Burberry Quotes

Whoa. I’ve never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice—of course. Hmm . . . has he heard me sing? He wouldn’t be asking you to marry him if he had! My subconscious has her arms crossed and is wearing Burberry check . . . jeez.

The hardest hearts are forged in fire; the weakest bend under their will. And revenge … is wicked sweet.

The Classic Notting Hill junkie, i.e; Armani underwear, Pink’s shirt and Burberry belt tourniquets

Henry steps forward, and Oscar looks him up and down- the Burberry bag, the cooler on his shoulder, the elegant smile, the extended hand. His dad had been confused but ultimately willing when to roll with it when Alex asked if he could bring a friend and casually mentioned the friend would be the Prince of Wales. He's not sure how this will go. "Hello," Henry says. "Good to meet you. I'm Henry." Oscar slaps his hand into Henry's. "Hope you're ready to fucking party.

What they don’t know is that the hardest hearts are forged in fire. With their cruelty and their jokes and their laughter, they’ve forged me into something spectacular.

Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid—not of any of you.

I’ll tell you which demons to avoid.” She pauses and gives me another critical look. “Mostly though, you’ll want to stay away from the devils.

I’ll never be a nice guy, and I’ll never be a saint, but if you’re game to let me try, I’ll make a valiant change. If you could only love me for the asshole that I am, then I swear to God I’d be the man you want to claim.

Pity does nothing for the one being pitied. It’s an empathetic agony to the one doing the pitying.

During moments of uterine compromise, my presence on campus would put faculty and students at risk. Think Columbine, but in a Burberry trench.

It's funny, isn't it, what will make you break? Your lover moves to London and falls in love with a news reader for the BBC and you feel fine and then one day you raise your umbrella slightly to cross Fifty-seventh Street and stare into the Burberry shop and begin to sob. Or your baby dies at birth and five years later, in an antique store, a small battered silver rattle with teeth marks in one end engraved with the name Emily lies on a square of velvet, and the sobs escape from the genie's bottle somewhere deep in your gut where they've lain low until then. Or the garbage bag breaks.

You’re hardly likely to find a Chav mating with a lady of charm, beauty and sophistication, are you? The subsidised breeding farms they live in are unlikely to attract a lady who has cultivated proper deportment, and it’s doubtful she’ll be swayed by his shell suit, Burberry cap and Vauxhall Corsa

Her given name was Lucinda but she’d called herself Juveline since age fifteen, when she’d been caught selling knockoff Burberry totes and a cop at the booking desk misspelled the word “juvenile.” Big

You can't copyright a title, but if anyone tries to steal "Rabbi Sanjeev and the Periwinkle Valise of Intrigue," I'll sue the motherfucking Burberry off their back faster than you can say "Neo-Hassidic espionage.

Milady, I'm very much interested." He grins, but there's a heat to it now that either I just missed before, or he did a damn good job hiding. "You're so … very much everything I never knew I wanted. You hate money. You hate assholes. You don't take shit. Darling, let me make you a princess.

Revenge is wicked sweet, but forgiveness is a virtue. Too bad I’ve never been holy.

As he passes Harper du Pont, he pulls something from his pocket, walks right up to her, and chops her ponytail off at the base.

Windsor offers me his arm, and I decide then that he’s good people. Really fucking good people.

Please and kindly, shut the fuck up,” Tristan says, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

My mouth drops open, and his smile gets a bit wider, his eyes still half-lidded. Bedroom eyes, that’s what he has. I hadn’t figured out how to describe them before, but that’s the expression he’s always got on, like he’s about to have sex.

I might've spent too much time reading that book, Groupie, that Miranda gave me a few days ago. It's a reverse harem story where the main character gets all five boys to herself. Like … what I have. But, it ends that way, too. She doesn't have to choose. Lucky bitch.

The man was dressed only in his Burberry overcoat, his trousers, and an unlaced pair of canvas shoes. As he fell over, his Burberry, which had been simply thrown round his shoulders, slipped off, exposing his trunk.

The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep A list by Miranda Cabot The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one), Zayd Kaiser (year one), and Creed Cabot (year one) The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one), Becky Platter (year one), and Gena Whitley (year four) The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO

Time was, all you needed for good sleuthing was snappy banter, a wink and a nod with the ladies, comfortable shoes, an assortment of fake business cards, a high tolerance for whiskey, a few extra bucks you could slip a bent maitre d' and maybe a Burberry trench coat with a "gat" stuffed in the deep pocket of thread-bare Brooks Brothers wool slacks.

when I decided that I was in love with you, and that you were mine, I chiseled that decision on my heart in stone.

The past doesn’t matter except as a history lesson, a series of mistakes to be learned from. It’s the present that defines us, and the future we look toward with hope.

True. But it’s not always the ending that’s the most important. Sometimes, the journey to get there is just as good.

You’re all just trying to do your best to protect me,

Later that night, I end up in Zayd’s bed with Zayd and only Zayd, and he shows me he’s just as capable of going slow as he is fast.

Bloody fucking cocksucking hell.

Life is always ticking by, one second at a time, and nothing is over until it’s over, but … for now, I’m happy resting in the arms of the elite. For now, this is exactly what I need.

With the tips of their swords—rapiers? I don’t know, sorry, just not a fencing expert—crossed, the boys stare at each other across the mat. Creed’s blue eyes bore into Windsor’s hazel ones.

The storm broke then with a vivid flash of lightning and a great rumble of thunder which drowned every other sound. The Baron turned up the collar of his Burberry. ‘You go down that side, I’ll search this— we’ll find him, Becky. You’re not afraid of the storm?’ She was terrified, but her terror was quite wiped out by anxiety for Bertie. She shook her head and started off down the deserted street, peering through the pelting rain, searching the canal as well as every doorway and alley.

This is it. October 2, 2020, and the whole world watched, and history remembered. Alex waits on the South Lawn, within view of the linden trees of the Kennedy garden, where they first kissed. Marine One touches down in a cacophony of noise and wind and rotors, and Henry emerges in head-to-toe Burberry looking dramatic and windswept, like a dashing hero here to rip bodices and mend war-torn countries, and Alex has to laugh. "What?" henry shouts over the noise when he sees the look on Alex's face. "My life is cosmic joke and you're not a real person," Alex says, wheezing. "What?" Henry yells again. "I said, you look great, baby!

I never had sex with Adam. That’s why he cheated,” I mumble into her Burberry scarf. “Never?” she asks as she sets me back. “Nope. I knew somewhere deep down that he wasn’t being faithful. I was in denial, but my body knew it.” “Your vag is psychic. That’s awesome,” she says through a snort before we both start snickering.

Go put on anything other than that outfit and grab one of the Burberry coats on your way out.

I’ve learned from past experience that fretting possible future troubles creates a tumultuous present.

Most people suck on the dick of money like it’ll come cash in their mouths and make them rich.

he looks dorky in Bavarian button-up heavy green wool pants tucked into fleece-lined rubber boots with big tread. He wears a plaid Burberry-type wool sweater buttoned up to his chin, as if he can’t decide whether he will climb a mountain or play golf in Scotland this

We drive back to Burberry Prep, but neither of us mentions the kiss. Zayd, because it probably doesn’t mean much to him. Me, because it means a little too much.

My time at Burberry Preparatory Academy is over, and with it, ends this chapter of my life. Marnye Reed, scholarship student, daughter of Charlie and Jennifer, honor roll enthusiast, lover of old architecture and boring historical facts.

What they don’t know is that the hardest hearts are forged in fire.

button-down under a black Burberry cashmere sweater –

Zayd walks backward, flipping around to face the newcomers, a packet of licorice materialized in his hand that he got from God only knows where. He smacks as he chews and then grins, pointing at them.

Ranger ignores me as Church leans in, hands on his thighs, his cock erect and so obvious that I can’t seem to draw my eyes away from it. From him. Do penises have pronouns? If so, this one is a He-Man-Yes-Sir with a capital H.

There aren’t even words in the English language that could properly describe that mouth. At best I’d call it obscene. On a different day, I’d say it was a storm just off the harbor. Sailing into it is a terrible idea and yet, it seems suddenly okay if the ship does sink.

You’re mine, Marnye Reed. I told you that I was content to let you keep your pets, and I am, and I won’t fight you on that. But it doesn’t change the reality of what this is.

We’re going to go fuck. Enjoy the rest of your night!” he calls out, and I groan, burying my face in his neck. “Why are you so terrible?” I murmur, but I like him this way and he knows it.

The other boys clink their biodegradable plant-based plastic cups (this is Colorado, okay? it’s all biodegradable)

They used to. Not so much anymore. Once Creed started acting out and being a dick, they realized it was better to separate us in their minds.” Miranda picks up her hotdog, ketchup dripping across the table, and takes a bite. Food tonight is pretty standard American fare: burgers (beef as well as vegetarian, black bean patties I believe), hot dogs (also meat and vegetarian options), salad, chips, cupcakes. Nothing overblown or extravagant like I expected. I sort of assumed we’d be having a stuffy dinner at one of the fancy restaurants in downtown Bornstead. This is better.

Most of all, I like that you have the guts to admit when you've made a mistake. A lot of people don't ever learn that lesson, not once in their entire lives.

My heart trips, falls, skins its knee, and gets up again. I feel all bruised and tender, and my cheeks flush with heat.

I’m not choosing anyone. I told you all that. It’s your turn to realize that you don’t always get what you want, that sometimes you have to share, and that there are consequences to your actions. The rest of us learn it in kindergarten.

At least the boys aren’t here, right? This is … well, I might die, but at least I won’t get raped first.

Several times this year, I’ve woken up, looked around, and wondered whose life this is. It’s surreal.

She found Dean Henry easily enough. He was the silver-haired man in the loud patterned jacket and a Burberry scarf that hung a little too long. He wore John Lennon glasses and the righteous smile formed over decades of lectures. A grinning cadre surrounded him. She drifted close enough to catch the end of a conversation about movie posters and the recent death of Saul Bass.

Tom’s style is . . . Burberry when Christopher Bailey was on board. BJ’s style is Burberry in the Riccardo Tisci era, do you know what I mean? Of course you do.

I’m taking Practical Skills this semester,” he says, and Miranda interrupts him. “Translation: home economics for rich kids who’ve never done a load of laundry in their life.

But there’s not an eye in that room that isn’t on me. Good. Let them look. There’s going to be a lot to see.

I’m not sure what exploits those are,” I tell her, a light breeze teasing my rose gold hair around my face. “But regardless, what right does that give you to harass me? You should probably take a women’s studies class or something, and read up on internalized misogyny.

Paxton Blackwell, have you heard of him?

Tristan. Vanderbilt. I mean, she may as well date Dracula. Not a modern-day urban fantasy Dracula, but like the original guy who gets his head cut off and his mouth stuffed with garlic.” “That was Lucy, not Dracula,” Church corrects because—shocker—he’s the only one who’s actually read the original 1897 novel.

Why does wrong feel so good sometimes, like a dirty breath after drowning in clean water? That’s what it is. Entirely essentially, but also probably poison.

Windsor sits forward and picks up his tea as he examines Zack. Among them all, I think these two get along the best. Windsor and Zayd come in as a close second. The worst pairing? Probably Windsor and Tristan. Or maybe Zack and Tristan. Hmm.

I guess I had to learn my lesson before I got to you, and then learn my lesson again after you and … fuck. I guess I just have to be beaten over the head with shit before it sticks.

He lifts his attention to mine with a charming half-smile. It’s all cocky bullshit, but I fall for it anyway. That’s my problem: I like their bad behavior too much to take their devil horns away entirely.

Don’t shortchange your spirit for practicality.

A new cookie jar that looks like a red and white circus tent, some plants with trailing green tendrils, a set of Ouran High School Host Club anime figurines.

The British clothier Thomas Burberry had developed a new fabric called gabardine, a chemically processed wool that could repel rain and was resistant to tears. The soldiers in the Boer War would be the first to wear jackets made from this fabric, which they called Burberrys.

I had a good raincoat then, a Burberry I got in London in 1959. Elizabeth thought I looked like a spider in it. That was probably why she wouldn't go to Greece with me. It hung more heroically when I took out the lining, and achieved glory when the frayed sleeves were repaired with a little leather. Things were clear. I knew how to dress in those days. It was stolen from Marianne's loft in New York sometime during the early seventies. I wasn't wearing it very much toward the end.

Whether it be brand marketers trumpeting the new BMW X5, game developers getting players to spend real money on virtual goods, or someone selling an online nursing degree, the only difference is the time frame in which those different goals occur—in other words, the time between attention and action. If the time frame is very short, like browsing for and buying a shirt at nordstroms.com, it’s called “direct response,” or “DR” advertising. If the time frame is very long, such as making you believe life is unlivable outside the pricey mantle of a Burberry coat, it’s called “brand advertising.” Note that the goal is the same in both: to make you buy shit you likely don’t need with money you likely don’t have. In the former case, the trail is easily trackable, as the “conversion” usually happens online, usually after clicking on the very ad you were served.* In the latter, the media employed is a multipronged strategy of Super Bowl ads, Internet advertising, postal mail, free keychains, and God knows what else. Also, the conversion happens way after the initial exposure to the media, and often offline and in a physical space, like at a car dealership. The tracking and attribution are much harder, due to both the manifold media used and the months or years gone by between the exposure and the sale. As such, brand advertising budgets, which are far larger than direct-response ones, are spent in embarrassingly large broadsides, barely targeted or tracked in any way. Now you know all there is to know about advertising. The rest is technical detail and self-promoting bullshit spun by agencies. You’re officially as informed as the media tycoons who run the handful of agencies that manage our media world.

By the time I returned to Albany that fall, I was committed to turning things around. I marched into the career-planning office and began researching the firms at which I might still have a shot. Most did their main recruiting from the second-year, not the third-year, class, so I was late to the party, and I knew it. One firm, however, did stand out: Bickel & Brewer. They were based in Dallas, with smaller satellite offices in Washington, DC, New York, and Chicago. They liked to hire third-year law students, and at New York salaries. William Brewer bears a decent resemblance to a young Robert Redford. He walks with a strong gait and wears a tan Burberry trench coat over perfectly tailored navy or gray suits. He was also legendary in the halls of Albany Law School, where he had studied law. I researched him and his firm with vigor and soon found that Brewer’s looks weren’t the only thing attractive about this firm. The term “Rambo litigation” was coined there. They took no prisoners. You hired them when you wanted a fight. At twenty-three years old, I loved that. Kill or be killed! We’re not here to make friends, we’re here to win! You sue my client? F— you and your request for an extension! You want a settlement conference? Pound sand! Our offer is screw you! Looking back, this feels a little silly, but as a young gun it sounded very sexy to me. I could enter a frat or a brotherhood of sorts. The bravado naturally appealed to me, given the protective armor I’d built up since being bullied, not to mention the fact that I’d probably always had a bit more testosterone than most girls. Going on the offensive was thrilling, and the more I acted tough, the tougher I felt. Being a litigator was the perfect job; it not only let me hide my insecurities, it felt like a tool for conquering them.

Burberry incinerated £28.6 million of unsold stock in 2017 alone.66 These vanity bonfires aren’t uncommon among luxury brands. They’d rather £28.6 million of perfectly good product went up in smoke than see their brand cheapened a cent by discounted sales to the ‘wrong’ sort of customer.

In a world where technology is allowing sharks to fall prey to minnows, business leaders have to become fluent in information technology. As companies seek to negotiate the new landscape, as they eye potential rivals and partners, they have to elevate technology to the core of strategic thinking in every business unit. In addition to employing a chief information officer, who generally tends to the nuts and bolts of the technology a company uses, there is a strong argument for having a chief digital officer, who oversees technology as a strategic issue. Technology is becoming the lever through which companies can disrupt their own business models and adapt to the changing basis of competition. Burberry,

he could not help leaving all the dirt on the soap and the towels in the downstairs cloak-room, and breaking the string of the bathroom black-out, and borrowing one’s new, fourteen-coupon Burberry, and forgetting it in the ’bus. His two ruling passions—wireless and destruction—might even be useful in a few years’ time, if you sent him off for an enemy target with a load of bombs.

They’re bound eastward now, Roger peering over the wheel, hunched Dracula-style inside his Burberry, Jessica with bright millions of droplets still clinging in soft net to her shoulders and sleeves of drab wool. They want to be together, in bed, at rest, in love, and instead it’s eastward tonight and south of the Thames to rendezvous with a certain high-class vivisectionist before the clock of St. Felix chimes one. And when the mice run down, who knows tonight but what they’ve run for good?