower stays in the mud and muck all night long." I peeked at him without moving my head. His face had become set in the smooth lines of one who listens intently. "Then, at sunrise, it climbs toward the light and opens into a pristine bloom. After the sun goes down, the bloom sinks into the mire. Even though it spends the whole night underwater, the flower emerges every morning as beautiful as the day before." Smiling, I swiveled in my seat to face him. "I love this flower because it reminds me that we get second chances every day, no matter what muck life drags us through.

After a while I noticed that the pendant heart-shaped I wore around my neck, as every angel does, had begun to pulsate with blue light. I knew that this was thanks to Raphael and that he was sending healing energy for Joshua. I took my necklace off and gently put it round his neck so as not to wake him. The blue light grew stronger and started to flicker – then, drawing circles on the sick boy’s skin, it vanished around the level of his heart chakras. As blue light pervaded his entire body from head to toe, I could feel his burning skin slowly cool and his breathing became even.

I wore no jewels save the pendant Brisbane had given me with its secret code—the code that had given me my first inkling that he loved me. It had not been so very long since he had given it to me, a year only; twelve leaves of the calendar torn away, a few dozen weeks from then to now. But how much change that year had wrought!

A Paris Quand un amour fleurit Ça fait pendant des semaines Deux cœurs qui se sourient Tout ça parce qu´ils s´aiment A Paris Au printemps Sur les toits les girouettes Tournent et font les coquettes Avec le premier vent Qui passe indifférent Nonchalant Car le vent Quand il vient à Paris N´a plus qu´un seul souci C´est d´aller musarder Dans tous les beaux quartiers De Paris' À Paris, Francis Lemarque

Ayant entendu pendant la nuit des bruits étranges dans la cage d'escalier, elle acheta le lendemain au marché noir un 7 x 57 mm Mauser et des munitions et annonça à son mari, qui la regardait en fronçant les sourcils, qu'elle abattrait sans sommation tout inconnu qui franchirait le seuil de son appartement sans son autorisation. Quand Léon lui fit remarquer qu'un pistolet accroché au mur au premier acte devait servir à faire feu au second acte, elle haussa les épaules en répliquant que la vraie vie obéissait à d'autres lois que les pièces de théâtres russes. Et quand il voulut savoir pourquoi elle avait choisi précisément une arme allemande, elle lui répondit que les inspecteurs allemands, s'ils trouvaient des balles allemandes dans un cadavre allemand, chercheraient très probablement le coupable parmi les Allemands.

Lake Michigan, impossibly blue, the morning light bouncing toward the city. Lake Michigan frozen in sheets you could walk on but wouldn't dare. Lake Michigan, gray out a high-rise window, indistinguishable from the sky. Bread, hot from the oven. Or even stale in the restaurant basket, rescued by salty butter. The Cubs winning the pendant someday. The Cubs winning the Series. The Cubs continuing to lose. His favorite song, not yet written. His favorite movie, not yet made. The depth of an oil brushstroke. Chagall's blue window. Picasso's blue man and his guitar. ... The sound of an old door creaking open. The sound of garlic cooking. The sound of typing. The sound of commercials from the next room, when you were in the kitchen getting a drink. The sound of someone else finishing a shower. ... Dancing till the floor was an optional landing place. Dancing elbows out, dancing with arms up, dancing in a pool of sweat. All the books he hadn't started. The man at Wax Trax! Records with the beautiful eyelashes. The man who sat every Saturday at Nookies, reading the Economist and eating eggs, his ears always strangely red. The ways his own life might have intersected with theirs, given enough time, enough energy, a better universe. The love of his life. Wasn't there supposed to be a love of his life? ... His body, his own stupid, slow, hairy body, its ridiculous desires, its aversions, its fears. The way his left knee cracked in the cold. The sun, the moon, the sky, the stars. The end of every story. Oak trees. Music. Breath. ...

Which meant the monster had not murdered WIlliam. Someone else had squeezed the life from the boy. Someone else had carefully taken the pendant. Someone else had found Justine and planted the pendant on her when she was asleep. Someone else had engineered the sequence of events perfectly so that- I let out a choked sob of horror. Someone else had engineered the sequence of events perfectly so that he could have Justine's body. 'Victor,' I whispered. 'Yes, my love?" he answered, a dark silhouette in the doorway.

The Great Commandment.* 4d Hear, O Israel!* The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! 5Therefore, you shall love the LORD, your God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole strength.e 6f Take to heart these words which I command you today.g 7Keep repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up.h 8Bind them on your arm as a sign* and let them be as a pendant on your forehead.i 9Write them on the doorposts of your houses and on your gates.j

But I learned at my expense that Father believed there was another animal even more dangerous than us, and one that was extremely common, too, found on every continent, in every habitat: the redoubtable species Animalus anthropomorphicus, the animal as seen through human eyes. We've all met one, perhaps even owned one. It is an animal that is "cute", "friendly", "loving", "devoted", "merry", "understanding". These animals lie in ambush in every toy store and children's zoo. Countless stories are told of them. They are the pendants of those "vicious", "bloodthirsty", "depraved" animals that inflame the ire of the maniacs I have just mentioned, who vent their spite on them with walking sticks and umbrellas. In both cases we look at an animal and see a mirror. The obsession with putting ourselves at the centre of everything is the bane not only of theologians but also of zoologists. I learned the lesson that an animal is an animal, essentially and practically removed from us, twice: once with Father and once with Richard Parker. Martel, Yann. Life of Pi (p. 39). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

mais je crois qu’elle aurait tout autant de chances d’être heureuse, si elle épousait Mr. Bingley demain que si elle se met à étudier son caractère pendant une année entière ; car le bonheur en ménage est pure affaire de hasard. La félicité de deux époux ne m’apparaît pas devoir être plus grande du fait qu’ils se connaissaient à fond avant leur mariage ; cela n’empêche pas les divergences de naître ensuite et de provoquer les inévitables déceptions. Mieux vaut, à mon avis, ignorer le plus possible les défauts de celui qui partagera votre existence !

The Relics" I slipped them into my friend’s palm —  the tiny crucifix, and dove, from off my mother’s pendant watch —  and I asked her to walk them up through the brush toward timberline, and find a place to hurl them, for safekeeping. Now, she writes, “I walked up the canyon at dusk, warm, with a touch of fall blowing down the canyon, came to an outcrop, above a steep drop — far below, a seasonal creek, green willows. I stood on a boulder and held out my hand. I wished your mother all the love in the world, and I sent the talismans flying off the cliff. They were so small, and the wind was blowing, so I never saw or heard them land.” My mother is where I cannot find her, she is gone beyond recall, she lies in her sterling shapes light as the most weightless bone in the body, her stirrup bone, which was ground up and sown into the sea. I do not know what a soul is, I think of it as the smallest, the core, civil right. And she is wild now with it, she touches and is touched by no one knows — down, or droppings of a common nighthawk, root of bird’s foot fern, antenna of Hairstreak or Echo Azure, or stepped on by the huge translucent Jerusalem cricket. There was something deeply right about the physical elements — atoms, and cells, and marrow — of my mother’s body, when I was young, and now her delicate insignias receive the direct touch of the sun, and scatter it, unseen, all over her home.

Sept ans plus tôt, elle m’avait expliqué qu’elle n’avait jamais ressenti un tel sentiment avec personne, une telle émotion, une telle vague de douce et chaude mélancolie qui l’avait envahie en me voyant faire ce geste si simple, si apparemment anodin, de rapprocher très lentement mon verre à pied du sien pendant le repas, très prudemment, et de façon tout à fait incongrue en même temps pour deux personnes qui ne se connaissaient pas encore très bien, qui ne s’étaient rencontrées qu’une seule fois auparavant, de rapprocher mon verre à pied du sien pour aller caresser le galbe de son verre, l’incliner pour le heurter délicatement dans un simulacre de trinquer sitôt entamé qu’interrompu, il était impossible d’être à la fois plus entreprenant, plus délicat et plus explicite, m’avait-elle expliqué, un concentré d’intelligence, de douceur et de style. Elle m’avait souri, elle m’avait avoué par la suite qu’elle était tombée amoureuse de moi dès cet instant. Ce n’était donc pas par des mots que j’étais parvenu à lui communiquer ce sentiment de beauté de la vie et d’adéquation au monde qu’elle ressentait si intensément en ma présence, non plus par mes regards ou par mes actes, mais par l’élégance de ce simple geste de la main qui s’était lentement dirigée vers elle avec une telle délicatesse métaphorique qu’elle s’était sentie soudain étroitement en accord avec le monde jusqu’à me dire quelques heures plus tard, avec la même audace, la même spontanéité naïve et culottée, que la vie était belle, mon amour.

Nestled into a bed of shiny cream satin lay a heart-shaped pendant on a simple gold chain. The heart itself was created from over a dozen delicate round amethyst stones, while the center held a miniature painted on porcelain. Done in a series of fine, delicate strokes, the artist's rendering depicted a tiny garden, alive with masses of yellow and white hollyhocks. Right away, they reminded her of the flowers she'd been drawing that long-ago day in Bath. The day of her and Jack's very first kiss. Her gaze went to his, breath stilled in her chest. "Oh, Jack. It's Sydney Gardens, isn't it?" "That's right, with those stalky, puff-headed flowers." He gave her a gentle smile. "Do you like it?" "I love it." "I chose amethyst, since you said it's your favorite stone. I hope I remembered right?" "You did. It's so lovely. Thank you. I'll wear it each and every day," she promised. "Your heart tucked against my own." A peculiar shadow flickered momentarily across his eyes before he reached for the necklace. "Here, let me help you put it on." "Yes. Please," she said, relieved he'd offered. Her hands were trembling with so much emotion that she doubted she could have managed the task on her own. Turning slightly, she angled herself so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten the clasp. The slight weight of the gold and stones grew instantly warm against her skin. "There. How does it look?" she asked as she moved to face him again. "Beautiful," he said. But when she glanced up, she realized he wasn't looking at the pendant. Instead, he was looking at her.

To be incapable of taking one’s enemies, one’s accidents, even one’s misdeeds seriously for very long—that is the sign of strong, full natures in whom there is an excess of the power to form, to mold, to recuperate and to forget (a good example of this in modern times is Mirabeau, who had no memory for insults and vile actions done him and was unable to forgive simply because he—forgot). Such a man shakes off with a single shrug many vermin that eat deep into others; here alone genuine “love of one’s enemies” is possible—supposing it to be possible at all on earth. How much reverence has a noble man for his enemies!—and such reverence is a bridge to love.—For he desires his enemy for himself, as his mark of distinction; he can endure no other enemy than one in whom there is nothing to despise and very much to honor! In contrast to this, picture “the enemy” as the man of ressentiment conceives him—and here precisely is his deed, his creation: he has conceived “the evil enemy,” “the Evil One,” and this in fact is his basic concept, from which he then evolves, as an afterthought and pendant, a “good one”—himself!

My eyes roved over each and every one of the horses, approximating their age and probably stage in training, assessing their form and temperament and noting their reproductive potential. Eventually it dawned on me that silence had fallen. I turned toward Grayden to offer some excuse, but to my surprise, he was gazing at me with affection and sympathy in his green eyes. He smiled and produced a small box, which he extended to me. “What’s this?” I asked, thoroughly confused. He shrugged. “A token of friendship. I would be honored if you would accept it.” Curiously, I took the box from his hand. Anticipating jewelry, I prepared for a show of fake enthusiasm. Such a gift would be a sweet gesture, and undoubtedly beautiful, but I was not one for baubles. The box did contain jewelry, but not of the type I supposed. On a lovely chain of gold hung a small, golden horse, head high, legs outstretched in a gallop. I looked at Grayden, stupefied, although I didn’t need to feign my pleasure. “As I said, your uncle told me of your love for horses,” he explained almost shyly. “That it was a love you shared with your father.” “But I…I don’t understand. What are you…?” Seeing how flustered I was, he reached out and took my hand. “I’m not asking for anything, Shaselle. I just…I think you’re used to being seen as a problem. Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to say that, but your family apologized for so many things about you that I can’t help drawing the conclusion.” Not sure how to react, I opted to remain silent. “I think you’re only a problem for those people who are trying to turn you into something you’re not.” “A lady?” I wryly suggested, regaining my sense of humor. I leaned back on the fence, certain he would agree. “No,” he said, and there was conviction in his voice. “They need to stop trying to turn a free spirit into a traditional wife.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Could he truly believe what he was saying? Men played games to placate women. But I knew of no man other than my father who would enjoy seeing a horse pendant around the neck of the woman he was courting. “I do have a question for you,” Grayden said, leaning against the fence next to me. He hesitated, obviously uncertain about where our relationship stood. “The Harvest Festical is approaching. If you have no other plans to attend, would you consider accompanying me?” My eyes again filled with tears. There was no good reason--why should I be breaking down now, when Grayden was being so understanding, so tolerant of my eccentricities? “Come,” he said softly. “I’ll take you back to your cousin.” I let him escort me into the house, feeling like an ungrateful fool. I hadn’t even thanked him for his gift, and I desperately wanted to do so. But I couldn’t conjure the words to convey how I was feeling, and so I murmured farewell at the door.

The captain gave the pendant to me when I was four, following the death of Terek, at the time I was sent to live with Baelic and Lania. He didn’t want me to think he’d abandoned me or that I was in danger. It was originally his, and his father’s before him. I’ve worn it ever since.” “Then I’m very glad I was able to secure its return.” His eyes met mine, and the color rose in my cheeks, for I was still affected to some degree by his handsome features and soldier’s build. “I suppose that concludes the coddling,” he finally said, crossing his arms and watching me expectantly. “Yes, I suppose it does.” “Then let the lecture begin.” He spread his hands, giving me a slight nod. “You were part of that revolt,” I accused. “Yes.” I hesitated, his honesty taking my words away, and he sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, his back obviously ailing him. “Why can’t you trust what I’m doing, Steldor? Why can’t you share my goals?” “You’re asking me to trust Narian,” he said with a condescending laugh. “That’s the reason? Because you can’t stand being on his side?” Steldor rolled his eyes. “This had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with our freedom. We fought too hard and lost too many good men to let this kingdom perish without one more battle. Now the battle’s been waged. Just be satisfied with that.” He was bitter, and in many ways, I didn’t blame him. But this was my chance to impress reality upon him. “Will you be satisfied with that? I’ve been advising you, advising everyone on the course that makes the most sense for our people. If you had listened to me, not tried to undercut my efforts, you wouldn’t be hurt right now, London wouldn’t be hiding in the mountains and Halias and his men wouldn’t be dead.” He glared at me, his anger beginning to simmer, which only increased my fervor. “Look at you.” I gestured toward him, for he could not disguise his pain, nor hide the fever that brought beads of sweat to his forehead. “You did this to yourself, Steldor. You punished yourself with your actions, but nothing else was accomplished. You just wanted to be a martyr.” “What’s wrong with that?” he shot back. “You want to be a saint! You want to be the one who brings peace to these people. You’re the one who brought war, Alera. You’re the reason Narian didn’t leave for good when he fled Hytanica. He loves you, and that’s why--” He stopped talking, unable to make himself complete that sentence. “You’re right about one thing,” I whispered in the dead silence. “Narian loves me, but what you won’t acknowledge is that he’s the reason any of us still have our lives. He’s the reason you weren’t killed for that show you put on.” “Extend my thanks,” he said, tone laden with sarcasm.

Depression Depression often brings feelings of fatigue, difficulty concentrating, and a lack of enjoyment of things you normally find pleasurable. Mild depression keeps you from functioning well and feeling your best, but with treatment, symptoms usually subside. If depression persists despite natural treatments, seek professional help immediately. DIFFUSE CLARY SAGE Clary sage essential oil aids in boosting one’s mental outlook, relieving stress, and alleviating tension. It has a calming effect on the nerves and emotions, providing balance and encouraging you to enjoy a more positive take on life in general. Diffuse clary sage essential oil in the area where you spend the most time, or use it with an aromatherapy pendant. This remedy may be used daily and is particularly effective when diffused in the morning while getting ready for the day. DIFFUSE JASMINE With its lovely, exotic fragrance, jasmine essential oil soothes the nerves while producing feelings of optimism and confidence. It also has a wonderful restorative effect that helps revive tired senses in a gentle, relaxed manner. Diffuse jasmine essential oil in the area where you spend the most time, or use it with an aromatherapy pendant. A few drops can be added to your bath or to a washcloth placed on the floor of your shower, if desired.

Grief Grief is a normal but painful process most people go through when a loved one dies or a relationship ends. Many people also experience deep grief following the loss of a companion animal. Essential oils can facilitate the grieving process by bringing comfort and relief. DIFFUSE WITH BENZOIN Benzoin essential oil calms the nervous system, comforting the bereaved and easing the emotional exhaustion that often accompanies the loss of a loved one. Its fragrance is slightly reminiscent of vanilla—sweet, warm, and welcoming. Diffuse benzoin essential oil in areas where people gather or where you spend the most time. You may also inhale its scent directly or place it in an aromatherapy pendant. RELAX WITH A ROSE BATH MAKES 1 TREATMENT Rose essential oil soothes depression, grief, nervous tension, stress, anger, and fear— all emotions that are commonly felt during the grieving process. Help yourself through this difficult time by using rose essential oil in a variety of ways: diffuse it, use it like perfume, and relax with it while bathing. 1 tablespoon carrier oil 10 drops rose essential oil In a small glass bowl, add the carrier oil and the rose essential oil, and stir to combine. Draw a warm bath and add the entire treatment to the running water. Soak for at least 15 minutes. Use caution when getting out of the bathtub, as it may be slippery. Repeat this treatment once a day as needed.

Tu devrais revenir - Benoy Majumder Vous devriez revenir et revenir encore et encore Quand vous commencez à dormir pendant un accident vasculaire cérébral Ne cache pas; J'ai connu tant de jours seulement Deux mains, deux mains, Défaut de respirer seul au moment du sauvetage. La poésie à finir? Beaux tours Espérons que nous dormons dans la pensée de la fin. Cabley a commencé à faire pression sur les pensées positives, le jus est entré. Ils sont excités par la douceur à l'intérieur du jaune Veut de l'espace, veut sculpter dans le mantra et le parfum. Que les poèmes soient terminés, femmes, continuant progressivement Frottement rythmique, grip, tension, Nos pensées, nos pleurs, notre paix, etc. Ne vous endormez pas, si vous pouvez dormir.

You can buy yourself all the baby-fist-sized diamond pendants in the world, love. I’m wooing you by showing I have your every need covered,

Mélodie Marine vous propose un premier roman après avoir écrit des ouvrages professionnels. Titulaire de différents diplômes et d’expériences dans des domaines hétérogènes, elle poursuit sa quête de la vie en partageant ses analyses du monde modestement au sein d’un roman d’Amour et d’aventures. L’auteur a voyagé dans de nombreux pays où elle aime se confronter à la vie locale. Elle a d’ailleurs vécu à l’étranger pendant plusieurs années.

That's when she saw his gaze drift downward, alighting on the heart-shaped pendant clasped around her neck. "You're wearing it," he said, his words carrying a wondering tone. Reaching up, she fingered the amethysts, then smoothed her thumb over the flat piece of porcelain in the center with its tiny painted garden. "Yes. Because I realize now that it was given in love." "It was, even if I was too blind to know it at the time. Something else for which I must beg your forgiveness." "It's yours." She laid her palm on his chest near his heart. "Did you really carry the pendant around with you when we were apart?" "Constantly. It made me feel closer to you. Strange, I suppose, considering you wore it for such a brief time." "Not so strange," she reassured. "I kept a handkerchief of yours, though I never planned to tell you that." Leaning near, he pressed his lips to hers. "Besotted. The pair of us." "Definitely.

Stepping back, he went to his bedside table. He returned carrying something. Opening his palm, he revealed the heart-shaped pendant he'd given her so many months ago. "I've kept this," he explained. "You might say it's become a talisman of sorts. I... I carry it everywhere. But I'm going to give it to you again, if you'll take it. Whether you decide ever to wear it or not is up to you." "Jack," she murmured, as she let him press the jewelry into her hand.

She was shocked, huddled into his arms tight, and looked up to see the face of the savior. If it wasn’t for this person, she would have been pecked and eaten by the four-eyed bird as a snack. It was a sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy with a handsome face. He was wearing a white robe with a jade pendant on his waist. The clothes were simple, with a high crown and wide sleeves, unexpectedly dressed in an ancient style. The whole person looked indifferent and quaint, as if he had just walked out of an ancient tomb. Startled, she couldn’t help but blurt out: “Are you… are you a living person or a dead person?

Life which had seemed so grey and foolish a few moments before was golden and rose and splendidly rainbowed again. The diamond pendant slipped to the floor, unheeded for the moment. It was beautiful... but there were so many things lovelier... confidence and peace and delightful work... laughter and kindness... that old safe feeling of a sure love.

Fullbring is the ability of love! It’s the ability to draw out the maximum power of something a person loves! A guy like Ginjo who only likes his pendant…turns that pendant into a weapon to fight with! But not me!! I love a lot of things. And I’ll keep looking for new things I love! I wanna spend the rest of my life collecting things I love…and die surrounded by them!

The video for the title track on . . . Baby One More Time starts out with Britney sitting in class, flicking her pencil and bouncing her foot as the agonized seconds click by. Then the bell rings. She’s free. That was so me. That impatient schoolgirl dying to be free. And then she is. And she transforms and becomes herself. I loved the idea that a girl could own her sensual self like that and just enjoy it without shame or fear. But then there’s that line that keeps repeating: My loneliness is killing me. Because a girl who doesn’t conform, a girl who’s disobedient and bold, a girl who shows her strength and sexuality—that girl is on her own, no matter how many boys dangle from her charm bracelet.

Polly had a sound. It came from the necklace she always wore: a long silver chain, from which she'd hung two pendants---one fine and shaped like a jacaranda tree, the other a sterling silver cat. The jacaranda tree had been a gift, and the cat had come from a secondhand shop; it had once been the top of a baby's rattle, Polly said, back in the olden days, a "hey diddle diddle" cat with a ball inside that made a soft tinkle whenever she walked. Jess loved that sound. It always made her feel safe and warm and happy.

What, then, is the end of study? For one thing, as the fate of Navarre’s Academe makes plain, it is not “philosophy” in the sense of a cloistered cultivation of the intellect and pursuit of truth for its own sake in a spot secluded from the world and from women. Nor is it “love” in its romantic sense sheltered from life’s suffering and reality--“love” with all its ritual and manners, its form and style, its fads and foibles, its “wit” and raprtee, its masks and costumes, its rhyming and sonneteering, its language of ‘Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-pil’d hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical.’ These things are but summer flies that blow their worshipers full of ostentation, as they did Boyet--Boyet who picked up wit as pigeons do peas, Boyet the ladies’ man, forerunner of Osric, who kissed his hand away in courtesy. Neither is the end of education erudition, the barren learning that transformed the pendant Holofernes into a walking dictionary of synonyms, nor slavery to authority and the past, the bondage that never let the sycophatic curate Nathaniel utter an idea or opinion without backing it up with an “as the Father saith.” Nor, at the other extreme, is it subservience to fashion and the present, such as made the swashbuckling Don Adriano de Armado a mint of fire-new phrases emitting a “smoke of rhetoric.

My fingers flit across the counters as I take it all in. I stop when I notice the crystal pendant lights hanging over the peninsula. "Crystal ones?" I ask. "You've always loved the sparkles and chandeliers." "I do love them, they look great, but why because I like them?" He swallows hard and blows out a breath. "Because I didn't buy this house for me. I bought it for you...for us." It's our dream house. The one we talked about years ago. The ones we sculpted with teenage minds and teenage hearts is still perfectly us. "What?" "We used to talk about the future, about what our home would be like. I remember the excitement you would have when talking about what you wanted in our home, and I found a home with those elements that I could make ours." "Is this a little fast?" I ask, even though I know the answer in my heart. "It's not to pressure you, just to show you that I meant every promise. With the relationship you just came off of, we will take it at whatever pace you want, but no matter what, I'm going to be standing right beside you. I made the mistake of not coming home years ago, but I'm not going to take the chance of losing you again.

27 Places Where You Won't Find Love 1. The spoon with which you measure salt 2. Plastic plates stacked neatly on a shelf 3. Flowers - marigolds and chrysanthemums and roses - and the shop that sells these 4. Earrings lost in the backseat of a tuktuk while looking for the Malayalam translation of "I love you" in the dark 5. Bookshelves with borrowed books, never read 6. Fifty watches, three of which were for sale 7. Coffee whose flavor was slightly off 8. A red bridge that goes by gold, which has replicas everywhere 9. The replicas themselves 10. The rearview mirror of a car 11. The burnt sienna pavement where you hurt yourself 12. A protein shake whose taste grew on you thanks to someone else. With eggs and coconut and toast 13. An island untouched by civilization 14. Another ravaged by war 15. A declined invitation to brunch 16. Dinner gone cold after a long wait, and thrown away the next day 17. An unacknowledged text message 18. Laughter ringing through a movie hall during a scene that didn't warrant it 19. Retainers stored in a box next to baby oil in the medicine cabinet 20. A gold pendant 21. A white and red cable car 22. A helmet too small for your head and another too large 23. Dreams with their own background score 24. Misplaced affection 25. A smile between strangers, with you standing on the outside looking in 26. Your bed 27. The future

How pitiful,” Ariadne says, her eyes filled with resentment, “To be infatuated with someone who bests you at every turn. Feel free to continue dreaming of me as you have, because that is the only way you could have me. I shall be the superior witch at this school and win Morgan’s pendant, as is my right. The victory will only be sweeter knowing how much you want me while I do it.

Happy anniversary, Corabelle.” “Happy anniversary,” I whisper back, the tears already threatening to spill. I reach for my locket with my free hand, fisting the heart pendant between my fingers as my other hand clings to my husband. And on the count of three, we rush into the ocean, tears mixing with laughter, love swelling higher than the tide, and we jump into the water. Together.

Flight. I look a moment longer. Then I snap the pendant shut and run back into the temple, shouting Wren's name over and over, half laughing, half crying, heart bursting with the awe and sun-bright surety of it. Because that is what Wren is to me - my wings. And with her love, she's taught me how to use my own. To fight against what oppresses me.

Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can.

Je veux bien que tu sois une Lucrèce pendant le jour tout entier, mais c’est une Laïs qu’il me faut la nuit.

Ah ! répondait Yvonne d'un ton navré, pendant qu'une larme glissait sur sa joue, croyez-vous donc qu'à Brouilly ils se soient tant analysés?

Lilly closed her fist over the pendant to block out the sound. She wanted to toss the thing into the sea, but it had belonged to her mother, and her father said its luck would keep her safe while she was far away from home. Lilly decided she could use all the luck she could get, even if it came in the form of a creepy locket.

He produced a small box from his pocket and flipped open the lid. A brilliant pendant lay nestled on a bed of velvet. At first Cass thought it was the lily necklace that Belladonna had stolen from her at Angelo de Gradi’s workshop. But as she looked more closely, she saw that this pendant was slightly different; the petals were larger, and the diamond in the center had a pinkish hue. “I had another one made,” Luca said. He took the necklace from her and undid the clasp. Holding the delicate silver chain out toward her neck, he said, “May I?” “Of course.” She trapped a few tendrils of flyaway hair with her hand and held them back while Luca fastened the necklace. The lily sat right in the hollow of her throat, exactly as its predecessor had. Luca leaned back to consider his work. One side of his mouth twitched like he was trying but couldn’t quite muster up a smile. “There’s something else,” he said. “This is more than enough,” Cass said. It was so like him to inundate her with presents because he felt guilty for what she had endured. But she didn’t need presents. That was one thing her parents had never seemed to understand either--that what she needed was just to be surrounded by the people she loved. “Will you marry me?” Luca blurted out, his face going red. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his breeches, but not before Cass noticed they were shaking. She raised a hand to the pendant and could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

Weininger remarque que rien n’est plus déconcertant pour l’homme que le fait de constater, lorsqu’il demande à une femme surprise en train de mentir : « Pourquoi mens-tu ? », que celle-ci ne comprend pas la question, reste étonnée ou cherche à le tranquilliser en souriant, ou bien encore éclate en sanglots. Cela signifie que la femme ne saisit pas l’aspect éthique, transcendantal, du mensonge, ce en quoi il représente une lésion de l’« être » et ce pour quoi il peut constituer, comme le reconnut l’Iran ancien, une faute plus grave encore que le meurtre. Déduire ce trait de la nature féminine de facteurs sociologiques est une sottise : pour certains, le mensonge aurait été l'« arme naturelle » utilisée par le plus faible, donc aussi par la femme, dans une société où elle a été soumise à l’homme pendant des siècles. La vérité, c’est que la femme purement féminine a tendance à mentir et à se présenter pour ce qu’elle n’est pas, même quand cela ne lui sert de rien ; il ne s’agit pas là d’une « deuxième nature » acquise socialement dans la lutte pour l’existence, mais de quelque chose qui est lié à sa nature la plus profonde et la plus typique. De même que la femme absolue ne perçoit pas vraiment le mensonge comme une faute — ainsi pour la femme féminine, contrairement à l’homme, le mensonge n’est pas une faute, n’est pas un fléchissement intérieur, ni un manquement à sa propre loi existentielle. C’est une contrepartie éventuelle de sa plasticité et de sa fluidité. Aussi bien peut-on comprendre parfaitement un type de femme comme celui dont Barbey d’Aurevilly a dit : « Elle pratiquait le mensonge au point d’en faire une vérité, tant elle était simple et naturelle, sans effort et sans affectation ». Il est absurde de juger la femme à l’aune des valeurs de l’homme (de l’homme absolu), même lorsque, faisant violence à elle-même, elle feint de l’imiter et croit même sincèrement l’imiter.

What breathtaking stories do gemstones hold within their sparkling depths, weaving tales of love, passion, and resilience?