Carat Quotes

The stars are duller than an old pocket knife, they used to sparkle like five-carat diamonds.

You can borrow my two-carat diamond stud earrings," Aphrodite said. I stopped and looked back at her. "Huh?" She shrugged. "That's as close to a declaration of love as you're gonna get from me.

You don't want a tiny diamond on your finger when you can have three carats. You don't want a one-dollar bill when you can have a Benjamin. And you don't want to ride a miniature pony when you can saddle up on a rock-star cock at the rodeo of your pleasure.

Katy was neither a Methodist nor a Masochist. She was a goddess and the silence of goddesses is genuinely golden. None of your superficial plating. A solid, twenty-two-carat silence all the way through. The Olympian's trap is kept shut, not by an act of willed discretion, but because there's really nothing to say. Goddesses are all of one piece. There's no internal conflict in them. Whereas the lives of people like you and me are one long argument. Desires on one side, woodpeckers on the other. Never a moment of real silence.

Because she was solid gold, fourteen-carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. But beneath it, I knew, beneath that gold and stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh. She was all open mouth, tunneling into an awful nothing.

The Times carried detailed descriptions of Sara’s ivory gown and the five-carat blue diamond on her finger, the Cravens’ reported opinions of the play, and speculation on whether Derek was truly a “reformed rake.” “There’s not a word of truth in any of it,” Derek said. “Except the part where they said you were resplendent.” “Thank you, kind sir.” Sara set down the paper and reached over to toy with one of the large soapy feet propped on the porcelain rim of the tub. She wriggled his big toe playfully. “What about the part that says you’re reformed?” “I’m not. I still do everything I used to do…except now only with you.” “And quite impressively,” she replied, her tone demure.

Even the leftover carats of tar in the gutter, so black they seemed to suck the light out of the air. By nightfall kids had come across them: every sidewalk on the block was scribbled with obscenities and hearts.

Sometimes a girl needs to be told what a guy feels, rather than trying to decipher the signs.

There is always something wrong with redheads. The hair is kinky, or it's the wrong color, too dark and tough, or too pale and sickly. And the skin - it rejects the elements: wind, sun, everything discolors it. A really beautiful redhead is rarer than a flawless forty-carat pigeon-blood ruby - or a flawed one, for that matter. But none of this was true of Kate. Her hair was like a winter sunset, lighted with the last of the pale afterglow. And the only redhead I've ever seen with a complexion to compare with hers was Pamela Churchill's. But then, Pam is English, she grew up saturated with dewy English mists, something every dermatologist ought to bottle.

Mr. nelson sighed and stalked across the room to me. He thrust the velvet box into my hands. I cracked the box, and the sound echoed through the room. A glittering diamond stared back at me. But it wasn't just any diamond. It was two carats of commitment in a platinum setting.

There's no use in denying it: this has been a bad week. I've started drinking my own urine. I laugh spontaneously at nothing. Sometimes I sleep under my futon. I'm flossing my teeth constantly until my gums are aching and my mouth tastes like blood. Before dinner last night at 1500 with Reed Goodrich and Jason Rust I was almost caught at a Federal Express in Times Square trying to send the mother of one of the girls I killed last week what might be a dried-up, brown heart. And to Evelyn I successfully Federal Expressed, through the office, a small box of flies along with a note, typed by Jean, saying that I never, ever wanted to see her face again and, though she doesn't really need one, to go on a fucking diet. But there are also things that the average person would think are nice that I've done to celebrate the holiday, items I've bought Jean and had delivered to her apartment this morning: Castellini cotton napkins from Bendel's, a wicker chair from Jenny B. Goode, a taffeta table throw from Barney's, a vintage chain-mail-vent purse and a vintage sterling silver dresser set from Macy's, a white pine whatnot from Conran's, an Edwardian nine-carat-gold "gate" bracelet from Bergdorfs and hundreds upon hundreds of pink and white roses.

24 carat gold is a pure naturally occurring yellow metal. There are 4 basic shades of gold alloys: yellow gold, white gold, rose gold and green gold. A huge range of other colored golds are also possible including red (gold and copper), grey (gold, iron and copper), purple (gold and aluminum), blue (gold and iron) and black (gold and cobalt), depending on the amounts of different metals alloyed together.

He said he loved Blue. He said he loved the evil in Blue. He loves the evil in all people. Because in loving their evil, he loves the evil in himself enough to surrender it to God, who washes it clean. He’s loving what God made, is what he said.

Johnny had been on earth for thirty-four years. Less than a week ago, he walked on those streets. And now the cup, the ring and two unironed waiter's aprons at home were the only concrete objects left to connote that a man had once lived. There were no other physical reminders of Johnny, as he had been buried in all the clothes he owned with his studs and his fourteen-carat gold collar button.

He didn’t look mad, but he didn’t look like Martin Luther King neither.

disappointment is devastating, even if it’s something that you didn’t really expect to occur.

She does her hair in an Afro like Cicely Tyson, that famous actress I seen on TV once, or Angela Davis, who I don’t know exactly who she is but they say she’s got guts and ain’t scared of white people.

Because she was solid gold, fourteen-carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. But beneath it, I knew, beneath that gold and stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh. She was all open mouth, tunneling into an awful nothing. I hated her. And I felt closer to her than ever. Goddamn her.

It is easier to lie to yourself than hear others tell you that tell you that you are a fool.

Cinder." Kai pulled one leg onto the bank, turning his body so they were facing each other. He took her hands between his and her heart began to drum unexpectedly. Not because of his touch, and not even because of his low, serious tone, but because it occurred to Cinder all at once that Kai was nervous. Kai was never nervous. "I asked you once," he said, running his thumbs over her knuckles, "if you thought you would ever be willing to wear a crown again. Not as the queen of Luna, but ... as my empress. And you said that you would consider it, someday." She swallowed a breath of cool night air. "And ... this is that day?" His lips twitched, but didn't quite become a smile. "I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to marry you, and, yes, I want you to be my empress." Cinder gaped at him for a long moment before she whispered, "That's a lot of wanting." "You have no idea." She lowered her lashes. "I might have some idea." Kai released one of her hands and she looked up again to see him reaching into his pocket - the same that had held Wolf's and Scarlet's wedding rings before. His fist was closed when he pulled it out and Kai held it toward her, released a slow breath, and opened his fingers to reveal a stunning ring with a large ruby ringed in diamonds. It didn't take long for her retina scanner to measure the ring, and within seconds it was filling her in on far more information than she needed - inane worlds like carats and clarity scrolled past her vision. But it was the ring's history that snagged her attention. It had been his mother's engagement ring once, and his grandmother's before that. Kai took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. Metal clinked against metal, and the priceless gem looked as ridiculous against her cyborg plating as the simple gold band had looked on Wolf's enormous, deformed, slightly hairy hand. Cinder pressed her lips together and swallowed, hard, before daring to meet Kai's gaze again. "Cinder," he said, "will you marry me?" Absurd, she thought. The emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth was proposing to her. It was uncanny. It was hysterical. But it was Kai, and somehow, that also made it exactly right. "Yes," she whispered. "I will marry you." Those simple words hung between them for a breath, and then she grinned and kissed him, amazed that her declaration didn't bring the surge of anxiety she would have expected years ago. He drew her into his arms, laughing between kisses, and she suddenly started to laugh too. She felt strangely delirious. They had stood against all adversity to be together, and now they would forge their own path to love. She would be Kai's wife. She would be the Commonwealth's empress. And she had every intention of being blissfully happy for ever, ever after.

It's funny how, when you really want to say something bitchy and cutting to someone who's been bitchy to you, you can't think of anything till afterwards. When there's no real call for it, you come suddenly out with a piece of 9-carat bitchery that shakes even you.

California, Labor Day weekend...early, with ocean fog still in the streets, outlaw motorcyclists wearing chains, shades and greasy Levis roll out from damp garages, all-night diners and cast-off one-night pads in Fricso, Hollywood, Berdoo and East Oakland, heading for the Monterey peninsula, north of Big Sur...The Menace is loose again, the Hell's Angels, the hundred-carat headline, running fast and loud on the early morning freeway, low in the saddle, nobody smiles, jamming crazy through traffic and ninety miles an hour down the center stripe, missing by inches...like Genghis Khan on an iron horse, a monster steed with a fiery anus, flat out through the eye of a beer can and up your daughter's leg with no quarter asked and non given; show the squares some class, give em a whiff of those kicks they'll never know...Ah, these righteous dudes, they love to screw it on...Little Jesus, the Gimp, Chocolate George, Buzzard, Zorro, Hambone, Clean Cut, Tiny, Terry the Tramp, Frenchy, Mouldy Marvin, Mother Miles, Dirty Ed, Chuck the Duck, Fat Freddy, Filthy Phil, Charger Charley the Child Molester, Crazy Cross, Puff, Magoo, Animal and at least a hundred more...tense for the action, long hair in the wind, beards and bandanas flapping, earrings, armpits, chain whips, swastikas and stripped-down Harleys flashing chrome as traffic on 101 moves over, nervous, to let the formation pass like a burst of dirty thunder...

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

If "silence is golden" then we have a 24 carat prime minister...!!!

,',,[B]ut you remind me of things I can't think about no more. I'm in the last October of life looking for a few more Aprils. I don't want to remember no more.

Most cars drove through there because the drivers is either from The Bottom and wanna get home - or they ain't from The Bottom and wanna get home in one piece.

I don’t want to be the girl who wears two-carat diamond studs. I’d rather be the girl who tosses hay without worrying about getting dust on her clothes.

Dupa ce ti-ai carat crucea tot anul, bradul de Craciun e o bagatela.

There's good people of every persuasion, and there's 24-carat bastards.

And if somehow Marc was serious, I knew that by the time our engagement was announced, I’d be an expert at celebrating. After all, practice makes perfect, and who else had this much practice?

How cruel is the golden rule When the lives we lived are only golden-plated? And I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me Though I carried carats for everyone to see. And I saw God cry in the reflection of my enemies And all the lovers with no time for me And all of the mothers raise their babies To stay away from me. Tongues on the sockets of electric dreams Where the sewage of youth drowned the spark of my teens And I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me (too heavy for me) Though I carried carats for everyone to see (everyone to see). And pray they don't grow up to be

My dear Gaultier,’ said Lymond. ‘It will send the Shadow of God into transports. I suppose I’ve seen objects more grisly before, but it doesn’t spring to mind where.… Twenty-four-carat gold, Jerott. Look. And studded with rubies like fish-roes.’ ‘Yes. I think he’ll be pleased,’ said Georges Gaultier. For the first time satisfaction, animation and even cheerfulness rang in his voice. ‘Sickening, isn’t it?

Finally, his teeth gritted, he says, “Any particular carat size you’d like, Madam Queen?” My smile is so sweet, it could cause cancer. “The bigger the better. She’ll need something to show off to her friends, and it certainly isn’t you.

Besides, there's plenty of time to get a ring. I'd rather spend time with you than flash around a five-carat rock on my finger." "Five carats?" He clutched at his chest. "I work in the ER; I'm not a brain surgeon." "Well then, maybe you should introduce me to some of your colleagues---" She squealed as he made a lunge for her, allowing him to catch her far too easily. "You have a smart mouth, Ms. Ryland." "Haven't you heard? Smart mouths make for the best kisses," she said, a moment before proving exactly that.

See the gold metal I can now wear. I gave birth to your brothers and then your father gave me these two bracelets. Then I had you. And every few years, when I have a little extra money, I buy another bracelet. I know what I’m worth. They’re always twenty-four carats, all genuine.

Man hates. Animals don’t hate. You been in the zoo too long, Rubs. Who could hate old Rubs? Hate you because you’re scared of something? We’re all scared of something, Rubs. Just remember every fear that lives inside makes you smaller. But when you air your fears, they disappear.” “How’s that?

On New Year’s Eve of 1976, Trump proposed to Ivana, later presenting her with a three-carat Tiffany diamond ring. But before there could be a wedding, less than a year after they met, there was the prenup—ultimately, as many as four or five contracts. The negotiations between Trump and Ivana—Roy Cohn urged Donald to begin married life with codified financial arrangements—followed a pattern that came to define Trumpism: boasts of wealth and influence, a highly public airing of grievances, and dramatic battles staged in gossip columns and courtrooms. The marriage would start—and later explode—to the accompaniment of lawyers.

The glint does not come from a living being, but from an antique pocket watch - eighteen-carat gold encased with mother of pearl, engraved with the lines from a poem: "Arriving there is what you are destined for, But do not hurry the journey at all..." And there on the back are two letters, or more precisely, the same letter written twice: Y & Y

Why do people, when they are wrong, twist the conversation around and place the blame on someone else?

I rubbed my head trying to fend off the headache I was sure this conversation would bring me.

Do I have to celebrate our engagement every year for nothing? I don’t need practice, you know. It’s starting to become cruel

My heart in my throat and my soul flying, I whisper, “Ten carats? So tiny. God, you’re a cheapskate, gangster.” He hugs me, hard, kissing the top of my head, my earlobe, my neck. Into my ear he says softly, “Marry me.” Of course it had to be a command, not a question. My voice cracks when I answer. “Let me get a look at this tiny ring first. I’ll let you know in a minute.

While sculpting me nude completes your Fuck-It List for now, I happened to add a very important item to mine today, one that my life would not be complete without.” I got down on one knee and opened the pouch, taking out the two-carat, pear-shaped halo diamond engagement ring. “Charlotte Darling, will you help me make my ultimate bucket-list wish come true? Will you be my wife?

Black Diamonds Black gemstones pillaged from Mother Earth and mined from Kemet, Crystallized into rare gems under centuries of pressure. Yet, clarity remains pure under the brutal heat of history And the alluvial mining along the coastlines of black beaches. Whitewashing while extracting Nubian gems from sable sands, Twelve million carats separated from the soil of black lands.

You seem all flesh and bones from the outside, but I am convinced that you are made of silent prayers, rare gift wraps, bear hugs and twenty-four-carat love! I am constantly amazed by your ability to hold space for everyone, to see life in full colour, to find a reason to make the best of this imperfect world. You are my rock, my river and my tree. Happiest birthday, my love, your aura keeps the world warm.

A week ago, this part of the river, where trees on each side of the bank touch and merge overhead to form a living tunnel, had been a green-and-black oil painting of dark water and moss-backed boulders. Now it was as though some vandal had hurled cheap emulsion at the canvas: the arterial red leaves of a low-lying maple branch streaked violently from one bank to another, and on the far side, little poplar leaves the exact color of twenty-four carat gold lay strewn over the boulders like pirate treasure.

For a while I considered dropping out of Barnard to help. It felt unbearably selfish, just downright wrong, to be indulging myself with an education in the liberal arts at a fancy private college while Mom and Dad were on the streets. But Lori convinced me that dropping out was a lamebrained idea. It wouldn’t do any good, she said, and besides, dropping out would break Dad’s heart. He was immensely proud that he had a daughter in college, and an Ivy League college at that. Every time he met someone new, he managed to work it into the first few minutes of conversation. Mom and Dad, Brian pointed out, had options. They could move back to West Virginia or Phoenix. Mom could work. And she was not destitute. She had her collection of antique Indian jewelry, which she kept in a self-storage locker. There was the two-carat diamond ring that Brian and I had found under the rotten lumber back in Welch; she wore it even when sleeping on the street. She still owned property in Phoenix. And she had the land in Texas, the source of her oil-lease royalties.

After Guru Rinpoche subdued Tseringma, he pursued her four younger sisters. One by one, they repented and became Buddhist deities, moving to mountains of their own. Miyolangsangma patrols the summit of Everest on the back of a tigress. Now the goddess of prosperity, her face shines like 24-carat gold. Thingi Shalsangma, her body a pale shade of blue, became the goddess of healing after galloping on a zebra to the top of Shishapangma, a 26,289-foot peak in Tibet. Chopi Drinsangma, with a face in perpetual blush, became the goddess of attraction. She chose a deer instead of a zebra and settled on Kanchenjunga, a 28,169-foot peak in Nepal. The final sister—Takar Dolsangma, the youngest, with a green face—was a hard case. She mounted a turquoise dragon and fled northward to the land of three borders. In the modern Rolwaling folklore, this is Pakistan. Guru Rinpoche chased after her and eventually cornered her on a glacier called the Chogo Lungma. Takar Dolsangma appeared remorseful and, spurring her dragon, ascended K2, accepting a new position as the goddess of security. Although Guru Rinpoche never doubted her sincerity, maybe he should have: Takar Dolsangma, it seems, still enjoys the taste of human flesh.

Finding people who can make a difference in the world is like panning for gold. A huge amount of detritus has to be sifted before the nuggets are found. Most of the gold comes in small grains, but now and again a great, gleaming 24 carat nugget appears – a world-historic figure who will change everything. What’s it all about? INTELLIGENCE. DISCIPLINE. AMBITION. CAPABILITY. TALENT. DETERMINATION. Those are the qualities needed. It’s not about what the world can do for you. It’s about what you can do for the world. So, what can you do? Anything? Those who can, do. Those that can’t go on forums and discuss conspiracy theories.

The Proposal The diamond industry has pulled a fast one over on us. It has convinced us that there is no way to make public a lifetime commitment to another person without a very large, sparkly rock on a very slim band. This is, of course, nonsense. Often wedding books have engagement chapters that read like diamond-buying guides. But the truth is, the way to get engaged is for the two of you to decide that you want to get married. So the next time someone tries to imply that you are not engaged because you don’t have a dramatic enough engagement story or a ring, firmly say, “You know, I like to think of my partner as my rock,” and slowly raise your eyebrow. The modern wedding industry—along with a fair share of romantic comedies—has set a pretty high bar for proposals. We think they need to be elaborate and surprising. But they don’t. A proposal should be: • A decision to get married • Romantic (because you decide to spend the rest of your lives together, not necessarily because of its elaborate nature) • Possibly mutual • Possibly discussed in advance • Possibly instigated by you • Not used to judge the state of your relationship • An event that may be followed by the not-at-all-romantic kind of sobbing, because you realize your life is changing forever It’s exciting to decide to get married. And scary. But the moment of proposal is just that: a moment. It moves you to the next step of the process; it’s not the be-all, end-all. So maybe you have a fancy candlelight dinner followed by parachutists delivering you a pear-shaped, seven-carat diamond. Or maybe you decide to get married one Sunday morning over the newspaper and a cup of coffee. Either way is fine. The point is that you decided to spend your life with someone you love.

Hinayana Buddhism also teaches meditation practice based on "insight into impurity." But what is impurity? Let us say a beautiful woman appear, perhaps a very famous model or actress. She has very beautiful makeup on, and her hair is styled very fashionably. She is wearing beautiful clothes and has very expensive perfume on. She has a big diamond necklace, maybe ten carats. Everybody sees her and thinks, "Oh, she is wonderful! So beautiful!" Maybe some man will kill another man in order to sleep with her every day. But inside she has shit. On the outside, she is truly very beautiful; but inside, she is carrying two or three pounds of shit around with her wherever she goes. Even though she may have beautiful clothes, and sweet perfume, and a shiny diamond necklace, and wonderful makeup to cover this shit, everybody understands that that shit-thing inside is not beautiful, you know? Everybody sees these beautiful things on the outside, and they forget for some time about this shit. They are deluded by temporary appearance of her body and makeup and clothes and diamonds. They don't see that what they crave is deeply marked with impurity. This is humans' basic delusion: our desire and attachment leads us to crave and covet things that cannot help out lives.

What’ll it be?” Steve asked me, just days after our wedding. “Do we go on the honeymoon we’ve got planned, or do you want to go catch crocs?” My head was still spinning from the ceremony, the celebration, and the fact that I could now use the two words “my husband” and have them mean something real. The four months between February 2, 1992--the day Steve asked me to marry him--and our wedding day on June 4 had been a blur. Steve’s mother threw us an engagement party for Queensland friends and family, and I encountered a very common theme: “We never thought Steve would get married.” Everyone said it--relatives, old friends, and schoolmates. I’d smile and nod, but my inner response was, Well, we’ve got that in common. And something else: Wait until I get home and tell everybody I am moving to Australia. I knew what I’d have to explain. Being with Steve, running the zoo, and helping the crocs was exactly the right thing to do. I knew with all my heart and soul that this was the path I was meant to travel. My American friends--the best, closest ones--understood this perfectly. I trusted Steve with my life and loved him desperately. One of the first challenges was how to bring as many Australian friends and family as possible over to the United States for the wedding. None of us had a lot of money. Eleven people wound up making the trip from Australia, and we held the ceremony in the big Methodist church my grandmother attended. It was more than a wedding, it was saying good-bye to everyone I’d ever known. I invited everybody, even people who may not have been intimate friends. I even invited my dentist. The whole network of wildlife rehabilitators came too--four hundred people in all. The ceremony began at eight p.m., with coffee and cake afterward. I wore the same dress that my older sister Bonnie had worn at her wedding twenty-seven years earlier, and my sister Tricia wore at her wedding six years after that. The wedding cake had white frosting, but it was decorated with real flowers instead of icing ones. Steve had picked out a simple ring for me, a quarter carat, exactly what I wanted. He didn’t have a wedding ring. We were just going to borrow one for the service, but we couldn’t find anybody with fingers that were big enough. It turned out that my dad’s wedding ring fitted him, and that’s the one we used. Steve’s mother, Lyn, gave me a silk horseshoe to put around my wrist, a symbol of good luck. On our wedding day, June 4, 1992, it had been eight months since Steve and I first met. As the minister started reading the vows, I could see that Steve was nervous. His tuxedo looked like it was strangling him. For a man who was used to working in the tropics, he sure looked hot. The church was air-conditioned, but sweat drops formed on the ends of his fingers. Poor Steve, I thought. He’d never been up in front of such a big crowd before. “The scariest situation I’ve ever been in,” Steve would say later of the ceremony. This from a man who wrangled crocodiles! When the minister invited the groom to kiss the bride, I could feel all Steve’s energy, passion, and love. I realized without a doubt we were doing the right thing.

I had, therefore, to resign myself to commissioning a duplicate from a jeweller in Madrid. They did the work very nicely. The claws are curiously shaped, but the true marvel is the stone; it is so very limpid and weighs many carats, but notice also how it is hollowed out! You see that drop of green oil which takes the place of the internal tear? It is a drop of poison, an Indian toxin which strikes so rapidly and so corrosively that it only requires to come into momentary contact with one of a man's mucous membranes to rob him of his senses and induce rigour mortis. 'It is instant death, certain but painless suicide, that I carry in this emerald. One bite' - and Ethal made as if to raise the ring to his lips - 'and with a single bound one has quit the mundane world of base instincts and crude works, to enter eternity. 'Look upon the truest of friends: a deus ex machina which defies public opinion and cheats the police of their prey...' He laughed briefly. 'After all, we live in difficult times, and today's magistrates are so very meticulous. Salute as I do, my dear friend, the poison which saves and delivers. It is at your service, if ever the day should come when you are weary of life!

She kept reminding me she was at a wedding, which didn’t really help my emotional state, if you know what I mean.

See, dance changes people. Dancing makes you free. It makes people happy.

[Charles] Hatton had no way of knowing it then as he sat on the bench, but there was a young racehorse turning the corner of the racetrack--perhaps 150 yards away--who would fulfill some ideal that he had been turning over in his head since Billy Walker put it there more than fifty years ago. Secretariat walked down the pathway toward the paddock, toward the towering canopy of trees above the saddling area, toward Hatton, who saw the colt and came to his feet. The red horse filled Hatton's eyes of an instant, not striding into his field of vision but swimming into it, pulling Hatton from the bench to a standstill before him. Hatton had seen thousands of horses in his life, thousands of two-year-olds, and suddenly on this July afternoon of 1972 he found the 106-carat diamond: "It was like seeing a bunch of gravel and there was the Kohinoor lying in there. It was so unexpected. I thought, 'Jesus Christ, I never saw a horse that looked like that before.

The four-carat yellow diamond on my finger is a beautiful but painful reminder of the vows he broke. I

Mr. Winston once purchased a 726-carat stone in London, setting off a heated debate about the safest way to get it back to the States. A league of bodyguards? Chartered ship? Colossal insurance policy? Harry Winston wouldn’t say which method he’d picked. Two weeks later, the priceless jewel arrived at his Fifth Avenue store, sent via standard registered mail, for 64 cents postage.

The P.I. states that if something x has happened in certain particular circumstances n times in the past, we are justified in believing that the same circumstances will produce x on the (n + 1)th occasion. The P.I. is wholly respectable and authoritative, and it seems like a well-lit exit out of the whole problem. Until, that is, it happens to strike you (as can occur only in very abstract moods or when there’s an unusual amount of time before the alarm goes off) that the P.I. is itself merely an abstraction from experience … and so now what exactly is it that justifies our confidence in the P.I.? This latest thought may or may not be accompanied by a concrete memory of several weeks spent on a relative’s farm in childhood (long story). There were four chickens in a wire coop off the garage, the brightest of whom was called Mr. Chicken. Every morning, the farm’s hired man’s appearance in the coop area with a certain burlap sack caused Mr. Chicken to get excited and start doing warmup-pecks at the ground, because he knew it was feeding time. It was always around the same time t every morning, and Mr. Chicken had figured out that t(man + sack) = food, and thus was confidently doing his warmup-pecks on that last Sunday morning when the hired man suddenly reached out and grabbed Mr. Chicken and in one smooth motion wrung his neck and put him in the burlap sack and bore him off to the kitchen. Memories like this tend to remain quite vivid, if you have any. But with the thrust, lying here, being that Mr. Chicken appears now actually to have been correct—according to the Principle of Induction—in expecting nothing but breakfast from that (n + 1)th appearance of man + sack at t. Something about the fact that Mr. Chicken not only didn’t suspect a thing but appears to have been wholly justified in not suspecting a thing—this seems concretely creepy and upsetting. Finding some higher-level justification for your confidence in the P.I. seems much more urgent when you realize that, without this justification, our own situation is basically indistinguishable from that of Mr. Chicken. But the conclusion, abstract as it is, seems inescapable: what justifies our confidence in the Principle of Induction is that it has always worked so well in the past, at least up to now. Meaning that our only real justification for the Principle of Induction is the Principle of Induction, which seems shaky and question-begging in the extreme. The only way out of the potentially bedridden-for-life paralysis of this last conclusion is to pursue further abstract side-inquiries into what exactly ‘justification’ means and whether it’s true that the only valid justifications for certain beliefs and principles are rational and noncircular. For instance, we know that in a certain number of cases every year cars suddenly veer across the centerline into oncoming traffic and crash head-on into people who were driving along not expecting to get killed; and thus we also know, on some level, that whatever confidence lets us drive on two-way roads is not 100% rationally justified by the laws of statistical probability. And yet ‘rational justification’ might not apply here. It might be more the fact that, if you cannot believe your car won’t suddenly get crashed into out of nowhere, you just can’t drive, and thus that your need/desire to be able to drive functions as a kind of ‘justification’ of your confidence.* It would be better not to then start analyzing the various putative ‘justifications’ for your need/desire to be able to drive a car—at some point you realize that the process of abstract justification can, at least in principle, go on forever. The ability to halt a line of abstract thinking once you see it has no end is part of what usually distinguishes sane, functional people—people who when the alarm finally goes off can hit the floor without trepidation and plunge into the concrete business of the real workaday world—from the unhinged.

The Most Popular Diamond Cuts - Learn Before You Shop For A Diamond Earring You have finally made up your mind and decided to buy a diamond earring. You have a purpose and occasion in mind. What now? Do you randomly go diamond shopping and invest your hard-earned money in whatever you find there? No. Absolutely not. Mining about the details for the diamond you are seeking for your earring is the wisest of decisions. Whether it is about the best place to buy diamonds from or the cut of your earring, some research is a must! But, research? It takes the fun out of the shopping experience, doesn't it? No worries. Keep the fun with diamonds shopping and look at this list of most popular diamond cuts. Popular Diamond Cuts That You Must Know About A timeless accessory becomes even more precious if you find it exactly how you imagined it to be. The dreamy earrings are not just about having diamonds in them. The cut quality and the cut shape are essential features too! If you already know the best place to buy diamonds, your quality concern goes out of the window. You still have to choose the cut shape for your personal, exotic experience. Before choosing the cut, you need to keep your face in mind too. If the diamond cut doesn't flatter your face, take the next option. Essentially, you can choose from the four variants of the diamond cuts. Round Cut: Widely in demand and spectacularly sparkly, the round cut allows the maximum light to enter and dazzle the diamond. Primarily used in studs, these cuts are good for you if you have a thin face. Oval Cuts: The cut includes the oval-shaped and modified version of oval cuts as well. If you want the appearance of an elongated diamond with the shine as the round cut, consider this one. This cut comes with a variety of options for you. If you like it pointy at both ends, the marquise cut is the one for you. But, if you have your heart set on a sharp end and the other in the oval shape, you'd love the pear cut more. Besides, if you are a romantic, you have to choose the heart-shaped diamond cut for your earrings. Rectangular Cuts: You want a cut that is equally classic and elegant; the rectangular cuts are your options. It includes the Princess cut, the Emerald cut, the Asscher cut, the Cushion cut, and the Radiant cut. You can choose the best fit based on the rectangular appearance and brilliance of your outlook. Triangular Cuts: Are you a fan of pointed edges and equal sides in your jewelry? You will be thrilled to have a triangular cut diamond in your accessory bag. All you have to look out for is the protection the edges have in the earring. Remember: Be on the lookout for the 4Cs you need in your earrings. The carat or the weight and the cut define the shape and size of your precious. The color and the clarity will take care of the hue and brilliance you will get. The pleasing appearance of the earrings is a reflection of the diamond cutting and polishing process. The more precisely and skillfully a diamond-cut polish is taken care of, the more beauty it will exude. If you want a breezy diamond shopping experience, what's better than having it from the best place to shop diamonds from? The quality and the cut are going to make you the talk of the town after this! Your choice for the most suitable diamond cut will make your earring the most prized possession. It will not only bring beauty to your appearance but also complement it.

I was fortunate to have begun my career in the jewelry industry, where character is the most important aspect of the game. Often the people who look and feel the most honest are not. They’re simply selling the perception of honesty. Diamonds have their own set of four c’s, as anyone who has purchased an engagement ring knows: cut, clarity, carat, and color. But that fifth unspoken c—character—also matters in buying a diamond. You want to trust the person selling you the rock, as it’s the most asymmetrical deal you’ll ever do, in which you have no information and they have it all. A salesperson can be masterful at smiling and putting you at ease and selling you whatever he or she wants, yet because buying a diamond is a rare and special occasion, with little or no opportunity to build a relationship of trust through repeat business, you want to believe in the salesperson’s quality of character.

The iridium for this purpose is found in small grains of platinum, slightly alloyed with this latter metal. The gold for pens is alloyed with silver to about sixteen carats fineness, rolled into thin strips, from which the blanks are struck. The under side of the point is notched by a small circular saw to receive the iridium point, which is selected with the aid of a microscope. A flux of borax and a blowpipe secure it to its place. The point is then ground on a copper wheel of emery. The pen-blank is next rolled to the requisite thinness by the means of rollers especially adapted for the purpose, and tempered by blows from a hammer. It is then trimmed around the edges, stamped, and formed in a press. The slit is next cut through the solid iridium point by means of a thin copper wheel fed with fine emery, and a saw extends the aperture along the pen itself. The inside edges of the slit are smoothed and polished by the emery

three-carat diamond studs,

For the last month or so I’ve been nesting in a dream-like state, pinching myself mentally, not only because of the palace we now reside in permanently but also because of the shimmer of the three-carat teardrop diamond on my finger and what it means—a cure for the sickness I’ve harbored for so long, a lasting end.

I’ve witnessed many couples who have measured their sense of personal and relationship security based on the fact of having shared finances, being legally married, running a business together, co-owning a home or how many carats the engagement ring has. These more structural demonstrations of security can be signs of genuine commitment and they undoubtedly make it more difficult for someone to just pick up and leave one day, but they do not ensure the high-quality attunement, presence and responsiveness that foster secure attachment at the interpersonal level. Here are some signs that might indicate that you are relying more on the structure of your relationship for your attachment and security than the emotional experience of your relationship:

It’s the thought that counts, not the carats.

Claire glanced up from where she had been pacing, twisting the two-carat canary diamond ring on her third finger. She had not noticed her mother’s entrance. She stopped pacing. She knew how much her mother loved that

Ultimately, pay levels are not about merit or social value; they’re about power dynamics. They’re about how much value is placed on various types of work, by people with lots of money to spend. So, for instance, if patients in nursing homes each managed to crap a flawless ten-carat diamond once they reached the age of ninety, rest assured, elder care workers would be paid like investment bankers, solely for their ability to keep old people alive until it was time for the diamond harvest. But as it is, they are paid horribly, since rich people see more value in office buildings and yachts and derivatives than they do in the people who care for their own grandparents.

its twenty-three carat gold-gilded dome, stood

In 1958, a New York diamond merchant named Harry Winston donated the Hope Diamond to the Smithsonian Institute. At forty-five-and-a-half carats, the gem is worth an estimated $200 million (give or take $50 million), but Winston didn’t hire an armored car to deliver it to the Smithsonian. He sent it via the U.S. Postal Service, placing it in a box, wrapping the box in brown paper, and insuring it for $145.29.

Richard’s clenched hands fell to his sides. He turned and walked into the study, carrying his balls on a nine-carat-gold dinner plate.

Andy and I met Ramiz for our bi-weekly sessions. At some juncture of each rendezvous, Ramiz would lay two golden eggs he had inserted into his anus! After they had been cleaned, these eggs were presented to us as tokens of appreciation for our service. They were crafted by Chimento, the luxury purveyor from whom Ramiz had bought the Faberge eggs. The shop made two dozen of the hollow, twenty-four carat gold eggs. He stuffed several hundred dollars in each of them. Andy nicknamed him 'The Man who lays the Golden Eggs.'  Like the golden goose in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’, my teacher never failed to lay golden eggs during each session.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Have I told you today how happy I am that you gave up the good fight and moved back in with me?” “Not today,” she said, sucking in his sex-and-sin scent. “But last night you mentioned it quite a few times.” She’d tried for six weeks to live by herself in the apartment over Gracie’s garage, thinking she needed to experience life on her own before living with Mitch. She’d hated every minute of it. When she’d taken to sneaking into the farmhouse and crawling into bed with him in the middle of the night, he’d finally put his foot down. She sighed. Contentment had her curling deeper into his embrace. She didn’t care if it was wrong: Mitch and this farmhouse made her happy. “Maddie,” he said, his voice catching in a way that had her lifting her chin. “You know I love you.” “I know. I love you too.” His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind her chin. “Come with me.” He clasped her hand and led her into the bedroom before motioning her to the bed. She sat, and he walked over to the antique dresser and took a box out of the dresser. He walked back to the bed and sat down next to her. “I wanted to give this to you tonight, but then I saw you standing in the doorway and I knew I couldn’t wait.” Maddie looked at the box, it was wooden, etched with an intricate fleur-de-lis design on it and words in another language. “What is it?” “It was my grandmother’s. They bought it on their honeymoon. It’s French. It says, ‘There is only one happiness in life: to love and be loved.’” “It’s beautiful.” That he would give her something so treasured brought the threat of tears to her eyes. He handed it to her. “Open it.” She took the box and suddenly her heart started to pound. She lifted the lid and gasped, blinking as her vision blurred. Mitch grasped her left hand. “I know it’s only been three months, but in my family, meeting the night your car breaks down is a sign of a long, happy marriage.” Maddie couldn’t take her eyes off the ring. It was a gorgeous, simple platinum band with two small emerald stones flanking what had to be a three-carat rectangular diamond. She looked at Mitch. “Maddie Donovan, will you please marry me?” “Yes.” She kissed him, a soft, slow, drugging kiss filled with hope and promises. There was no hesitation. Not a seed of worry or shred of doubt. Her heart belonged to only one man, and he was right in front of her. “It would be my honor.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “My grandma would be thrilled that you have her ring.” “It’s hers?” It sparkled in the sunlight. It looked important on her hand. “It’s been in the family vault since she died. My mom sent it a couple of weeks ago. She’s been a little pushy about the whole thing. I think she’s worried I’ll do something to screw it up and she’ll lose the best daughter-in-law ever.” Maddie laughed. “I love her, too.” He ran his finger over the platinum band. “I changed the side stones to emeralds because they match your eyes. Do you think I made the right choice?” She put her hands on the sides of his face. “It is the most gorgeous ring I have ever laid eyes on. I love it. I love you. You know I’d take you with a plastic ring from Wal-Mart.” “I know.” She kissed him. “But I’m not going to lie: this is a kick-ass ring.” He grinned. “You know, I think that’s what my grandma used to say.” “She was obviously a smart woman.” “For the record, don’t even think about running.” Mitch pushed her back on the bed and captured her beneath him. “I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and bring you back where you belong.” She reached for him, this man who’d been her salvation. “I will run down the aisle to meet you.

happen. The

The Kohinoor diamond, radiant symbol of the power of the Moghul Empire, had, with the annexation of the Punjab in 1849, been quietly palmed into future Chief Commissioner John Lawrence's waistcoat pocket. From there it was sent to London to be shown at the Great Exhibition in 185I, recut by Garrard's, the fashionable London jewellers, then set in the very centre of Queen Victoria's crown. In 1656, when it had been presented to Shah Jehan, the Kohinoor had weighed 756 carats; recut by Garrards, it was reduced to 106 - fit symbol of waning Indian fortunes.

Will you wear this?” The diamond wasn’t large as diamonds go, but from Ellie’s perspective it was enormous. She never in her wildest dreams expected jewelry. “Is it real?” she asked in a breath. When he nodded, she asked, “Can we afford this?” “Ellie, we can’t afford anything!” He laughed. “Noah, have you lost your mind? I don’t need something like this! I’d rather have a washing machine!” He took her chin in his big hand, tilted her face up and said, “Ellie, I love you. I want you to have something special. I wish it was more special—you’re a nine-carat woman.” He shrugged. “It’s a speck. You can hardly see it with the naked eye.” “It’s incredible.” He gave her a kiss. “I don’t know how you manage to be so grateful for such simple things, but I want you to know I’ll never take that for granted. It’s priceless. You’re the jewel!” She put her arms around his neck and held him close, kissing him back. “You’re one crazy preacher,” she said.

Really, Steve?" Clare pouts hideously as I scoop up the remnants of my eighteen-carat gold flecked lobster frittata. "How can you act like this? I mean, why are you so cold, anyway? Why? Does the hawk consider the plight of the fieldmouse? Did the Titans of old concern themselves with the affairs of mere mortal men?

When Kiley showed me her ring—platinum, 1.4 carats—I really wanted to say something mean about it. Who really needs a ring that big? I ask you. It was rings that big that made our grandmothers think Elizabeth Taylor was a whore.

Andy and I met Ramiz for our bi-weekly sessions. At some juncture of each rendezvous, Ramiz would lay two golden eggs he had inserted into his anus! After they had been cleaned, these eggs were presented to us as tokens of appreciation for our service. They were crafted by Chimento, the luxury purveyor from whom Ramiz had bought the Faberge eggs. The shop made two dozen of the hollow, twenty-four carat gold eggs. He stuffed several hundred dollars in each of them.

I'm saying be a nigga's good luck charm for life, baby." I pulled an eight-carat princess-cut diamond from my pocket. This is the most expensive purchase I've ever made, but it's also the best investment. "Will you do me the honor of being my wife?

The former Miss Brougham required her help in locating a missing rose-cut, 280-carat diamond. ’Twas an extraordinary development.

It was all I could manage with that billion-carat rock flashing at me from her hand like a warning beacon. Who the hell had she said yes to?

They need God in New Jersey, too.

I could not stop staring at the four-carat oval diamond in white-gold cathedral setting, flanked on each side by one and a half carat round pink diamonds. The ring was breathtaking. It was a contradiction; the large oval diamond was a serious statement, but the pink diamonds on the sides made it…

Holy shit.” I grinned wider. “It’s platinum, a two-carat, old mine cut diamond, passed down on the Oliver side of the family for three generations, from father to oldest son. Each giving it to their betrothed. After my grandmother passed, my momma—who was an only child—kept it in a safety deposit box my daddy didn’t know about.

Claymore? The original tin man? Pryce would get a good laugh out of that. Okay, then, because Pryce deserved to be best man and Punch didn’t. Too egotistical on Pryce’s part. Because if she called off the wedding, Jillian would keep her three-carat diamond ring.

a blue dyed Balenciaga mink and almost exactly $2,500,000 worth of diamonds—including a thirty-odd carat diamond in each ear and a 34.8 carat blue diamond ring (putting it just below the famed Hope diamond, which is 44.5 carats, and the 35.5-carat Wittebacher, which is on sale for $650,000. Contact J. Komkommer in Antwerp). …Childless, she spends 5 or 6 months a year in the U.S. (she has a 7½ room apartment in Manhattan’s Hotel Pierre)…

I feel like I’m sitting on pins and needles. I am so thrilled.” To add to her remarks, she flashed a 16-carat diamond wedding ring that she claimed she could not wear often because of its weight. She also announced that the count had given her all the jewelry and heirlooms belonging to his royal family.

It’s something like seventy-five carats and priceless, apparently.

I visited four jewelry shops before I found a bracelet that appealed to me: two-carat, cushion-cut diamonds set in 18K gold. It was horribly expensive, but I handed over my plastic gaily, following McNally’s First Law of Shopping: If you can afford it, it’s not worth buying.

It’s a three-carat, round-cut solitaire diamond on a yellow gold band. I bought it the week she moved in with me last year. You know…just in case.

We’d been shot out of Sutter’s cannon. Ever since the poor captain weighed the nuggets discovered by Marshall and found out they were twenty-three-carat gold, we’ve been stuck in the same gear. Because our beginning was supercharged, we never had a chance to catch our breath and correct our excess. The fever never left our System. It followed us down the mountain to the valley. It became our System. We built a state capitol where two rowdy rivers met. We spent a century trying to conquer the Sacramento River. When we finished conquering it (or not), we killed the San Joaquin. Of all the crimes of the System, this is the one that cannot be forgiven. The farms of Tulare and Kern Counties had rivers of their own to exploit well enough. That they aspired beyond those rivers should not have been a price the San Joaquin had to pay.

The necklace we are after is called the Wild Heart," Jack said. "It last sold at auction in November 2015 for $25 million. It features twenty-six oval-shaped flawless pink diamonds and a forty-carat heart-shaped pink diamond. Each diamond is enhanced by a cluster of oval-shaped green marquise emeralds supposedly crafted to resemble the leaves of the phalaenopsis orchid, but which in fact are more like dendrobiums that produce leaves that are opposite one another. The diamonds and emeralds are strategically placed to create a floral effect that makes the necklace resemble Orchidaceae. The gems are set in eighteen-carat white gold and precious platinum." "He likes plants," I explained when I saw a few blank stares. "We met in the hellebore." "It wasn't as romantic as it sounds," Jack said. "She trampled it underfoot like a herd of elephants. I had to go back the next night to repair the damage." "I wasn't trying to make it sound romantic." I heaved a sigh. "I was explaining how I knew that you liked plants." "They probably understood when you said, 'He likes plants.'" Jack's gaze drifted to Cristian. "At least some of them.

Wild Heart, a magnificent necklace containing twenty-six oval-shaped pink diamonds surrounded by diamonds and emeralds with a forty-carat heart-shaped pink diamond pendant center.

Every subsequent owner suffered financial ruin or premature death. Then there was the Black Orlov, originally 195 carats, which was set as one of the eyes in a statue of the Hindu god Brahma. It was also stolen from India; a diamond dealer brought it to the U.S. in 1932, before jumping out of the window of a Manhattan skyscraper. The Russian princesses who later acquired the diamond also leapt to their deaths.

two carat platinum

The second line of cops was of course CRS, the national riot police, and if you thought the regular police were tough and nasty you don’t want to meet these folks. I swear they must have all been from Corsica or Alsace – a mix of brute strength and cagy wisdom that wasn’t going to let any asshole through without a 21-carat ID and a bulletproof reason to be there. One of them laughed when he saw my DGSE card. “What, you want to give out parking tickets?

Shop fine jewellery at Auric Jewellery in the UK. All our jewellery is designed by us and made to last. Our jewellery pieces are ethically sourced sustainable 18 carat - rose gold necklaces, gold bracelets, gold chains and pendants. Choose your favorite piece to wear every day and anywhere.

Arie looked at the book. There was a little piece of paper that marked a page near the front cover. She opened up the book. Arie – Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure. Be always faithful to your destiny. Paulo Coelho Arie gasped. It was a signed copy. Made out to her. How could that be? She looked from the book, at Noah, and noticed that he was down on one knee. “Arabella, I love you because the universe conspired to help me find you. You are more than the love of my life. You are my best friend, my confidant, and a mirror of who I am. Paulo Coelho said, ‘To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.’ Mine is to be with you. Will you make me the happiest person on earth and be my wife?” “Oh my gosh!” Arie exclaimed. Noah pulled out a navy velvet box. It held a beautiful three-carat, white diamond, princess cut solitaire ring. “Will you marry me?” Noah asked.

Holy Aphrodite’s girdle!’ I yelped as I pulled out … Aphrodite’s girdle. My hands trembled. I knew all about this particular article of clothing, though I’d never seen it in person before. Aphrodite was super careful about when she wore it. Crafted for Mom by Hephaestus (when they were still on good speaking terms), the girdle was more like a fashionable belt – a finely wrought wide band of gold filigree (twenty carat, if I’m not mistaken) – infused with magic. Supposedly, anyone who saw Mom wearing it got whipped up in a frenzy of passion for her. Not that she needs any help in that department. I mean, everyone who sees her gets the hots for her. As I held the magical belt, I couldn’t help wondering if its power would work for me. I thought about taking it for a test drive around camp. I’d saunter past a certain Brazilian boy’s cabin and pause long enough for him to take a gander … Tempting, I thought. But no. I tossed the girdle back in the trunk. Why? Because I’d heard tales of Hephaestus cursing the items he made. The girdle probably wasn’t cursed, but I wasn’t going to chance triggering some dormant spell. Besides, any magic item used by the gods could be too much for demigods to