Ashford Quotes

Rose Hathaway: "Hey Mason, wipe the drool off your face. If you're going to think about me naked, do it on your own time.” Mason Ashford: "This is my time, Hathaway. I'm leading today's session.” Rose Hathaway: "Oh yeah? Huh. Well, I guess this is a good time to think about me naked, then.” Eddie Castile: "It's always a good a time to think about you naked.

What have we got?" Ashford said. "Short form." "It's fucking weird, sir," Chan said.

This is Detective Ashford Ishikawa. Who am I speaking with?” “My name is Jack Ludefance. I’m a private investigator from Santa Rosaria and I’ve been retained by Cindy Hastings through her lawyer, Mr. Hooks, to investigate her father’s murder. Is there way we can get together to talk?” “Why? What are we going to talk about, Mr. Ludefance?” “As I said, Detective Ishikawa, I’ve been hired to investigate the case. I’ve read the police reports. My hat is off to you. Very thorough work.” “Just doing my job. If you’ve read them, and I won’t ask how you got them, I’ll ask you again, what is there for us to talk about?” “Detective, I’m not trying to do your job and I’m not asking you to do my job. This is of mutual interest to both of us. The sooner we solve the crime the better, yes? Think of it this way. I’m your helper.

This is agony cried Mr Salteena clutching hold of a table my life will be sour grapes and ashes without you.

We need a festival now and again, no matter what situation we're in.

We must go for a day in the country and when surrounded by the gay twittering of the birds and the smell of the cows I will lay my suit at her feet and he waved his arm wildly at the gay thought.

If all that I would want to do was to sit and talk to you...would you listen?

I have carried that ring every moment of the last twelve years. I bought it the day after I first saw you at the ball. The ruby reminded me of the rose gleaming in your black hair." ~Lord Malcom Ashford

My life would be sour grapes and ashes without you

Hey Mason, wipe the drool off your face. If you're going to think about me naked, do it on your own time.” A few snorts and snickers broke the awed silence, and Mason Ashford snapped out of his haze, giving me a lopsided smile. With red hair that stuck up everywhere and a smattering of freckles, he was nice-looking, though not exactly hot. He was also one of the funniest guys I knew. We'd been good friends back in the day. "This is my time, Hathaway. I'm leading today's session.” "Oh yeah?" I retorted. "Huh. Well, I guess this is a good time to think about me naked, then.” "It's always a good a time to think about you naked," added someone nearby, breaking the tension further.

Miss Matty: "You were once in a position to help others, Rachel Ashford. Now others are in a position to help you. Don't waste time feeling embarrassed. But when you are in that privileged position again someday, remember to return the favor.

For the train, like life, must go on until it reaches its destination. You might not always like what you see out of the window, but if you pull down the blind, you will miss the beauty as well as the ugliness.

But its hard to believe Coach Ashford...like he's that hot and a good guy. And bisexual? So a fucking unicorn, then.

Eroan Ilanea, you’re my everything. I don’t need a dragon, I’m all-dragon with you. I’m not going anywhere, because I have everything I need right here. I love you now, I loved you yesterday, and I’ll love you a hundred years from now, until you’re as old as that ancient Order elf in Ashford and I’m so old I’ll frighten all the little elflings with inappropriate war stories.” “You already do that,” Eroan said, but smiling again. Lysander touched his nose to Eroan’s. “I’ll love you until all the other dragons are gone and the world is as it was, with billions of humans and hidden elves and houses and cities, and it’s just you and me, wondering when we got old. I’ll love you until your Ashford tree is as tall as the highest mountain. I’m never going to stop loving you because you’re my heart and my soul and my reason for living.” Eroan sighed against Lysander’s mouth, and it was all he could do not to ravish him right there. “Did you doubt it?” he asked. “Not you,” Eroan said, a touch of heat in his face. “I doubted myself.” “Well, don’t.

If there is a God, she thought, music must be his language.

Could she really do it? Could she really go all that way by herself? Yes, she whispered, of course you can do it: you’re thirty-eight years old and you’re not going to the moon, just to Baghdad. The word sounded the way a shiver felt. At the dinner party in London it had been a shiver of excitement, but now it held a frisson of dread.

...and as she stood on the Ashford platform waiting for the small train to come in, she seemed already separated from the people around her. Tomorrow I shall not be among you anymore; not of you but mysteriously still with you, thought Philippa. As Lady Abbess of Brede had said, "People think we renounce the world. We don't. We renounce its ways but we are still very much in it and it is very much in us.

Robert Ashford possessed one of the key character flaws necessary to a traitor. He thought he was smarter than everyone else. This allowed the overeducated career bureaucrat to sell out his own country, because he believed he knew what was best for his nation and its people.

Oh Bernard she sighed fervently I certinly love you madly you are to me like a Heathen god she cried looking at his manly form and handsome flashing face I will indeed marry you.

Mr Salteena was an elderly man of 42 and was fond of asking people to stay with him

i see said the duke but my own idear is that these things are as piffle before the wind [from memory...]

The trouble with still, peaceful places was that they allowed all manner of uninvited thoughts to push their way inside your head.

Don’t be afraid of what you don’t know. That kind of fear kills you without you realizing. Like bleeding inside.

Imagination was all very well in the daylight, but it was an uncomfortable thing late at night.

William, when shall you confess your love for Miss Bennet and propose to her?" Ashford guffawed loudly. “Yes, Darcy, when will you ask the lady to marry you?” Ignoring his friend, Darcy admitted, “I have already done so, Georgie. Twice.

He admired her for throwing off her aristocratic shackles -- his terms, that -- and making her own way in the world. He didn't realize that the truth was so much more complex, so much less impressive. She had less thrown than been thrown.

Bernard placed one arm tightly round her. When will you marry me Ethel he uttered you must be my wife it has come to that I love you so intensly that if you say no I shall perforce dash my body to the brink of yon muddy river he panted wildly.

That apple,” Ashford said, “didn’t fall close to the tree. In fact, it threw itself off the tree’s branches, rolled down a hill, and straight into the nearest theater box, where it surrounded itself with a variety of strawberries of dubious repute.” Eleanor

Her mother would be appalled, but she wouldn't say anything. She would just telegraph her distress with tightened lips and raised brows. She was good at that. Clemmie's mother's brows were better than sign language, complicated concepts conveyed with the minimum of movement.

Mason whacks me on the back of my head. I give him the ‘what the fuck’ look and he just smiles. “If I didn’t think she loves you, I wouldn’t be sitting here when I have a hot little thing waiting for me at home. Believe me, Ashford, you may be taller and pretty, but you don’t have jack shit on Katelyn.

Next morning while imbibing his morning tea beneath his pink silken quilt Bernard decided he must marry Ethel with no more delay.

It’s not easy to believe in anything when your whole world turns upside down. The main thing is to keep believing in yourself.

Don’t be afraid of what you don’t know. That kind of fear kills you without you realizing.

Give children a chance to use their brains and imaginations, and they will. Put a computer console into their hands, and they won’t.

How is it, she thought, that one can create a character who is more intelligent, more observant, more perceptive than oneself?

If only . . . They had to be two of the saddest words in the English language.

Most of the time, there is no truth, only various levels of interpretation. Fact is a construct we provide to the public.

You know what would be awesome? . . . If I could have a machete.

When everything goes against you and you get to a point when it seems you can’t hang on a minute longer, never, never give up—for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

Well, this girl, this Ashford or whatever her name was, looked like a hippie. She was wearing a very pretty pink flowered skirt that was full and so long, it touched the tops of her shoes, which I soon realized were not shoes, but sort of hiking boots. Her blouse, loose and lacy, was embroidered with pink flowers, and both her wrists were loaded with silver bangle bracelets. Her hair, which was almost as long as my friend Dawn's and was dirty blonde, was pulled into a big fat braid (which I might add, was not held in place with a rubber band or anything; it sort of trailed to an end). But the amazing thing was that because of her hair was pulled back, you could see her ears and she had three pierced earrings in each ear. They were all silver and all dangly, but none matched.

there is no friend like a sister / In calm or stormy weather; / To cheer one on the tedious way, / To fetch one if one goes astray, / To lift one if one totters down, / To strengthen whilst one stands.’” Bea was much struck by this. “How lovely,

E.M. Ashford: And death shall be no more" comma "death, thou shalt die." Nothing but a breath, a comma separates life from life everlasting. E.M. Ashford: Very simple, really. With the original punctuation restored Death is no longer something to act out on a stage with exclamation marks. It is a comma. A pause. E.M. Ashford: In this way, the uncompromising way one learns something from the poem, wouldn't you say? Life, death, soul, God, past present. Not insuperable barriers. Not semi-colons. Just a comma.

In October 2015 we were lucky enough to have our wedding at Agatha Christie’s beautiful home, Greenway, on the banks of the River Dart in Devon. If there could be such a thing as a patron saint of second marriages, I can think of no better candidate than Agatha Christie.

All of you, every one of you, will pass through a time when you will face despair.’” That much was faithful to the original. “She told us that it was impossible to love without suffering—but if we never loved, we would never know the true meaning of life. Then she said, ‘When everything goes against you and you get to a point when it seems you can’t hang on a minute longer, never, never give up—for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.’” Agatha

Morning, Miss Ashford.” She stopped short. “Marshal Caradon!” She let out a breath. “You startled me. I thought you’d be gone by now.” Why was this woman always trying to get rid of him? “No ma’am.” Smiling, he raised an apologetic brow. “I’m still here.” He walked from the stall, aware of the way she was looking at him—good and long, full up and down—and he couldn’t help but hope she liked what she was seeing, at least a little. He certainly liked what he was looking at. Her long brown hair fell about her shoulders, curly and loose, like it had last night. Her skirt and shirtwaist were simple homespun, yet somehow took on a fancier appearance with her giving them shape. She had a strength about her that was compelling and impossible to miss. Yet if you looked closely enough—if she let you that close—the woman had a vulnerable side too. One she worked to keep hidden behind that wall she kept up. She’d never believe it if he told her, but it was that vulnerability that he found most attractive.

They all went out by a private door and found themselves in a smaller but gorgous room. The Prince tapped on the table and instantly two menials in red tunics appeared. Bring three glasses of champaigne commanded the prince and some ices he added majestikally. The goods appeared as if by majic and the prince drew out a cigar case and passed it round. One grows weary of Court Life he remarked. Ah yes agreed the earl. It upsets me said the prince lapping up his strawberry ice all I want is peace and quiut and a little fun and here I am tied down to this life he said taking off his crown being royal has many painfull drawbacks.

to look at Louisa, stroked her cheek, and was rewarded by a dazzling smile. She had been surprised by how light-skinned the child was. Her features were much more like Eva’s than Bill’s. A small turned-up nose, big hazel eyes, and long dark eyelashes. Her golden-brown hair protruded from under the deep peak of her bonnet in a cascade of ringlets. “Do you think she’d come to me?” Cathy asked. “You can try.” Eva handed her over. “She’s got so heavy, she’s making my arms ache!” She gave a nervous laugh as she took the parcel from Cathy and peered at the postmark. “What’s that, Mam?” David craned his neck and gave a short rasping cough. “Is it sweets?” “No, my love.” Eva and Cathy exchanged glances. “It’s just something Auntie Cathy’s brought from the old house. Are you going to show Mikey your flags?” The boy dug eagerly in his pocket, and before long he and Michael were walking ahead, deep in conversation about the paper flags Eva had bought for them to decorate sand castles. Louisa didn’t cry when Eva handed her over. She seemed fascinated by Cathy’s hair, and as they walked along, Cathy amused her by singing “Old MacDonald.” The beach was only a short walk from the station, and it wasn’t long before the boys were filling their buckets with sand. “I hardly dare open it,” Eva said, fingering the string on the parcel. “I know. I was desperate to open it myself.” Cathy looked at her. “I hope you haven’t built up your hopes, too much, Eva. I’m so worried it might be . . . you know.” Eva nodded quickly. “I thought of that too.” She untied the string, her fingers trembling. The paper fell away to reveal a box with the words “Benson’s Baby Wear” written across it in gold italic script. Eva lifted the lid. Inside was an exquisite pink lace dress with matching bootees and a hat. The label said, “Age 2–3 Years.” Beneath it was a handwritten note:   Dear Eva, This is a little something for our baby girl from her daddy. I don’t know the exact date of her birthday, but I wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten. I hope things are going well for you and your husband. Please thank him from me for what he’s doing for our daughter: he’s a fine man and I don’t blame you for wanting to start over with him. I’m back in the army now, traveling around. I’m due to be posted overseas soon, but I don’t know where yet. I’ll write and let you know when I get my new address. It would be terrific if I could have a photograph of her in this little dress, if your husband doesn’t mind. Best wishes to you all, Bill   For several seconds they sat staring at the piece of paper. When Eva spoke, her voice was tight with emotion. “Cathy, he thinks I chose to stay with Eddie!” Cathy nodded, her mind reeling. “Eddie showed me the letter he sent. Bill wouldn’t have known you were in Wales, would he? He would have assumed you and Eddie had already been reunited—that he’d written with your consent on behalf of you both.” She was afraid to look at Eva. “What are you going to do?” Eva’s face had gone very pale. “I don’t know.” She glanced at David, who was jabbing a Welsh flag into a sand castle. “He said he was going to be posted overseas. Suppose they send him to Britain?” Cathy bit her lip. “It could be anywhere, couldn’t it? It could be the other side of the world.” She could see what was going through Eva’s mind. “You think if he came here, you and he could be together without . . .” Her eyes went to the boys. Eva gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as if she was afraid someone might see her. “What about Eddie?” “I don’t know!” The tone of her voice made David look up. She put on a smile, which disappeared the

One day, when Mrs. Austen was reading a page of the script that I had given her, she looked me up and down and said: "Well, Miss Sharp, I knew from the minute I saw you that you had a good brain, and I declare that I was not mistaken." When I begged to know what had led her to this swift assessment of my mental powers, she replied: "Why, I always say, "The bigger the nose, the quicker the brain!" I was not quite sure how to take this strange complement, but I took comfort from the observation that she herself had a very prominent, rather aristocratic nose.

He won’t be on a ship trying to destroy the Ring anymore. He won’t be supporting Ashford anymore. All of the circumstances that made him your enemy will be gone. What’s the value in clinging to the hate?

All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

Justice and revenge had been only part of my motivation for leaving Ashford. I'd run from my grief, from their pain, from being a shadow of another person, better loved for bitterly lost, and Ireland hadn't been nearly far enough.

Their attitude is a calm acceptance. They say simply, “We all must die—no one knows the hour or the trouble and pains we may have to bear before our days are ended. Give thanks to God that we are alive this day and free to breathe the sweet air and hear the brown bird in the tree.

We all must die—no one knows the hour or the trouble and pains we may have to bear before our days are ended. Give thanks to God that we are alive this day and free to breathe the sweet air and hear the brown bird in the tree.

Faith was not about facts or certainties; otherwise it wouldn’t be faith.

I’m going to find a room in an inn. There won’t be anywhere to put my

Fascism is the new Satan,

Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable (1952) was their go-

Rose Daniel caught an early train from Waterloo station. It felt good to be getting away from London. Away from the ugliness of the bombed-out buildings and the air of desolation they created. Away from the drabness of the clothes, the shops, the people. There was no color—as if the war had sucked the life out of everything.

Must a promise be kept when the author of the secret is dead and gone?

Oh Dad!” She hugged him. “How can you be so . . .” She struggled for the right word. Unselfish? Kind? Forgiving? He was all those things. Things that had made her wish a hundred times that she was his child, not her mother’s. “I . . . I don’t know how to say this,” she faltered.

Quite simply. "What's the point of having children if you can't be bothered with them?

Rose petals.” Katharine swept her arm toward a huddle of stalls farther up the street. “Can you see the sacks? They’re full of dried petals and rosebuds. They use them to flavor the food here as well as for perfume. You can get rose-tasting water and ice cream if you fancy it.

About ten years. My father had a tea plantation near Trincomalee. I was born

Despite the fact that she was clearly hard at work in the middle of the desert, she still managed to look effortlessly stylish. When Agatha called her name, she jumped up. “Oh! You’re here!” She kissed each of them on both cheeks, French-style, her lips barely grazing the skin. “You both look very well: Baghdad obviously agrees with you. And you look like a Bedouin woman, Nancy, with that tan

Granada is a wicked, sinister place. It was bad enough during the war—but it’s getting worse. Much worse.” “Where do they take the babies?” Rose pulled her shawl tight around her. It wasn’t cold. But what Lola had described chilled her to the core. She pictured Juanita, tucking cloves of garlic under the mattress of Rafaelito’s cradle. Clearly there was something much worse than snakes lurking out there. “They send them to families the government approves of so they’ll grow up as payos, not Gypsies. To save the race. That’s what General Franco says.” It was horribly familiar. Like Hitler all over again. Rose was only too aware of Franco’s Nazi sympathies. But she had never imagined that the evil doctrine of racial purity would outlive Hitler; that in a time of supposed peace, babies would be snatched from their mothers because of their kawlo rat. Their dark blood. “It’s not only the babies they’re

Orchard of the Architect” or “the Gardens of Knowing.

not to forgive someone is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.

When I heard that, I suddenly grasped what it was all about: forgiving is about freedom. It’s not just about pardoning the wrongdoer—it’s about releasing yourself from the power of what they did to you. Forgiving someone sets you free.

Like the feather she’d seen floating along the river the day he left her, he’d disappeared from view, entered choppy water, and been pulled under. But he had emerged, bedraggled but intact, farther downstream. There would be more turbulence ahead—that much was certain. But now they would face it together.

it was all about: forgiving is about freedom. It’s not just about pardoning the wrongdoer—it’s about releasing yourself from the power of what they did to you. Forgiving someone sets you free.

It’s all too easy to lose your faith if you’re trying to practice it alone. It’s like a coal falling out of the fire: it soon goes cold.

the riches of the mind do not rust.

For the train, like life, must go on until it reaches its destination. You might not always like what you see out of the window, but if you pull down the blind, you will miss the beauty as well as the ugliness. My finger

were

The House at Mermaid’s Cove.

It’s a strange word, forgiveness,” he said. “I never really understood it until I studied Greek at the seminary. The Greek word in the Bible—aphiemi—means ‘to set free.’ When I heard that, I suddenly grasped what it was all about: forgiving is about freedom. It’s not just about pardoning the wrongdoer—it’s about releasing yourself from the power of what they did to you. Forgiving someone sets you free.

believe in a God who, twice a day, washes all the sands on all the shores of all the world. He makes every mark disappear—from the gaping hole dug by a spade to the footprints left by a gull.

when we suffer, he suffers with us. He didn’t create the evil that was done here. He gave us free will—the choice to love and nurture or to hate and destroy one another. Mankind has been getting it wrong since the dawn of time.

It’s a good thing that I’m yours and a great thing that you’re not going to share me.” “It is?”I cried out as he ground into me, filling me deep, bruising inside and out. “Definitely.”He picked a threatening pace, driving into me over and over again. “Because if I’m yours and you’re mine, then it means you just handed over your freedom, Gemma Ashford.” I cried out as he fucked me harder. “You’re going to marry me. You’re going to worship me every fucking day for the rest of your life. You’ll be my friend, my lover... my wife. You’ll put up with my flaws and accept that I’ll never be perfect. You’ll love me until your dying day.

It took a long time for the millions of people displaced by WWII to find new homes. There were still camps operating in Germany in the 1950s. The last one closed in 1959, fourteen years after the fighting had ended.

automata

Steals into my garden without warning. I am sitting in the camellia grove above the estuary, waiting for the sunset, watching a pair of oystercatchers at the water’s edge, and trying to work out who is going to murder Major Palgrave. The lapping of the tide lulls me to sleep, so I don’t see the boat heading for the mooring. “Mrs. Christie?” His shadow falls across my face. “Who is it?” My eyes snap open.

It was three weeks later that the letter from Rose’s publisher arrived. He had written to say that he loved the idea of a book about herbal remedies for humans. The letter contained an advance that would tide her over until well after the baby was due. “We’re going to be all right, aren’t we?” She passed the check to Lola, who passed it on to Nieve. They beamed at each other as the child read the amount out loud. “What’s that funny squiggle in front of the number?” She thrust the check up to Rose’s face. “It’s a pound sign—in England we have pounds instead of pesetas.” “How much is it—in pesetas?” When Rose told her, Nieve gasped. “Just for writing a book?” “It’s going to take me quite a long time.” Rose smiled. “And when she’s finished it, she’s going to need a rest.” Lola scooped Nieve up and sat her on her lap. “Why?” “Because next year—in the spring—Auntie Rose is going to have a baby.” Nieve turned to Rose, her mouth open. “Will it be a girl or a boy?” Rose laughed. “I don’t know! We’ll have to wait and see.” “Can I choose its name?” “Well, if it’s a girl, yes, you can—but if it’s a boy . . .” Rose glanced at Lola. “I already have a boy’s name.” “I think I can guess,” Lola said. “Nathan.

Well, Ashford told me to get him a present, and I asked what he liked and he said sunrises and bad coffee—” “Strong coffee

handkerchief. This had

My heart beats in tune to a song only your heart can play. Your breath gives me life. Your cure to my scars. I'm forever yours, Autumn Ashford. - Alessio

What’s wrong, Ashford? Scared to hit a girl? Lost the taste for it since the last time you hit me with your belt?” “Careful, love,” Cade growled, seething with anger at her dangerous attempts to rile his darkness. “You’re taunting a monster, and I don’t think you’ll like it when he unsheathes his claws and comes out to play.” “Fucking try me.

Heaven forbid, someone hold a grudge against the great Caden Ashford.

Caden Ashford is a baffling bastard, isn’t he Sugar?” Kara inquired of the dark beauty of a horse, who seemed to neigh in agreement.

Fuck it, at that point, she would rather they murder her. At least being shot or stabbed would be a relatively quick and clean death versus slowly succumbing to a demise from humiliation after being bent over and spanked by Caden fucking Ashford.

Mr. Ashford seems to be quite—” Mr. Ashford seems to be quite a twat.

Two Mr. Ashford's? How terrifying.

It was real. Caden Ashford was real. And the bastard had fucking kidnapped her.

Who knew Caden Ashford was a cuddler?

I’ve found that unbecoming amounts of wealth and over-inflated egos addle the mind in that regard.” Exhibit A: Caden fucking Ashford.

You’re mine, Caden Ashford.” Cade groaned into her mouth, the sound guttural and primal. “Fuck me,” Cade growled.

I’m rather fond of you, Miss Caine.” “I’m rather fond of you too, Lord Ashford,” Kara retorted in the most dreadfully pompous British accent she could summon. “God, is that really what I sound like to you?” Cade asked as he laughed out loud. “Oh no, you sound much worse,” Kara answered teasingly. “Alright, enough of your cheek. Time to get you to bed,” Cade announced as he lifted her off the counter. “Ready to go to sleep already?” Kara asked with a suspicious raise of a brow. “My love, you will be lucky if I allow you to sleep at all tonight.

Caden Ashford, exploited at the hands of a woman? My, what a novel experience that must be for a man who gets off on dominating the weaker sex.

Against all reason and sense, Caden Ashford had the power to obliterate her traitorous heart with a single glance. So, naturally, she had to formulate some counter-attack against the bastard.

After a few blissful moments, Kara could emphatically say she knew one thing to be true regarding Caden Ashford: the man knew his way around a clit even better than she did.