Chateau Quotes

It is nothing but a kind of microcosmos of communism—all that psychiatry,' rumbled Pnin, in his answer to Chateau. 'Why not leave their private sorrows to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?

How do you call this a house?” I ask rhetorically. “This is the kind of place that has a name like Chateau be Jealous of All My Money.” I look around in complete astonishment.

Lou might’ve lied. She might’ve deceived me. But when I’d followed her to the Chateau, I’d chosen my fate, and I’d done it with my eyes wide open. I’d chosen this life. This love. And with my fingers trembling in hers, with her heart beating alongside mine, I still chose it. I still chose her.

THERE’S ONLY ONE problem with L.A. It exists. L.A. is what happens when a bunch of Lovecraftian elder gods and porn starlets spend a weekend locked up in the Chateau Marmont snorting lines of crank off Jim Morrison’s bones. If the Viagra and illegal Traci Lords videos don’t get you going, then the Japanese tentacle porn will.

After she has gone back to sleep, after Etienne has blown out his candle, he kneels for a long time beside his bed. The bony figure of Death rides the streets below, stopping his mount now and then to peer into windows. Horns of fire on his head and smoke leaking from his nostrils and, in his skeletal hands, a list newly charged with addresses. Gazing first at the crew of officers unloading from their limousines into the chateau. Then at the flowing rooms of the perfumer Claude Levitte. Then at the dark tall house of Etienne LeBlanc. Pass us by, Horseman. Pass this house by.

Air in the chateau clammy like laundry that won't dry. Door-banging drafts down the passageways. Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying good-bye.

L.A. is what happens when a bunch of Lovecraftian elder gods and porn starlets spend a weekend locked up in the Chateau Marmont snorting lines of crank off Jim Morrison’s bones.

When I throw back my head and howl People (women mostly) say But you've always done what you want, You always get your way - A perfectly vile and foul Inversion of all that's been. What the old ratbags mean Is I've never done what I don't. So the shit in the shuttered chateau Who does his five hundred words Then parts out the rest of the day Between bathing and booze and birds Is far off as ever, but so Is that spectacled schoolteaching sod (Six kids, and the wife in pod, And her parents coming to stay)... Life is an immobile, locked, Three-handed struggle between Your wants, the world's for you, and (worse) The unbeatable slow machine That brings what you'll get. Blocked, They strain round a hollow stasis Of havings-to, fear, faces. Days sift down it constantly. Years. --The Life with the Hole in It

Off To The Races" My old man is a bad man but I can't deny the way he holds my hand And he grabs me, he has me by my heart He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past He doesn't mind I have an LA crass way about me He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart Swimming pool glimmering darling White bikini off with my red nail polish Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples you Sitting sipping on your black Cristal Oh yeah Light of my life, fire of my loins Be a good baby, do what I want Light of my life, fire of my loins Give me them gold coins, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Ready for you My old man is a tough man but He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam And he shows me, he knows me Every inch of my tar black soul He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life In fact he says he thinks it's why he might like about me Admires me, the way I roll like a Rolling Stone Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him Light of his life, fire of his loins Keep me forever, tell me you own me Light of your life, fire of your loins Tell me you own me, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Now I'm off to the races, laces Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement Love you but I'm going down God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island Raising hell all over town Sorry 'bout it My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us Take him when he may, if he may I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him Who else is gonna put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you, I never leave you They would rue the day I was alone without you You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips I said "Hon' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man." And we're off to the races, places Ready, set the gate is down and now we're goin' in To Las Vegas chaos, Casino Oasis, honey it is time to spin Boy you're so crazy, baby, I love you forever not maybe You are my one true love, you are my one true love You are my one true love

This is Chanceux Chateau. Home to the formidable Prince Severin and his extraordinary wife, Princess Elle, and all that they hold dear.” The

She tasted like a Chateau Margaux, perfectly rounded, slightly plumy with an aftertaste of ripe berries.

Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well--thousands of acres of land--a whole province of France--all France itself--lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hairbreadth line. So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.

Because the world always snuffs out fire, and every generation must bring light from darkness again.

Amontillado. Broiled Shad à la Maréchel. Cucumbers. Potatoes à la Duchesse. Filet Mignon à la Rossini. Chateau Lafite and Rinnart Brut. Fonds d’Artichaut Farcis. Pommery Sec. Sorbet au Kirsch. Cigarettes. Woodcock on Toast. Asparagus Sala. Ices: Canton Ginger. Cheeses: Pont l’Eveque; Rocquefort. Coffee. Liquers. Madeira, 1815. Cigars. Gage

Our White - Whites were a mixed crowd,including a well - known doctor,owner of a chateau near Versailles,an opera singer with an enormous belly and a chaplainbass;a homosexual architect with a beard,two night club porters,and a lawyer who sold Jewish refugees visas for a Central American Republic,which on arrival turned out to be non valid.

Men. You'd rather die fighting than surrender to happiness. You are your own worst enemy.

Our fears are the bastard children of our longings.

Ah, yes. And the chateau staff’s fixation with forcing Severin and me upon each other continues. Emele

I have no desire to be in a relationship for the sake of being in one,” he said. “I’ve made mistakes in the past, terrible ones. The next time I date a woman, I hope it’s for keeps.

The last time I saw you, you were wearing a white cotton shirt. You were standing upright with your wife on the lawn, in the sunlight, in front of the chateau, at my brother’s wedding. You shared in the enthusiasm of the ceremony. For my part, I felt distanced from it. I didn’t recognize my family in this mundane get-together. You didn’t seem put off by the bourgeois ceremony, or by my brother’s choice to have his love approved by third parties, even when these were distant third parties. You didn’t have the sad and absent look you normally took on at public gatherings. You smiled, watching the people, a little tipsy from the wine and the sun, chatting on the large lawn between the white stone façade and the two-hundred-year-old cedar tree. I often wondered, after your death, if that smile, the last one I saw from you, was mocking, or if instead it was the kindly smile of someone who knew that soon he would no longer partake in earthly pleasures. You didn’t regret leaving these behind, but neither were you averse to enjoying them a little longer.

And we won’t. We will return to Chateau le Blanc for Toulouse. For the wolves. Then we will raze that wretched castle to the ground with Morgane le Blanc and her Dames Blanches inside. This I promise you.

What a morning," Louis would say as they walked the rocky, dry hills above their rented chateau just outside Marseilles. "I want to take this day, fold it up, and put it in my pocket so I can have it again and again.

Dantes had entered the Chateau d’If with the round, open, smiling face of a young and happy man, with whom the early paths of life have been smooth. and who anticipates a future corresponding with his past. This was now all changed. The oval face was lengthened, his smiling mouth had assumed the firm and marked lines which betoken resolution; his eyebrows were arched beneath a brow furrowed with thought; his eyes were full of melancholy, and from their depths occasionally sparkled gloomy fires of misanthropy and hatred; his complexion, so long kept from the sun, had now that pale color which produces, when the features are encircled with black hair, the aristocratic beauty of the man of the north; the profound learning he had acquired had besides diffused over his features a refined intellectual expression; and he had also acquired, being naturally of a goodly stature, that vigor which a frame possesses which has so long concentrated all its force within itself.

There were plenty of things I showed Chantel in the chateau, Gemma. So, depending on where you want to be, you need to be much more specific." His tongue comes out to moisten his full bottom lip. "Then again, perhaps that's exactly where you want to be after your indecision last night on the stairs, hmm...between Chantel and me?

Among Berthier’s many qualities was a diplomatic nature so finely attuned that he somehow managed to persuade his wife, the Duchess Maria of Bavaria, to share a chateau with his mistress Madame Visconti (and vice versa).

The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard—both melting away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring of Time—through three dark hours. Then, the grey water of both began to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces of the chateau were opened.

...human thought is by no means as private as it seems, and all that you need to read somebody else's mind is the willingness to read your own.

-Examinó la etiqueta-. ¿Chateau Maison? Chat-eau... Eso es extranjero para aguas de gato, sabes, pero supongo que sólo es su manera de decirlo, porque ya me he dado cuenta de que no es aguas de gato. Las auténticas aguas de gato tienen un sabor más seco.

One of Picton's officers fell asleep the instant the halt was sounded and did not think of food until later in the night, when he woke to eat some chops cooked in the breastplate of a dead cuirassier (meat fried in a breastplate was very much à la mode in the Waterloo campaign, rather as rats spitted on a bayonet were to be in 1871 or champagne exhumed from chateau gardens in 1914).

Liz and Willie were passing a miniature chateau--even in its modified version, it was seven or eight thousand square feet--and Liz said, "I guess I'm a Cincinnati opportunist. In New York, I play the wholesome-midwesterner card, but when I'm back here, I consider myself to be a chic outsider." Even before Willie replied, Liz felt the loneliness of having confided something true in a person who didn't care.

I thought of him, with his feet in the Chateau Marmont pool and his fork in a carrot cake. He was just a little kid. I was upset at what I had introduced him to, the records and films he didn't already know. I felt like a mother who had left syringes around the room and let her baby get hooked on hard drugs.

Does this make me your muse?” His voice was a low, luscious tone that rippled through her… “In a way, I guess it does.” She took a step back, she needed air. Being around him, so close, made it too difficult to breathe. “Maybe you’ll be mine.

Queen Gunnhild waves away the advice with a pale hand. "I can't abide that scourge sneaking around the Chateau, killing everyone that comes within an inch of its evil presence. That building and its surrounds are Nord Property and we are in dire need of an outpost so near the Gray Sea again. It's time to end this, return a presence to a southern territory.

And the One will reveal the Bow of the Southern Star and conquer the enemy with courage and fine judgment. The sight of the One is true and the enemy cannot hide. Griffon will fly

And the One will take the Sword of the Western Sun and triumph over the enemy with boldness and insight. The arm of the One is steady and heads will roll. Snow Giants will battle

When you live among piranhas, you find truth and goodness an asset.

I’m into you, Gina.” He studied her face, her parted lips, and then pulled his gaze away. “But we can never be together.

Many exchange vows, rings, and kisses, but let us exchange hearts. That way you will never be alone; I will always be with you, for you will have, and be, my own dear heart.

Glory is a bittersweet wreath of both flowers and thorns.

After a dinner at a Loire Valley chateau, he left Watkins behind to teach the French how to work with carbon fiber and make their production lines efficient.

My mind rests in Cathedrals, Palaces, Castles, Temples, Chateaus & Graveyards of Undead Ideas -

Nobody likes to go near that chateau after dark.

I probably ripped apart my bedroom door but I didn't care, nor did I care; that I was running through the Chateau in my underwear.

Morrel y Chateau-Renaud, según toda probabilidad, se dirigieron cada cual a su casa:

Now all shun the village below the chateau in which the beautiful queen of the vampires helplessly perpetuates her ancestral crimes.

Back at the Chateau Windsor there was a rat-like scratching at the door of my room. Vinod, the youngest servant, came in with a soda water. He placed it next to the bag of toffees. Then he watched me read. I was used to being observed reading. Sometimes the room would fill like a railway station at rush hour and I would be expected to cure widespread boredom.

You’re being awful generous with your late husband’s possessions,” he told her. She grinned back at him. “You’ve loosened me up maybe? Besides, you’ve already slept with his wife, why not drive his truck? Kira drank his 1925 Chateau Feytit Clinet red wide today.” Did he look pale? Noah swore he could feel himself blanch. His 1925 Chateau Feytit Clinet? No. She hadn’t shared that with Kira Richards. The one person in the world besides Sabella who knew exactly how horrified he’d be to hear that Sabella had dipped into his treasure trove of wines? “He had a 1925 Feytit Clinet?” He almost wheezed. How he kept his voice calm and level he didn’t know. Hell, his training had just been shot to hell. “And you shared it with Ian Richard’s wife?” “He had lots of wine.” She turned and shot him a look over her shoulder. “Maybe one of these nights I’ll share the other one with you. Do you want me to meet you at the garage with the pickup? It won’t take me long.” Let her drive his pickup? Had she lost her damned mind? “I can leave the cycle here.” He nodded to the back drive as he stepped to the porch. “I’ll just help you lock up.” “Okay.” There was a swing to her hips that almost had his tongue hanging out of his mouth. And he almost—only almost—forgot about the wine and the truck. She drank his wine? Drove his truck? And Rory hadn’t warned him ahead of time?

No more relaxing around the Chateau or on the beach, no more balls or fancy dresses. Okay, well maybe balls; I did love to dance, but that would have to wait for later. After I kicked some serious evil vampire butt.

This is a sad town,” he said. “One can be here 10 years and not make enough friends to count. Anything with any character, any history, they will tear it down and they will put in a neon sign. Or something in plastic.

And my wife—the fucking love of my life—was the daughter of La Dame des Sorcières. The heiress of Chateau le Blanc. The goddamned princess of the witches. And everyone had known. Everyone except me. Even fucking Ansel.

THERE’S ONLY ONE problem with L.A. It exists. L.A. is what happens when a bunch of Lovecraftian elder gods and porn starlets spend a weekend locked up in the Chateau Marmont snorting lines of crank off Jim Morrison’s bones.

I’d be careful about watching me too closely.” “Why?” She smiled to match the sassy tone in her voice. The smirk that had lingered on his face dropped away, replaced by a serious expression. “You might not like what you see.

The next day, for Emma, was funereal. Everything appeared to her shrouded in a black mist that hovered uncertainly over the surface of things, and grief plunged deep into her soul, moaning softly like the winter wind in an abandonded chateau. She sank into that kind of brooding which comes when you lose something forever, that lassitude you feel after every irreversible event, that pain you suffer when a habitual movement is interrupted, when a long-sustained vibration is suddenly broken off.

Unfortunately, I am known only to painters. Schinner backs me; and he has got me some work at the Chateau de Presles, where I am going in October to do some arabesques, panels, and other decorations, for which the Comte de Serizy, no doubt, will pay well.

Can I see it yet?” Gina shook her head with wide eyes. “Not until it’s done. I hate letting anyone see my work until it’s finished. “Why?” A curious glint twinkled from his eyes. “Uh, uh. I don’t know,” she stammered. “It’s not ready to be seen. Naked, I guess. Unfinished.” “I let you hear a few chords of my music. Unfinished.” His voice dropped to a dangerously sexy tone. “Naked.

After so many years of fighting to pour herself into skintight, low-rise jeans and binding pencil skirts and slacks that always felt like a vise around her waist, she found leggings were God’s apology to women everywhere. For the first time, something that was in style actually flattered her figure perfectly by hiding her less-than-stellar mid- and rear section while accentuating her reasonably shapely legs. Every day she pulled a pair on she offered a silent thank-you to their inventor and a quiet prayer that they’d remain in fashion just a little bit longer.

Grief is like thick morning fog. You breathe it, swim in it, drown in it—or at least you want to drown, but for some damned reason, you keep living, breathing, walking. One foot in front of the other even though you can’t see the path ahead. You tiptoe, and so does everybody else . .

You did the right thing, in the cosmic order of things. There is no rejection, there is only redirection. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot. About the cosmos. I’ve been tuning in. And the cosmos has been telling me I need to get my shit together. It’s balance, man. What we had was too intense and our lives are too intense and it’s like Darwin’s third law of motion. About an action leading to a reaction. Something had to give. And you were the one who saw that and now we are just particles floating in the universe that may reconnect one day at the Chateau Marmont

I work the terraces, Miss Jones. I bring forth the champagne and the wine. I ensure that the chateau remains a perfect example of French architecture. I pay the wages of the workers. I give the orders and flourish the phantom whip, but I am only the caretaker of Satancourt and its cellar.

I bought new lingerie today I wanted to show you, but I didn’t get a chance with all that happened.” “You’ll have to return tomorrow night then…. Maybe we’ll order an entire catalog.” His smile and the glint of mischievousness in his eyes reflected lascivious thoughts. “You can model all the outfits you’d like for me.

On Valentine’s Day, John let himself into Steven Spielberg’s home, raided his refrigerator, and left a note. He partied into the night with the Pretenders, who had played at UCLA. After midnight, he telephoned Judy from Chateau Marmont. “Chrissie Hynde has passed out,” he said. “What should I do?” Call her road manager, Judy instructed coolly.

To ask why was only to demand justification. To ask why not assumed endless possibility...

I need quiet in order to discern what’s in my mind. Otherwise it’s a giant messy swirl.

Nothing would keep him from loving her. She was everything he wanted. She was his.

And the One will win the Armor of the Easter Dawn and defeat the enemy with audacity and wisdom. The body of the One is strong and ready to lead. Lammasu will pounce

Walk away. Leave her be. And let this opportunity pass? Relinquish the chance to be alone with her while she admired his art? The temptation was too much to resist.

It was time to take what he wanted. And what he wanted was her.

What treasures he would give for one night with her. To watch her strip off one of her vintage dresses, revealing her satin skin inch by inch just for him.

They’d stolen his life. And rebirthed him as a monster.

You could inspire any man to do a number of things.

You don’t have to pose,” she said. “I want to capture you as you were. Forget I’m even here.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s impossible not to notice you.

I think you should be punished for tormenting me for so long.

A cross between two species. Doomed with the thirst of the undead for human blood, yet tormented by the gargoyle drive to protect them.

Our friends warned, In running a middle course, you run the risk of being hated by both sides . .

Their art was a natural pairing – Savannah’s poems were intensely romantic and sensual, and Antoine’s sculptures were erotically charged – and it only fueled the talk speculating if they were together.

Any meal at the front was an exercise in war-time ingenuity and devotion of the lower classes for their officers. The Petite Marmite a la Thermit was from beef-broth cubes, the tinned Canadian salmon was called Saumon de Tin A & Q Sauce. The Epaule d'Agneau Wellington, N.Z. was army ration lamb, and the terrine of foie gras aux truffes was a can of foie gras that I had bought from the French commanding general. There was a salad of fresh lettuce from somewhere (no one asked in what or whose fertilizer it had been grown in since we would all soon be dead anyway) and the Macedoine de Fruits a la Quatre Bas was a can of mixed fruit. Then fresh strawberries soaked in Cognac. All the usual wines starting with an amontillado, Pommery Extra Sec, Chateau Steenworde Claret, Graham's Five Crowns Port, Bisquit Dubouche Grande Champagne Cognac, Brandy and a Waterloo Cup.

famous novel about us all, things began in exactly this way. I was strangely echoing his protagonist, summoned to the bedside of a dying friend (this was the difference) who had important things to reveal to him. Sylvie was there, too, in the centre of the picture as she always has been. Her madness was touchingly described. Of course in a way the characters were travesties of us; but the incidents were true enough and so was Verfeuille, the old chateau

That’s what you asked him?” “Yeah, why?” Gina scrunched her face with confusion. “I thought you were going to say something juicy.” “Like what?” “I don’t know, like if he would be your sex slave or something like that.” “Kelly! Why would I ask him that?” “He’s a hot guy, you’re a hot girl. We’re in a super romantic castle on the coast.” Kelly waved her hand around the room for emphasis. “Why the hell not generate some heat in between these cold stone walls?

According to Montagne legend, the mountain has forever been the abode of giants. Long ago a traveling pair of sorcerers, husband and wife, scaled the cliff into the valley, and the woman cured the giants’ chilblains with ointments and the gift of fire. In gratitude, the giants built Chateau de Montagne out of the living rock of Ancienne, and from that castle the couple founded the kingdom of Montagne, using their magic to shield the country and its people from harm.

And please, whatever you do, don’t tell us that what we do, either in love or lust, is unnatural. For one thing if what you mean by that is that animals don’t do it, then you are quite simply in factual error. There are plenty of activities or qualities we could list that are most certainly unnatural if you are so mad as to think that humans are not part of nature, or so dull-witted as to believe that ‘natural’ means ‘all natures but human nature’: mercy, for example, is un¬natural, an altruistic, non-selfish care and love for other species is unnatural; charity is unnatural, justice is unnatural, virtue is unnatural, indeed — and this surely is the point — the idea of virtue is unnatural, within such a foolish, useless meaning of the word ‘natural’. Animals, poor things, eat in order to survive: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have Abbey Crunch biscuits, Armagnac, selle d’agneau, tortilla chips, sauce béarnaise, Vimto, hot buttered crumpets, Chateau Margaux, ginger-snaps, risotto nero and peanut-butter sandwiches — these things have nothing to do with survival and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old greed. Animals, poor things, copulate in order to reproduce: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have kinky boots, wank-mags, leather thongs, peep-shows, statuettes by Degas, bedshows, Tom of Finland, escort agencies and the Journals of Anaïs Nin — these things have nothing to do with reproduction and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old lust. We humans have opened up a wide choice of literal and metaphorical haute cuisine and junk food in many areas of our lives, and as a punishment, for daring to eat the fruit of every tree in the garden, we were expelled from the Eden the animals still inhabit and we were sent away with the two great Jewish afflictions to bear as our penance: indigestion and guilt.

La verdad de todo ello, la triste y dolorosa verdad, es que los Estados Unidos ni nos adoran ni nos odian; que el Museo de la Inquisición española no significa nada, ni el Chateau Sevilla tampoco, y que para Norteamérica, España resultará siempre una mezcla muy confusa de la Inquisición, el arroz con pollo, los Reyes Católicos, el general Sandino, Sevilla, Antofagasta, Salvador de Madariaga, la Pastora Imperio, los toros, la rumba, Cristóbal Colón y Don Niceto Alcalá-Zamora.

Since she had arrived for her stay at the artists’ colony called Les Beaux Arts at the Chateau DeRoche, she’d noticed something different about the owner, Antoine Chevalier. And not just the way his eyes bore into hers, shooting shivers through her and making it difficult to breathe. His quiet nature, his preference for seclusion for days at a time, and his still, composed temperament belied an intensity within. Noir eyes that rarely blinked spoke of haunted depth and smoldering passion.

It was astonishing how loudly one laughed at tales of gruesome things, of war’s brutality-I with the rest of them. I think at the bottom of it was a sense of the ironical contrast between the normal ways of civilian life and this hark-back to the caveman code. It made all our old philosophy of life monstrously ridiculous. It played the “hat trick” with the gentility of modern manners. Men who had been brought up to Christian virtues, who had prattled their little prayers at mothers’ knees, who had grown up to a love of poetry, painting, music, the gentle arts, over-sensitized to the subtleties of half-tones, delicate scales of emotion, fastidious in their choice of words, in their sense of beauty, found themselves compelled to live and act like ape-men; and it was abominably funny. They laughed at the most frightful episodes, which revealed this contrast between civilized ethics and the old beast law. The more revolting it was the more, sometimes, they shouted with laughter, especially in reminiscence, when the tale was told in the gilded salon of a French chateau, or at a mess-table. It was, I think, the laughter of mortals at the trick which had been played on them by an ironical fate. They had been taught to believe that the whole object of life was to reach out to beauty and love, and that mankind, in its progress to perfection, had killed the beast instinct, cruelty, blood-lust, the primitive, savage law of survival by tooth and claw and club and ax. All poetry, all art, all religion had preached this gospel and this promise. Now that ideal had broken like a china vase dashed to hard ground. The contrast between That and This was devastating. It was, in an enormous world-shaking way, like a highly dignified man in a silk hat, morning coat, creased trousers, spats, and patent boots suddenly slipping on a piece of orange-peel and sitting, all of a heap, with silk hat flying, in a filthy gutter. The war-time humor of the soul roared with mirth at the sight of all that dignity and elegance despoiled. So we laughed merrily, I remember, when a military chaplain (Eton, Christ Church, and Christian service) described how an English sergeant stood round the traverse of a German trench, in a night raid, and as the Germans came his way, thinking to escape, he cleft one skull after another with a steel-studded bludgeon a weapon which he had made with loving craftsmanship on the model of Blunderbore’s club in the pictures of a fairy-tale. So we laughed at the adventures of a young barrister (a brilliant fellow in the Oxford “Union”) whose pleasure it was to creep out o’ nights into No Man’s Land and lie doggo in a shell-hole close to the enemy’s barbed wire, until presently, after an hour’s waiting or two, a German soldier would crawl out to fetch in a corpse. The English barrister lay with his rifle ready. Where there had been one corpse there were two. Each night he made a notch on his rifle three notches one night to check the number of his victims. Then he came back to breakfast in his dugout with a hearty appetite.

However, if you’re a top executive earning $250,000 a year and you win $1 million in the lottery, or your company board suddenly decides to double your salary, your surge is likely to last only a few weeks. According to the empirical findings, it’s almost certainly not going to make a big difference to the way you feel over the long run. You’ll buy a snazzier car, move into a palatial home, get used to drinking Chateau Pétrus instead of California Cabernet, but it’ll soon all seem routine and unexceptional.

The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, after long traveling and much uphill work, lead to this delightful chateau en Espagne. But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for public opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks on bigger beanstalks than hers. Like that immortal hero, she reposed awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the 'up again and take another

By the second cycle of the solstice of the warm time, the One will face the enemy. And the One will unearth the Shield of the Northern Lights and smote the enemy with daring and intelligence. The heart of the One is pious and evil will cower. Couatl will rise.

Dans le pays d’Ingary, où des choses étonnantes comme les bottes de sept lieues et les capes d’invisibilité existent bel et bien, c’est une véritable calamité que d’être l’aîné de trois enfants ; chacun sait que vous serez le premier à échouer, si d’aventure vous décidiez d’aller chercher fortune.

I never wanted my boys to believe that heroism was only about fighting. I wanted them to know bravery could be found in working to make a difference, whether on a stage or by risking themselves over a mine-laden sea. I wanted them to look for courage not just in their father's example, but also...in mine.

He lowered his head until his lips hovered centimeters above hers. This was the moment he craved. This heated moment – each of them lingering, waiting, wanting. He loved the excitement of the build-up almost as much as the conquest itself. As he’d told her many times, the greater the anticipation, the sweeter the reward.

Look at me, Regina.” She glanced up at him, appearing tiny. He stood almost a foot taller than her in his boots while she wore flats, which looked like ballet shoes. His palms heated and his heartbeat raced. Her scent that had teased him from afar now tormented him up close. God, he wanted to wrap himself in that scent, bury himself deep inside her.

I arrive, by a snow-covered path, at a kind of chateau. The room I enter by is covered all over with several inches of snow - even on the furniture and the ceiling. Shining in through the window are fierce, fluorescent advertisements in blue and red. I walk through the huge rooms secretively. I once lived here. Voices come near. I feel worried, since these are important men and I have no right to be here. But their voices change, their eyes change too, and suddenly they become mental defectives. The mansion is an asylum and indeed a nurse is stretched out on a long table in the peristyle. I wake up, retaining an exact impression of having once been mad myself in this very place, in a previous life.

Splitting humankind into biological castes will destroy the foundations of liberal ideology. Liberalism can coexist with socio-economic gaps. Indeed, since it favours liberty over equality, it takes such gaps for granted. However, liberalism still presupposes that all human beings have equal value and authority. From a liberal perspective, it is perfectly all right that one person is a billionaire living in a sumptuous chateau, whereas another is a poor peasant living in a straw hut. For according to liberalism, the peasant’s unique experiences are still just as valuable as the billionaire’s. That’s why liberal authors write long novels about the experiences of poor peasants – and why even billionaires avidly read such books.

High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mound whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest, stands the old chateau of my ancestors. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honoured line is older even than the moss-grown castle walls. These ancient turrets, stained by the storms of generations and crumbling under the slow yet mighty pressure of time, formed in the ages of feudalism one of the most dreaded and formidable fortresses in all France. From its machicolated parapets and mounted battlements Barons, Counts, and even Kings had been defied, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the footsteps of the invader.

She has a charming voice. Something of the French intonation carries over into the English, of course. But it's more than that, I think. It's an amused voice. It has a slight suggestion of humor, at no one's expense. As if she had learned to see things with a clarity that - that was often in excess of whatever need there was for seeing things clearly. And the residue had turned into something like amusement.

liberalism still presupposes that all human beings have equal value and authority. From a liberal perspective, it is perfectly all right that one person is a billionaire living in a sumptuous chateau, whereas another is a poor peasant living in a straw hut. For according to liberalism, the peasant’s unique experiences are still just as valuable as the billionaire’s. That’s why liberal authors write long novels about the experiences of poor peasants – and why even billionaires read such books avidly. If you go to see Les Misérables in Broadway or Covent Garden, you will find that good seats can cost hundreds of dollars, and the audience’s combined wealth probably runs into the billions, yet they still sympathise with Jean Valjean who served nineteen years in jail for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving nephews.

I like solitude.” “Doesn’t seem to fit with the personality of a rock guitarist.” “Let me tell you a secret.” He leaned forward. “My stage persona is not who I am at all.” Gina realized she had completely stopped painting while listening, enraptured with what he had to say. “What are you then?” He gave her a mischievous grin that reached his eyes. “Right now, I’m just a guy standing in front of a pretty girl who makes his pulse race.

My name is Claudine, I live in Montigny; I was born there in 1884; I shall probably not die there. My Manual of Departmental Geography expresses itself thus: "Montigny-en-Fresnois, a pretty little town of l, 950 inhabitants, built in tiers above the Thaize; its well-preserved Saracen tower is worthy of note .... "Tome, those descriptions are totally meaningless! To begin with, the Thaize doesn't exist. Of course I know it's supposed to run through the meadows under the level-crossing but you won't find enough water there in any season to give a sparrow a foot-bath. Montigny "built in tiers"? No, that's not how I see it; to my mind, the houses just tumble haphazard from the top of the hill to the bottom of the valley. They rise one above the other, like a staircase, leading up to a big chateau that was rebuilt under Louis XV and is already more dilapidated than the squat, ivy-sheathed Saracen tower that crumbles away from the top a trifle more every day. Montigny is a village, not a town: its streets, thank heaven, are not paved; the showers roll down them in little torrents that dry up in a couple of hours; it is a village, not even a very pretty village, but, all the same, I adore it. The charm, the delight of this countryside composed of hills and of valleys so narrow that some are ravines, lies in the woods-the deep, encroaching woods that ripple and wave away into the distance as far as you can see .... Green meadows make rifts in them here and there, so do little patches of cultivation. But these do not amount to much, for the magnificent woods devour everything. As a result, this lovely region is atrociously poor and its few scattered farms provide just the requisite number of red roofs to set off the velvety green of the woods. Dear woods! I know them all; I've scoured them so often. (...)

Dantes had entered the Chateau d’If with the round, open, smiling face of a young and happy man, with whom the early paths of life have been smooth, and who anticipates a future corresponding with his past. This was now all changed. The oval face was lengthened, his smiling mouth had assumed the firm and marked lines which betoken resolution; his eyebrows were arched beneath a brow furrowed with thought; his eyes were full of melancholy, and from their depths occasionally sparkled gloomy fires of misanthropy and hatred; his complexion, so long kept from the sun, had now that pale color which produces, when the features are encircled with black hair, the aristocratic beauty of the man of the north; the profound learning he had acquired had besides diffused over his features a refined intellectual expression; and he had also acquired, being naturally of a goodly stature, that vigor which a frame possesses which has so long concentrated all its force within itself.

Mi Rusi smo se držali zahvaljujući solidarnosti. Fond za hitne slučajeve nam je kupio taman dovoljno dodatnih namirnica da se održi plamen života i među onima od nas sa najmanje sreće, makar i kao ugarak. Nismo dozvolili da bilo ko od naših završi u Mrtvačnici dok su ostali izbacivali bolesnike iz svojih soba čim bi dobili šansu. Legali smo u krevete, jedan za drugim, škljocali zubima, dok su oporavljeni ili oni pošteđeni pazili na bolesne. Nastavili smo da se borimo, da razmišljamo. Drugu umotanom u posteljinu kome je glava gorela na jastuku prekrivena starom krpom za sudove, donosili smo vesti dana – dopise sa fronta: „džep” kod Chateau-Thierry-a, poslednji veliki pokušaj proboja Centralnih sila ka Parizu; dopise iz Rusije: teror, podvizi Čehoslovaka, „varvarizam Kineza i letonskih pretorijanaca iz garde Narodnih komesara”, negiranje glasina o ubistvu Trockog, Lenjinov oporavak, nacionalizacija teške industruje – I bolesni čovek bi se nasmejao, promislio stvari, poželeo da raspravlja, a to bi označilo pobedu života u njemu.

longer; it cannot deceive them too much." Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation. "As to you," said she, "you would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?" "Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment." "If you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?" "Truly yes, madame." "Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?" "It is true, madame." "You have seen both dolls and birds to-day," said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent; "now, go home!" XVI. Still Knitting Madame Defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees. Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. A rumour just lived in the village—had a faint and bare existence there, as its people had—that when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain; also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty feet above the fountain, they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear for ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there. Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well—thousands of acres of land—a whole province of France—all France itself—lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line. So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible

In the shadows, a glass slipper shimmered on her foot. She bent to pick it up. Strange, that everything should disappear except her glass slipper. She hugged it to her chest. Before this night, she hadn't thought magic would ever touch her life. None of this would have been possible without her fairy godmother. She gazed at the stars twinkling above her. Somehow, she knew her godmother was listening. "Thank you so much... for everything." Carefully, she tucked her glass slipper into her pocket. At least she would have it to remind her of what a beautiful night it had been. Her fairy godmother's spell had been broken. Tomorrow, everything would go back to the way it was before. Her stepmother would go back to ordering her around the chateau, her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella, to tormenting her over every one of their needs, but she'd caught a glimpse of happiness, something she hadn't felt in many years. Her eyes had opened to the possibility of leaving home, of dreaming dreams that might actually come true. But she wasn't brave enough to chase them- not yet. Not so soon, anyway, after such a magnificent night. What she didn't realize was- she might not have a choice.

She ceased to breathe. When he leaned forward and his lips fluttered against hers, her footing became unsteady and she stumbled. He placed a hand on her lower back to steady her and pulled her close. Her breasts met his hard torso and she became aware at how frantically her heart beat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the kiss as their lips met. They explored each other with a sort of fascination, mouth and tongues claiming each other in their hunger. Delicately at first, as if not sure this was real or just a fantasy, and then strong and unyielding. Demanding this moment to never end.

The count, fearing to yield to the entreaties of her he had so ardently loved, called his sufferings to the assistance of his hatred. “Revenge yourself, then, Edmond,” cried the poor mother; “but let your vengeance fall on the culprits,—on him, on me, but not on my son!” “It is written in the good book,” said Monte Cristo, “that the sins of the fathers shall fall upon their children to the third and fourth generation. Since God himself dictated those words to his prophet, why should I seek to make myself better than God?” “Edmond,” continued Mercedes, with her arms extended towards the count, “since I first knew you, I have adored your name, have respected your memory. Edmond, my friend, do not compel me to tarnish that noble and pure image reflected incessantly on the mirror of my heart. Edmond, if you knew all the prayers I have addressed to God for you while I thought you were living and since I have thought you must be dead! Yes, dead, alas! I imagined your dead body buried at the foot of some gloomy tower, or cast to the bottom of a pit by hateful jailers, and I wept! What could I do for you, Edmond, besides pray and weep? Listen; for ten years I dreamed each night the same dream. I had been told that you had endeavored to escape; that you had taken the place of another prisoner; that you had slipped into the winding sheet of a dead body; that you had been thrown alive from the top of the Chateau d’If, and that the cry you uttered as you dashed upon the rocks first revealed to your jailers that they were your murderers. Well, Edmond, I swear to you, by the head of that son for whom I entreat your pity,—Edmond, for ten years I saw every night every detail of that frightful tragedy, and for ten years I heard every night the cry which awoke me, shuddering and cold. And I, too, Edmond—oh! believe me—guilty as I was—oh, yes, I, too, have suffered much!

One interesting conclusion is that money does indeed bring happiness. But only up to a point, and beyond that point it has little significance. For people stuck at the bottom of the economic ladder, more money means greater happiness. If you are an American single mother earning $12,000 a year cleaning houses and you suddenly win $500,000 in the lottery, you will probably experience a significant and long-term surge in your subjective well-being. You’ll be able to feed and clothe your children without sinking further into debt. However, if you’re a top executive earning $250,000 a year and you win $1 million in the lottery, or your company board suddenly decides to double your salary, your surge is likely to last only a few weeks. According to the empirical findings, it’s almost certainly not going to make a big difference to the way you feel over the long run. You’ll buy a snazzier car, move into a palatial home, get used to drinking Chateau Pétrus instead of California Cabernet, but it’ll soon all seem routine and unexceptional.

Still, I’m going to have lots of new French traditions to get acquainted with, including the treize desserts – yes, literally thirteen puddings, and if you don’t have a taste of all of them it’s bad luck supposedly so of course I’ll have to do my bit to ensure good luck for the new year.

It also needs to be remembered that symbolism can affect an aesthetic response in a negative way. To one person the fortress-like chateau towering above the town of Saumur is ‘picturesque’; to another it is a symbol of the tyranny visited on the populace by the military aristocracy and, as such, undermines the aesthetic outcome.

Remember, Adrienne, that in whatever country I may find myself, I shall always love you. You know my heart, or at least I hope you believe me when I say it is yours for life.

I have always thought memory to be a fool's intellect. Better to discuss new ideas than recite old ones.

She said I should walk out of the chateau and never look back. That she’d seen victims replay events ad nauseum for their entire lives. Eventually it becomes unclear in their minds who was the perpetrator and who was the victim. She said if I did that, I would start to blame myself. Think of a thousand little missteps, how things could have been different. Leave it in the past. Walk forward to your future.

Chateau Marmont has most perfectly mirrored its setting, and its setting has long been one of the shining mirrors of the culture of the entire world.

sometimes we’re angry with the ones we love because we know they’ll still love us afterwards.

These are the kindnesses best friends pay each other, to trip over each other’s failings and then straighten out the rug.

The home I grew up in was something you might expect to find in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Domed ceilings with ornate moldings, inlaid marble floors, and more powder rooms than people. It was a small palace. Mom loved French architecture and décor and would take trips overseas to find unique antiques. There were two exterior swimming pools, a tennis court, a pavilion, plus a rose garden, Italian stepped stone fountains, and grounds galore. A branch of the Trinity River flowed near stone-covered walking paths, swaths of carefully tended grass in green spaces waving nearby.

graphene

she gave a little pull and then in a swoosh of water and blood the baby slithered out onto the bed and its cry filled the room. ‘It’s here!’ Royston, a piece of wood in his hand, stood staring in awe. He dropped the wood and fell to the floor beside the bed, kissing Daisy’s face in rapture. ‘What is it?’ Daisy asked tiredly. ‘A girl,’ Millie said over the baby’s wailing. She wiped the baby’s tiny face, cleaning away the gunky birth mess.

Éramos un chasseur, un novato, un príncipe Lyon y una bruja de sangre entrando a ciegas al Chateau le Blanc. Lou no era la única que moriría si las cosas salían mal esa noche.

Some stories want to be told. They lay in wait, yearning for the light of a new day. Chateau Laux is one of those stories. It has waited for over two hundred years.

No one is born a hero; it’s something you have to find inside yourself. Once upon a time, even Lafayette was just a boy like you.

Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

Oh, I remember, my dear. Your unwavering faith renewed my own, reminding me that rebellion against tyranny is obedience to God.

and a son who seems more interested in sailing.” “In that case he might need the money. I once heard that sport described as standing in your clothes under an ice-cold shower while ripping up hundred-dollar bills.

Does language betray thought? Is truth to be preferred over peace?

really. And you don’t get to choose your hand, but you do get to choose your play.

Each player must accept the cards life deals. But once they are in hand, he alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.

The Forbidden Place by Stewart Stafford Bypass the chateau on the hill, For, as dusk falls, horrors creep, Griffins and gargoyles fly and flay, And grotesque statues come alive. Badinage becomes shrieks and roars, Shrill warnings for the straying and foolish, Cats as big as panthers stalk and slay, As their homicidal master flogs their fur. Wandering werewolves fetch human bones, A savage rampage beneath a Hunter's Moon, As the dawn routine reasserts its dominance, Denizens of night bathe in darkness's arms. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.

Yves holds me close. 'I'll take you anywhere you want to go.' And those are the words I've been waiting to hear all my life . . .

It could be any date night. Perhaps Tom takes her to Ray's in Ballard. They share a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Dry Riesling, even though Tom is more of a negroni man. The wine goes well with her market halibut and the view of the bay. He has the filet mignon, and judging by the bite he offers her, it's exquisite. Or perhaps it's that Mexican place somewhere in Ravenna, operated out of an old house. The wall paint is chipping, but the air is sweet with the aroma of freshly cut tomatillos. They have margaritas and share chicken mole, with extra chips and fresh guacamole on the side. No matter where they go, it has been a long day, a bad day for Elle. She probably dropped a pie, or an angry customer yelled at Bonnie, or old milk ruined a batch of cake batter. She probably almost said no to Tom's spontaneous idea for a dinner date. As usual, though, she's glad she didn't. The crème brûlée or fried ice cream is reason enough-- let alone the way he makes the negativity melts away.

I am enough a heretic that even heaven will not console me for leaving Gilbert.

my Lord Jesus Christ had transformed the hearts of humanity with his sacrifice.

drink aren’t for enjoyment in my world. People might pity that, but I find it freeing. I eat and drink for the fuel. Because in restricting myself, I feel light in my body, light with my father.

Hugs are relegated to beginnings and endings. The reunion and the parting. I once overheard Darcy tell Jade that hugging me was as satisfying as hugging tissue paper. I wasn’t offended. It is a true statement. I am a slippery person. It is hard to pin me down, get up underneath all my layers.

see

The truth echoed in her head. On the same day she met him, he had tried to kill her. Her mate.

Your life is very different from mine. For one, you can transform into a wolf.” “I can,” she agreed. “And you live with a vampire and gargoyle. That’s not the typical human way, is it?

She took a deep breath and peered up from under her long, dark lashes. He sucked air in. Damn, that look could undo any man – or wolf, or alien for that matter. “Something to eat?” “No, Cameron.” She smiled with a hint of decadence. “There’s only one thing I need.” “What’s that?” She closed the space between them and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, pulling him closer. “You.

Cameron’s mind registered what the rest of him already knew. He was insane about this woman, and he’d do anything to be with her, anything to protect her. She’d become his world. How it had happened, he didn’t know, but it had.

Better undead than dead.

He knew the communication should send him scurrying to work—checking the defenses of the chateau, warning the servants, preparing for the army—but all of Severin’s thoughts and concerns focused on one thing: Elle. He had to get her out. “Burke,

..quite limitless: climbing a Swiss Alp, tasting wine at a French chateau, renting a surfboard in Portugal, having tea & scones in England, chilling out in Sweden's Ice Hotel or sipping a local Karlovacko beer while soaking your toes in the Adriatic off the Croatian coast.

Now do you see why I wanted to be sure you loved me before I told you? Although you still haven’t said you do…” “And you still haven’t asked me to marry you.” “Right, let’s take care of that. This way, please,” Friedrich said, taking her hand and leading her to the front of the chateau. Friedrich’s

I understand. I know about the women gathering at Lourdes, the visits worldwide. You are all staying at the chateau. There are no accidents,” Lilli said.

the cause

With a quick thank-you, I focused my attention on the pastry he brought. The flavors melted in my mouth- warm chocolate and melted butter and the flaky sweet crust. This was what I loved about France. A keen appreciation for the simplicity and sweetness of life. The French seemed to savor their minutes along with their food.

Are you a fan of escargot?" he asked. "Not particularly." "Good." His smile eased onto his lips again. "I get concerned when people eat snails." I glanced down the menu. "What about chicken?" "I'm not as concerned." "Then I'm going to order the poulet a la fermiere." "What is that?" I glanced back down at the menu. "It's chicken with cream sauce. A farmwife's bounty, it says, with vegetables and fresh herbs.

He cleared our bowls and replaced my soup with a plate of creamy chicken with baby potatoes, carrots, and leeks. In front of Riley, he set fillets of red snapper, the fish ornamented with sprigs of rosemary and wedges of lemon.

Prince Severin happened to be pacing in the little hall when the stained-glass skylight shattered, and a young woman fell through the ceiling with the broken glass. She dropped like a twisting cat and landed with an ominous crack. The handful of chateau servants that had been hovering around him slapped their hands to their masked faces, their mouths dropping open in screams that couldn’t tear loose from their throats. Severin flexed his paw-like hands, drawing his claws as the servants scurried towards the girl. A footman and one of the grooms reached her first. She was passably pretty, but plain, wearing the muted colors of a villager. Her breathing was ragged, and her face tight with pain. The groom tried to roll her onto her side. “No!” she screamed. The footman and

With my wet hair wrapped in a towel, I retrieved the tray of food, placed it on the coffee table, and breathed in the aromas of dark espresso and apple butter. Piled onto the tray was a basket of warm croissants, prosciutto sliced so thin it looked like pink tissue paper, slices of honeydew melon, and little white tubs with butter and jam and soft cheese. As I cut open a croissant, its breath warmed my face, and I slathered it with the butter and then the strawberry jam. While in France, I would not count a single calorie. It was Austin himself who had told me to enjoy the food. Immerse myself in the past.

we had the whole history of the Corps behind us, and what a Marine has he holds; he kills or gets killed; he does not surrender; he does not retreat.

With the help of God and a few Marines” Is a phrase that has been attributed to nearly every naval hero from John Paul Jones to Admiral Dewey, and it fits.

One matter has been settled by this war which my association with the Navy has led me to be particularly interested in. The U-boat campaign was a failure. It has been demonstrated that the submarine is not the most formidable naval weapon after all. The speed, efficiency, and resourcefulness of the Allied torpedo boats and destroyers have removed that question from the realm of debate.

Old World Bourdeaux, the noblest and most lauded of the many noble and lauded French wines. Like Champagne or Burgundy, Bourdeaux is both a region and a regulated wine style, but it is the most collected and coveted style. Strict quality rules rank just five Bourdeaux vineyards out of hundreds as "first growth," or premiers cru, and all five have become household names among wine lovers, synonymous with luxury and quality: Chateau Lafite-Rothschild; Chateau Margaux; Chateau Latour; Chateau Haut-Brion; and Chateau Mouton Rothschild. These have long been considered among the greatest wines ever made

To be honest, I’d much rather be hearing about him and his buddies getting blitzed on fine wine in an abandoned chateau and trying to teach a cow to ski.

There is a special training which the Marine recruits must undergo that explains much regarding the quality and effectiveness of the finished product.

There is among the Marines, to a noteworthy degree, readiness and mobility, there is intensive training, and there is discipline. There is also the tradition and history of the Corps of which every Marine is proud. It means something to us, that history. We have a reputation to live up to, and we do not mean to lower our record or bring disgrace to our insignia

Unquestionably, the intelligent, educated man makes, in the long run, the best soldier. There is no place for the mere brute in modern warfare. It is a contest of brains as well as of brawn, and the best brains win.

When the history of the Great War is written, it will be no easy task to assign to each of the titanic battles its proper place in the scale of importance, but if justice is done, the Battle of Belleau Wood will take its place beside that of Thermopylae and the other crucial battles of world history. Here a mere handful of determined, devoted men, as numbers are reckoned to-day, turned the awful tide, and they were soldiers and Marines of the United States of America.

The Marine is a trained athlete, a picked man, a he creature with muscles and a jaw, whose motto is “kill or be killed,” and who believes with all his soul that no man on earth can lick him. And it comes pretty near to being so. He is own brother to the British Marine, of whom Kipling wrote: “An’ after I met ‘im all over the world, a-doin’ all kinds of things, Like landin’ ‘isself with a Gatlin’ gun to talk to them ‘eathen kings; ‘E sleeps in an ‘ammick instead of a cot, an’ ‘e drills with the deck on a slew, An’ ‘e sweats like a Jolly — ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly — soldier an’ sailor too! For there isn’t a job on the top o’ the earth the beggar don’t know, nor do — You can leave ‘im at night on a bald man’s ‘ead, to paddle ‘is own canoe — ‘E’s a sort of a bloomin’ cosmopolouse — soldier an’ sailor too.

The United States Marine, on the other hand, is prepared, so far as it is humanly possible to prepare a man, for anything that may happen. He is ready for the unforeseen emergency.

The discipline of the Marines, however, is thorough, and we make no apology for it. Respect for officers and absolute, unquestioning obedience to orders is taught from the beginning, but we proceed on the principle that we are dealing with intelligent men. We believe in leaving something to their own initiative and resourcefulness, and the theory has panned out on a hundred occasions

the thing that made him cross was the irregularity of the meals, especially when an order came to move just as they were sitting down to the first warm meal in several days. “When you missed chow, then you missed something,” said he, looking mournful at the recollection.

They say the German soldiers fight blindly, with only such knowledge of their objectives as is absolutely necessary to send them forward. We believe in giving our men thorough orientation and a realization of just what is expected of them and what they are up against. I showed the battalion commanders my map, indicating the points to be held, and through them passed on to the men all the information available. I hold that men like ours fight none the worse for knowing just what they are fighting for.

All are wines Wagner himself enjoys. At least one is under $10 and two are over $50. “Over the past eighteen years, every time,” he told me, “the least expensive wine averages the highest ranking, and the most expensive two finish at the bottom.” In 2011, a Gallo cabernet scored the highest average rating, and a Chateau Gruaud Larose (which retails from between $60 and $70) took the bottom

2014 Andy’s Message   Hello, Young, here I am again. I remember the winter of 1967 at Chateau Rouge. I searched the entire castle to find you that morning. Time and again, you have the knack for disappearing on me, you scalawag.☺               You have a flair for vanishing without informing anyone. I’d thought you were in the drawing room with the baron’s guest when I was privately consulting with the Duchess.               The one thing I regret not doing: we never got around to discussing my own conversation with the Medium. Maybe this is the appropriate time for me to tell you — and for you to tell me what happened that morning when you disappeared on me. Downhearted from my meeting, I went looking for you. She had envisioned a forthcoming discord in my life, yet could not be specific about its nature. Although you’d given me your amiable assurance, I could detect reservations in your voice whenever I spoke of Albert. When you disappeared, my first thought was of your jealousy of Albert. When I finally found someone – a stable boy – who could tell me that you had gone riding alone, I became terribly worried for your safety and went searching for you. Concerned that I had somehow driven you away, I rode the estate, but you were nowhere to be found. It had crossed my mind to warrant a search party to find you when you strolled through the entrance, invigorated. I was relieved to see you and never got a chance to ask where you had gone. Young, you know I loved you then, and I love you now. In my mind, you are still the mischievous little rascal I came to love and cherish…

When we wake, it’s officially Christmas Eve.” “Good. Because I have something special to give you.” She turned over her shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. “Thought you just did.” He chuckled, a deep and throaty sound. “Something else.

She shivered as a blustery wind rushed past. She’d made a mistake in returning to the city. She should’ve stayed in the castle with Antoine. She’d be warm in his arms right now, instead of being held prisoner.

Oh, is that all you’re looking forward to - a break from your studies?” He peered down at her with a knowing smirk.

... our landlord and landlady. Their house, just outside the town, was quite a little chateau, and the evil that dwelt within its highly polished salons, that reclined on its lace-covered beds, and was coiled deep in the stuffing of its exquisitely upholstered chairs and sofas, was enough to make the blood turn icy in the veins.

It’s Chateau Haut-Bailly 2009. Retails for about two hundred

When I was a young man, King Francois of France greatly admired my bare buttocks. I have that information only by hearsay, of course, because my buttocks were in the king's chateau of Chambord while I was here in Italy.

In 1956 a series of books, articles, pamphlets, and other documents relating to Bérenger Saunière and the enigma of Rennes-le-Chateau began to appear in France.

archeologist Patrick McGovern found evidence of an eight-thousand-year-old brew of rice, fruit, and honey at the Jiahu site in Henan Province. (He worked with Dogfish Head brewery to re-create the brew, which they named Chateau Jiahu.) It

Designed in a 'Pueblo Deco' style, which blends Mission with Art Deco influences, the DCA tower is a composite modeled after real Hollywood landmarks built in the 1920's; possible influences include the Hollywood Tower at 6200 Franklin Avenue, The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel at 7000 Hollywood Boulevard and the Chateau Marmont at 8221 Sunset Boulevard.

This I've learned in life: If you don't believe in Santa Claus, he can't bring you any presents.

You wanted to see me?” she asked after shutting the door. She remained where she was, not daring to move any closer. He turned his gaze from the fire crackling over the logs to face her. Those dark eyes scanned her from head to foot and when they reached her once again, they gleamed with unmistakable hunger. “Take off your clothes,” he said calmly.

I think you should be punished for tormenting me for so long.” --- “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Art is full of agony and beauty. The pen itself a sword of pleasure and pain, isn’t it, my poet?” --- “I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice sizzled with hunger. How could I respond? I’ve been thinking about you non-stop like a sex-crazed harlot since I left? “I’m here.” --- “Remind me who you are,” he said in a gentler tone, almost a please. “How we know each other.” “Okay,” she began. “I’m Savannah Evans, a grad student and teaching assistant who teaches English at a college in Cambridge. I applied to the colony to work on my poetry and arrived six weeks ago. “We’ve spoken many times. You’ve praised my work, which I find a great honor as I’m a fan of your art.” --- “A cross between two species. Doomed with the thirst of the undead for human blood, yet tormented by the gargoyle drive to protect them.” --- She ceased to breathe. When he leaned forward and his lips fluttered against hers, her footing became unsteady and she stumbled. He placed a hand on her lower back to steady her and pulled her close. Her breasts met his hard torso and she became aware at how frantically her heart beat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the kiss as their lips met. They explored each other with a sort of fascination, mouth and tongues claiming each other in their hunger. Delicately at first, as if not sure this was real or just a fantasy, and then strong and unyielding. Demanding this moment to never end. --- “I bought new lingerie today I wanted to show you, but I didn’t get a chance with all that happened.” “You’ll have to return tomorrow night then…. Maybe we’ll order an entire catalog.” His smile and the glint of mischievousness in his eyes reflected lascivious thoughts. “You can model all the outfits you’d like for me.” ---

I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice sizzled with hunger. How could I respond? I’ve been thinking about you non-stop like a sex-crazed harlot since I left? “I’m here.

Remind me who you are,” he said in a gentler tone, almost a please. “How we know each other.” “Okay,” she began. “I’m Savannah Evans, a grad student and teaching assistant who teaches English at a college in Cambridge. I applied to the colony to work on my poetry and arrived six weeks ago. “We’ve spoken many times. You’ve praised my work, which I find a great honor as I’m a fan of your art.

Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Art is full of agony and beauty. The pen itself a sword of pleasure and pain, isn’t it, my poet?

It’s a new era at the Chateau.” Antoine said with a wry smile. “Never thought I’d have a wolf shifter here as a guest.” “Never thought we’d have a gargoyle rock star.” Cameron nodded at Dante.

Quelque chose vous dérangez, Your Grace?” Gabriel asked, watching her look nervously about the room. He didn’t remember her being a nervous woman. She had always been calm and serene. And beautiful, so incredibly beautiful. No doubt his presence here had unnerved her. Her attention snapped back to him, and he felt his heart thud slowly in his chest, the way it had all of those years ago whenever she looked at him. “I am not used to dancing, that is all,” she said. Her voice sounded more British than he remembered, but then she’d always spoken in French when he’d known her before. He had not even known English then. He’d been a young man, and she the mistress of a large chateau, the beautiful wife to a powerful and wealthy duke. She was a duchess, but more than that she was a kind woman. It was her kindness that slayed him. She’d cared enough about a nobody like him to tutor him in reading. He’d been poor and illiterate, but she told him he had a future. And then she’d given him one with her patient instruction. How many hours had he watched her mouth form words, her delicate fingers trace writing on the page, the firelight limn her hair until it glowed blue-black? The arch of her brow, the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her chin—he knew her face as well as his own. How could he have not fallen in love with her? “Not used to dancing? That is a tragedy. You should dance often, and with a man who worships the ground where you tread.” Her lovely blue eyes widened. “If I were to wait for a man like that, sir, I would never dance.” The music began and they came together, touching palms. “You are dancing with one such man now, madam,” he said and then stepped back. She

We investigate, we prepare, we execute. We find them, we take them down, and then we piss on their ancestors’ graves.” 25 The Chateau Marmont was a bohemian old pile on Sunset, near the foot of Laurel Canyon.

Having acknowledged that a man must master his circumstances or otherwise be mastered by them, the Count thought it worth considering how one was most likely to achieve this aim when one had been sentenced to a life of confinement. For Edmond Dantes in the Chateau d'If, it was thoughts of revenge that kept him clear minded. Unjustly imprisoned, he sustained himself by plotting the systematic undoing of his personal agents of villainy. For Cervantes, enslaved by pirates in Algiers, it was the promise of pages as yet unwritten that spurred him on. While for Napoleon on Elba, strolling among chickens, fending off flies, and sidestepping puddles of mud, it was visions of a triumphal return to Paris that galvanized his will to persevere. But the Count hadn't the temperament for revenge; he hadn't the imagination for epics; and he certainly hadn't the fanciful ego to dream of empires restored. No. His model for mastering his circumstances would be a different sort of captive altogether: an Anglican washed ashore. Like Robinson Crusoe stranded on the Isle of Despair, the Count would maintain his resolve by committing to the business of PRACTICALITIES. Having dispensed with dreams of quick discovery, the world's Crusoes seek shelter and a source of fresh water; they teacher themselves to make fire from flint; they study their island's topography, its climate, its flora and fauna, all the while keeping their eyes trained for sails on the horizon and footprints in the sand.

Unlikely. That wine is the reason, the only reason, I took the case. In the nineteenth century, Chateau Haut-Braquilanges produced the finest wines in France. Their signature claret was the product of a single vineyard, of about two acres, planted in Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, and Merlot. It was situated on a hill near Fronsac. Unfortunately, that hill was violently contested in World War I, drenched with mustard gas and poisoned forever, and the chateau leveled. There are at most two dozen bottles left of the vintages from that chateau known to exist. But none from the greatest vintage of all—1904. It was believed extinct. Extraordinary that this fellow has a case of it. You saw how reluctant he was to part with even the one bottle.

the world always snuffs out fire, and every generation must bring light from darkness again.

To ask why not assumed endless possibility .

never be neutral between right and wrong. Never oppress anybody, or allow anybody to be oppressed. Always stand for what you believe is right, and never flinch in the face of any odds.

Of course witches have sons.” My smile vanished. “We’ve never encountered a male witch.” “That’s because there are none. Magic passes only to females. The males are sent away after they’re born.” “Why?” She shrugged. “Because they don’t have magic. My friend said males are only allowed at the Chateau as consorts, and even then they aren’t allowed to stay.

Faith ought never to form the bars of a prison.

How's that for self-sufficiency?" said Steinmetz. "Chateau Lunar Chardonnay, 1989. Not exactly a premier vintage. Only had enough grapes to make four bottles. Should have allowed the vines in the greenhouses to mature another year, but we got impatient." "I see you even made your own bottle," observed Hudson. "Yes, our pilot chemical plant is in full operation now. We've increased our output to where we can process almost two tons of lunar-soil materials into two hundred pounds of a bastard metal or five hundred pounds of glass in fifteen days.

Mijn leven hangt samen van onwaarschijnlijkheden. Ik was amper 20 toen ik met m’n klein autootje – een Honda – naar Parijs reed. Bij het binnenrijden van de lichtstad zag ik een mooie witte Rolls-Royce in panne staan. Die wagen bleek van weduwe Van Cleef (red. eigenares van het juwelenimperium Van Cleef § Arpels) te zijn. Ik stopte en kreeg de wagen aan de praat. ‘Mag ik als beloning er eens mee rijden?’ vroeg ik aan haar chauffeur. Zo legde ik contact met één van de rijkste mensen van Frankrijk. We praatten over literatuur en kunst en het klikte. Ze nodigde me bij haar thuis uit en ik ben er 14 dagen gebleven. We gingen samen op stap, ze kocht kleren voor me en ging met me in de chicste Parijse restaurants eten. Daar leerde ze me de beginselen van de etiquette. Ik was een gestampte boer, ik had nog nooit een wijnkaart gezien, maar dronk wel als een echte seigneur Chateau Petrus. Natuurlijk heeft alles z’n prijs. Op een avond wou ze met mij naar bed. Dat was niet simpel: ik was 20, zij 70. Maar toen ik thuiskwam stond er wel een Ferrari 250 LM voor m’n kot. En toen is het begonnen. Ik ging met die auto naar school en zette me op de parking van de proffen. Ineens kon ik elk wijf krijgen.

Nothing wrong with having options

Still … it’s a freaking secret passage!

My goal is to make sure you never regret choosing me.

In the end, given the opportunity, every man will step upon every other man in a mad scramble to the top. Climb too high too quickly, and the same people who hoisted you up will tear you down. Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

He felt flayed open on that table and so when her bare skin touched his, it seemed they melded for a moment into one single person—or, if not one person, one purpose like rain falling on the ocean because all that mattered was water.

where Endre, a biomedical researcher, worked at finding applications for hyaluronic acid, a collagen-like lubricant that occurs naturally in the eyes of cows and the combs of roosters and was proving useful in combating such ailments in humans as burns, arthritis, and cataracts.

Hope, after all, is almost as dangerous as trust.

These jewels scarcely compensate you for bringing my daughter safely into this world. Nor for all that you are to me, my dear heart. A wife and partner, precious and rare.

Yes, well, madness is part of my charm

my person is more persuasive than my pen