Coquette Quotes

I swear, you would play the coquette with a well-upholstered sofa." "First, I would not. And second, how handsome is this sofa?

Scars are but evidence of life," Coquette said. "Evidence of choices to be learned from...evidence of wounds...wounds inflicted of mistakes...wounds we choose to allow the healing of. We likewise choose to see them, that we may not make the same mistakes again.

Trapped don't undress my love you might find a mannequin: don't undress the mannequin you might find my love. she's long ago forgotten me. she's trying on a new hat and looks more the coquette than ever. she is a child and a mannequin and death. I can't hate that. she didn't do anything unusual. I only wanted her to.

Which is it, Madame Pommery, are you the daring coquette or a pillar of society?

I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.

Was Mrs. Wilcox one of the unsatisfactory people- there are many of them- who dangle intimacy and then withdraw it? They evoke our interests and affections, and keep the life of the spirit dawdling around them. Then they withdraw. When physical passion is involved, there is a definite name for such behaviour- flirting- and if carried far enough, it is punishable by law. But no law- not public opinion, even- punishes those who coquette with friendship, though the dull ache that they inflict, the sense of misdirected effort and exhaustion, may be as intolerable. Was she one of these?

I profess not to know how women’s hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero.

She was a coquette; he was sure she had a spirit of her own; but in her bright, sweet, superficial little visage there was no mockery, no irony. Before long it became obvious that she was much disposed towards conversation.

The bearded creatures are quite as eager for praise, quite as finikin over their toilets, quite as proud of their personal advantages, quite as conscious of their powers of fascination, as any coquette in the world.

Heaven help us! The girls have only to turn the tables,and say of one of their own sex,'She is as vain as a man,' and they will have perfect reason. The bearded creatures are quite as eager for praise, quite as finikin over their toilets, quite as proud of their personal advantages, quite as conscious of their powers of fascinations, as any coquette in the world.

The characteristic of coquettes is affectation governed by whim.

To understand the peculiar power of the Coquette, you must first understand a critical property of love and desire: the more obviously you pursue a person, the more likely you are to chase them away.

I've got nothing to prove and I piss off all the right people.

The mind, after being confined at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad in quest of new treasures; and the body may as well accompany it,

Coquetry depends on developing a pattern to keep the other person off balance. The strategy is extremely effective. Experiencing a pleasure once, we yearn to repeat it; so the Coquette gives us pleasure, then withdraws it.

My father was a violent sod, and my mother was a coquette who, as they say, 'had a tile loose.' As for my brother and I, we were a pair of sullen tots who went around trying to pick fights with our cousins. The earl couldn't stand either of us. He caught me by the ear on one occasion, and told me I was a bad, wicked lad, and someday he would see to it that I was placed as a cabin boy on a trading vessel bound for China, which would undoubtedly be captured by pirates." "What did you say?" "I told him I hoped he would do it as soon as possible, because pirates would do a much better job of raising me than my parents.

To understand the peculiar power of the Coquette, you must first understand a critical property of love and desire: the more obviously you pursue a person, the more likely you are to chase them away. Too much attention can be interesting for a while, but it soon grows cloying and finally becomes claustrophobic and frightening. It signals weakness and neediness, an unseductive combination.

Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herself out a little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about a woman--something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. The more of a dead set she makes at you the better.

One day I realized, I am what I'm looking for. The love I've been searching the world for. When I devoutly love myself it's fulfilling, and it attracts others. They fight to love me twice as much.

If he had but a little more brains, she thought to herself, I might make something of him; but she never let him perceive the opinion she had of him; listened with indefatigable complacency to his stories of the stable and the mess; laughed at all his jokes...When he came home, she was alert and happy; when he went out she pressed him to go; when he stayed at home, she played and sang for him, made him good drinks, superintended his dinner, warmed his slippers, and steeped his soul in comfort. The best of women {I have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites. We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential: how often those frank smile which they wear so easily are traps to cajole or elude or disarm--I don't mean in your mere coquettes, but your domestic models and paragons of female virute.

Both wet to the bone, exhausted, and one unconscious, Kedean thought, all in all, they were faring rather well for two unarmed men who'd only just an hour ago escaped a fleet of fairy pirates into frigid water in unknown territory.

He is a gay man, my dear, to say no more; and such are the companions we wish when we join a party avowedly formed for pleasure.

I’m madly in love with myself. That’s why you can’t get enough of me.

The best of women (I have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites. We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential: how often those frank smiles, which they wear so easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm-I don't mean in your mere coquettes, but your domestic models, and paragons of female virtue. Who has not seem a woman hide the dulness of a stupid husband or coax the fury of a savage one? We accept this amiable slavishness, and praise a woman for it; we call this pretty treachery truth. A good housewife is of necessity a humbug.

J’écris de chez les moches, pour les moches, les vieilles, les camionneuses, les frigides, les mal baisées, les imbaisables, les hystériques, les tarées, toutes les exclues du grand marché à la bonne meuf. Et je commence par là pour que les choses soient claires : je ne m’excuse de rien, je ne viens pas me plaindre. Je n’échangerais ma place contre aucune autre parce qu’être Virginie Despentes me semble être une affaire plus intéressante à mener que n’importe quelle autre affaire. Je trouve ça formidable qu’il y ait aussi des femmes qui aiment séduire, qui sachent séduire, d’autres se faire épouser, des qui sentent le sexe et d’autres le gâteau du goûter des enfants qui sortent de l’école. Formidable qu’il y en ait de très douces, d’autres épanouies dans leur féminité, qu’il y en ait de jeunes, très belles, d’autres coquettes et rayonnantes. Franchement, je suis bien contente pour toutes celles à qui les choses telles qu’elles sont conviennent. C’est dit sans la moindre ironie. Il se trouve simplement que je ne fais pas partie de celles-là. Bien sûr que je n’écrirais pas ce que j’écris si j’étais belle, belle à changer l’attitude de tous les hommes que je croise. C’est en tant que prolotte de la féminité que je parle, que j’ai parlé hier et que je recommence aujourd’hui (p. 9-10).

There are nine seducer types in the world. Each type has a particular character trait that comes from deep within and creates a seductive pull. Sirens have an abundance of sexual energy and know how to use it. Rakes insatiably adore the opposite sex, and their desire is infectious. Ideal Lovers have an aesthetic sensibility that they apply to romance. Dandies like to play with their image, creating a striking and androgynous allure. Naturals are spontaneous and open. Coquettes are self-sufficient, with a fascinating cool at their core. Charmers want and know how to please—they are social creatures. Charismatics have an unusual confidence in themselves. Stars are ethereal and envelop themselves in mystery.

I congratulate you and Mr. Vernon on being about to receive into your family the most accomplished coquette in England.

a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments;

The great are deceived if they imagine they have appropriated ambition and vanity to themselves. These notable qualities flourish as notably in a country church and churchyard as in the drawing room or in the closet. Schemes have indeed been laid in the vestry, which would hardly disgrace the conclave. Here is a ministry, and here is an opposition. Here are plots and circumventions, parties and factions equal to those which are to be found in courts. Nor are the women here less practiced in the highest feminine arts than their fair superiors in quality and fortune. Here are prudes and coquettes; here are dressing and ogling, falsehood, envy, malice, scandal -- in short everything which is common to the most splendid assembly or politest circle.

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

The source of love, as I learned later, is a curiosity which, combined with the inclination which nature is obliged to give us in order to preserve itself. […] Hence women make no mistake in taking such pains over their person and their clothing, for it is only by these that they can arouse a curiosity to read them in those whom nature at their birth declared worthy of something better than blindness. […] As time goes on a man who has loved many women, all of them beautiful, reaches the point of feeling curious about ugly women if they are new to him. He sees a painted woman. The paint is obvious to him, but it does not put him off. His passion, which has become a vice, is ready with the fraudulent title page. ‘It is quite possible,’ he tells himself, ‘that the book is not as bad as all that; indeed, it may have no need of this absurd artifice.’ He decides to scan it, he tries to turn over the pages—but no! the living book objects; it insists on being read properly, and the ‘egnomaniac’ becomes a victim of coquetry, the monstrous persecutor of all men who ply the trade of love. You, Sir, who are a man of intelligence and have read these least twenty lines, which Apollo drew from my pen, permit me to tell you that if they fail to disillusion you, you are lost—that is, you will be the victim of the fair sex to the last moment of your life. If that prospect pleases you, I congratulate you

Don't let anybody fuck you - spiritually, mentally, emotionally or psychically. Whether it is religion, ideology, shame or a penis, don't let anyone put something inside you without thinking about it first and then making up your own mind.

What are your wishes? You are fire, dressed in fire. Which fire can I withstand? I want to understand the heart beating inside you. But you have covered it over with Indian embroideries, tapestries of gold and of silver, my coquette, my flirt.

GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him— Tell him the page I did n’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun out. Tell him just how the fingers hurried, 5 Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow; And then you wished you had eyes in your pages, So you could see what moved them so. “Tell him it was n’t a practised writer, You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled; 10 You could hear the bodice tug, behind you, As if it held but the might of a child; You almost pitied it, you, it worked so. Tell him—No, you may quibble there, For it would split his heart to know it, 15 And then you and I were silenter. “Tell him night finished before we finished, And the old clock kept neighing ‘day!’ And you got sleepy and begged to be ended— What could it hinder so, to say? 20 Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious, But if he ask where you are hid Until to-morrow,—happy letter! Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!

What? A character almost as awful as Phaedre, and quite as desolate as Antigone, represented by a graceful coquette in point lace and pearls, who will take poison as sweetly as if it were a cup of coffee, and will die with elaborate care not to tumble her train? Preposterous!

I consider my time too valuable to be spent in cultivating acquaintance with a person from whom neither pleasure nor improvement are to be expected.

Ik heb maar altijd genomen wat ik vond, omdat ik niet wist, wat ik zocht.

That he is gratified by, encourages, even stimulates the attention of fools and coquettes, I cannot deny; and when I view him indulging a weakness so contemptible, so dangerous, I am almost ready to believe he may be any thing that is vicious; and that, having taken vanity and flattery for his guides, he may attain to the horrid perfection of a successful debauchee.

Het grote verderf van het "mindere" is, dat het het "betere" aan zichzelf doet twijfelen -, omdat het kenmerk van het "mindere" het redeloze, de zelfverzekerdheid is, en het kenmerk van het "betere", het redelijke, juist "de twijfel".

Can you, who have always been used to serenity and order in a family, to rational, refined, and improving conversation, relinquish them, and launch into the whirlpool of frivolity, where the correct taste and the delicate sensibility which you possess must constantly be wounded

Was Mrs. Wilcox one of the unsatisfactory people — there are many of them — who dangle intimacy and then withdraw it? They evoke our interests and affections, and keep the life of the spirit dawdling round them. Then they withdraw. When physical passion is involved, there is a definite name for such behaviour — flirting — and if carried far enough it is punishable by law. But no law — not public opinion even — punishes those who coquette with friendship, though the dull ache that they inflict, the sense of misdirected effort and exhaustion, may be as intolerable. Was she one of these?

All around me doors into other worlds began appearing but I knew the one I wanted, the one into which everything forgotten flows. The edges of that door were frayed and worn by the passage of old ideas leaving this world. The door was perfectly visible now. It was in a gap between the Antoine Rivoire and the Coquette des Blanches. I stepped through. I was standing in a vast chamber with stone floor and walls of marble. I was surrounded by eight massive statues, each one different, each depicting a minotaur. A great marble staircase rose up to a great height and descended to an equally disorientating depth. A strange thundering – as of a sea – filled my ears …

And I would have contented, or, at least, I would clearly have enlightened him, and taught him well never again to expect of me the part of officious soubrette in a love drama; when, following his, soft, eager, murmur, meeting almost his pleading, mellow—“Do content me, Lucy!” a sharp hiss pierced my ear on the other side. “Petite chatte, doucerette, coquette!” sibillated the sudden boa-constrictor; “vous avez l’air bien triste, soumis, rêveur, mais vous ne l’êtes pas: c’est moi qui vous le dis: Sauvage! la flamme à l’âme, l’éclair aux yeux!” “Oui; j’ai la flamme à l’âme, et je dois l’avoir!” retorted I, turning in just wrath: but Professor Emanuel had hissed his insult and was gone.

Pushkin said that some readers would condemn Tatiana–they would call her impulsive or unseemly. But those readers weren't being truthful. What they really meant was that Tatiana wasn't strategic. She didn't know how to play games. 'The coquette reasons cooly; Tatiana in dead earnest loves and unconditionally yields.' I loved Tatiana, because she didn't hide what she felt, and I loved Pushkin for calling out the kind of people who conflated discretion and virtue. You still met people like that: people who acted as if admitting to any feelings of love, before you had gotten a man to buy you stuff, was a violation–not of pragmatism, or even of etiquette, but of morality. It meant you didn't have self-control, you couldn't delay gratification, you had failed the stupid marshmallow test. Ugh. I refused to believe that dissimulation was more virtuous than honesty. If there were rewards you got from lying, I didn't want them.

S’il est quelquefois logique de s’en rapporter à l’apparence des phénomènes, ce premier chant finit ici. Ne soyez pas sévère pour celui qui ne fait encore qu’essayer sa lyre : elle rend un son si étrange ! Cependant, si vous voulez être impartial, vous reconnaîtrez déjà une empreinte forte, au milieu des imperfections. Quant à moi, je vais me remettre au travail, pour faire paraître un deuxième chant, dans un laps de temps qui ne soit pas trop retardé. La fin du dix-neuvième siècle verra son poète (cependant, au début, il ne doit pas commencer par un chef d’œuvre, mais suivre la loi de la nature) ; il est né sur les rives américaines, à l’embouchure de la Plata, là où deux peuples, jadis rivaux, s’efforcent actuellement de se surpasser par le progrès matériel et moral. Buenos-Ayres, la reine du Sud, et Montevideo, la coquette, se tendent une main amie, à travers les eaux argentines du grand estuaire. Mais, la guerre éternelle a placé son empire destructeur sur les campagnes, et moissonne avec joie des victimes nombreuses. Adieu, vieillard, et pense à moi, si tu m’as lu. Toi, jeune homme, ne désespère point ; car, tu as un ami dans le vampire, malgré ton opinion contraire. En comptant l’acarus sarcopte qui produit la gale, tu auras deux amis !

I never knew quite whether I liked her—how can you with those women of the world? She was kind and insincere; she was gentle and she was cruel; she was generous and ungenerous; she was true as steel and she was false as Judas—what would you?—she was a woman of the world, with several sweet natural impulses, and all a coquette's diplomacies. She tended me with the greatest solicitude one day that autumn, when I had run a thorn into my foot: and the very next day, when I was well again, she laughed to see me worried on the lawn by a bull-terrier. If you have not met a woman like that, I wonder where you have lived.

Love is a neurochemical response with a shelf life long enough to perpetuate the species. And hey, I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it either, because quite frankly, you’re one lucky motherfucker to have air in your lungs and the opportunity to be confused by it at all. The last breath you just took is one more than a hundred billion human beings who came before you will ever get to take again, and one day, the last breath you just took will be the last breath you’ll ever take. That day is the point of relationships, that day when you cease to fucking exist, because it’s guaranteed, my friend. This shit all ends, so cram as much love, joy and shout-it-from-the-rooftops happiness as you possibly can into whatever time you can make for yourself.

She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. Not a coquette’s gesture, but a queen’s.

He found too many real traits to admire in her character--- courage, independence. With all of the needy, clinging ladies waiting for him back in London, he particularly liked her sturdy self-reliance. Gerald Fox's daughter was as sharp as a tack and yet quite down-to-earth. She did not weary him with mindless prattle; did not simper, grovel, or pry; did not even seem to know how to toady to a man of his consequence. She did not play the coquette, either--- a tactic he had enjoyed from women but had never trusted. Instead, she spoke her mind almost as plainly as a man, and as a result, her conversation actually held his interest. Kate peppered her language with witty observations, occasionally made at his expense. He found her saucy impudence oddly refreshing, and instead of minding it, served it back to her. It was great fun to jest and needle each other in mutual irreverence, as they had that night at dinner; one thing they had in common was a willingness to mock their own foibles. Kate laughed at herself for a bluestocking, while he knew very well he was a superstitious fool. But even all of this did not get to the heart of her effect on him. Growing up out there on the moors, isolated from the world, she had an untouched quality about her that made him ache in ways he could not explain. He was so drawn to her. It made him rather uncomfortable. But that night at dinner when she had described her solitary mode of life at her cottage, he had realized that, unlike so many others, she, too, understood the degree of loneliness that he knew all too well.

she’s trying on a new hat and looks more the coquette than ever. she is a child and a mannequin and death.

We also learn from the poem that women can be reborn as one or other of the elementals, depending upon their characteristics during life and that: "The light Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, And sport and flutter in the Fields of Air.

a fine job of work and a fine colt. Shall I reward you or Coquette — or both?

Be as affronted as you please, just don’t volunteer anything. If you see what appears to be an opening in debate, remember that it was ingeniously laid down in front of you by Bolingbroke as coquettes drop handkerchiefs at the feet of men they would ensnare.

Poor Victor! poor Victor!” she thought; and then she tried mentally to project herself into the situation of the wretched, remorseful Frenchwoman, the coquette whose penitence came too late; the frail wife, whose heart was lying by the cold heart of the gallant young Hungarian noble. “I would not have treated him so; at least I do not think so, and yet who knows what I might do, if I were a great beauty and a princess like her? Some say that virtue is only absence of temptation.

He has all the beauty of an angel--- a chiseled face and a faint glow. But there's something wrong about him. A rawness that never melted down. His smile is crooked, forged by a false sense of happiness. Though, he is undeniably enthralling. Golden hair and sharpened bones. Fox-like eyes that trail my body as if it's for show. Silently undressing me. Ready to pounce. In another world, I might have let him. I smile, fawning naivety as he takes a step closer. His red lips part with a grin as he brushes a weft of hair over my shoulder. I shiver as he trails my bare skin. His touch is delicate, careful not to startle me as my breathing hitches. Slowly, his fingers trace the vulnerable part of my throat, grazing gently instead of drawing blood. He's careful in his movements, taking his time, awakening my senses until I let out a kitten cry. His hand perches beneath my chin. Our eyes lock, trapped in honeyed heat, as his thumb strokes the fullness of my bottom lip. "You're immaculate," he says. His voice is lush and dark. I tense, trying not to tremble as his tether possesses me. It becomes harder when he whispers, "I have never seen such a beautiful girl." Electric shovers rattle my bones. My knees slacken, and he stabilizes my balance. I refuse to give him the upper hand. I press my palm against his chest, grazing right where his blouse parts. My eyes turn doe-like with wonder, honoring his beauty and tending his fragile ego. "Are we to be married now? I can't wait a moment longer." He grins. "Soon, coquette." I move my hand up to his neck. Not slow and delicate like he was with me. But feral, delicious, wanting. "I need you." I nearly pant. That's it. That's enough to make him tick. He drinks me in like nectar, a sweet ambrosia brewed just for him. "Come," he says, offering his arm.

À celle qui s'en va Tu crois que ce fut un amour vrai… Moi je crois que ce fut une brève folie… Mais ce qu'au juste ce fut, Ce que nous voulions que ce fût, Nous ne le saurons peut-être jamais… Ce fut un rêve vécu au rivage d'une mer, Un chant triste amené d'autres terres Par de blancs oiseaux voyageurs, Sur l'azur insurgé d'autres mers au loin, Un chant triste amené par les marins Arrivés de Boston Norfolk Et New York, Un chant triste que souvent chantent les pêcheurs Quand ils prennent le large et ne reviennent plus. Et se fut le refrain de triolets qu'un poète Jadis imagina en les pays du Nord Sur les bords de quelque blanc fjord, Mendiant l'amour des blondes coquettes... Ce fut un rêve Un vers Une mélodie Que nous n'avons chantée peut-être jamais... ...................... Tu crois que ce fut un amour vrai ? Moi je crois que ce fut une brève folie ! * Tu crezi c-a fost iubire-adevărată... Eu cred c-a fost o scurtă nebunie... Dar ce anume-a fost, Ce-am vrut să fie Noi nu vom şti-o poate niciodată... A fost un vis trăit pe-un ţărm de mare. Un cântec trist, adus din alte ţări De nişte pasări albe - călătoare Pe-albastrul răzvrătit al altor mări Un cântec trist, adus de marinarii Sosiţi din Boston, Norfolk Şi New York, Un cântec trist, ce-l cântă-ades pescarii Când pleacă-n larg şi nu se mai întorc. Şi-a fost refrenul unor triolete Cu care-alt'dată un poet din Nord, Pe marginile albului fiord, Cerşea iubirea blondelor cochete... A fost un vis, Un vers, O melodie, Ce n-am cântat-o, poate, niciodată... ...................... Tu crezi c-a fost iubire-adevărată?... Eu cred c-a fost o scurtă nebunie! [Celei care pleacă, traduction en français d’Aurel George Boeșteanu]

Sirens have an abundance of sexual energy and know how to use it. Rakes insatiably adore the opposite sex, and their desire is infectious. Ideal Lovers have an aesthetic sensibility that they apply to romance. Dandies like to play with their image, creating a striking and androgynous allure. Naturals are spontaneous and open. Coquettes are self-sufficient, with a fascinating cool at their core. Charmers want and know how to please—they are social creatures. Charismatics have an unusual confidence in themselves. Stars are ethereal and envelop themselves in mystery.

whore.” That word followed me. I was reclaiming it. In a coquette, vintage sunsets, sparkly fae wine, soft music kind of way.

Rien n'est ennuyeux a contempler comme le bonheur et la vertu. Une dame de mes voisine, vrai pilier d'eglise comme on est pilier du cabaret. Sans doute porte-on mieux les injures sans fondement que celles qu'on sait meritees. La grandeur d'un destin se fait de ce qu'on refuse plus que de ce qu'on obtient. Ce travers qu'ont les vieilles coquettes solitaires de se croire aimees de tous les hommes d'importance. A la Cour, personne hors de Roi, ses ministres et ses marechaux, n'a rien a faire. Les journees se passent en vains propos, en jeux, en intrigues. Il est inutile de vouloir enseigner les nuances a un aveugle. C'est le propre de l'homme de rever du superflu quand il manque du necessaire.

they had special names based on their placement: la majestueuse (forehead), la coquette (lips), l’assassin (temple), la passionnée (corner of eyes), la discrète (under the lower lip), la receleuse (over

They were coquettes, temptresses, and men found them impossible to resist.

La playlist qui résonne dans les haut-parleurs mal calibrés de Lucette a un air de déni. Ni Sébastien ni moi n’avons reparlé de mon compliment à l’allure de déclaration d’amour (suivi d’une insulte) depuis que nous avons bouclé nos ceintures. Après un interminable trente minutes de route, passé à échanger des banalités sur la météo, la monotonie du paysage et le prix de l’essence, on tombe sur un motel qui nous inspire confiance, proche de la municipalité de Saint-Marcel (j’ai persuadé Seb que c’était un signe !). Contrairement à la nuit précédente, notre chambre est un brin coquette. Le couvre-lit fleuri des deux lits doubles s’agence parfaitement avec le tapis et les rideaux. Sur chaque table de chevet trône un vase argenté qui contient de fausses fleurs en plastique. Malgré ce décor enchanteur, le malaise persiste. — Tu veux une bière à température valise de char ? J’interromps l’observation de mon bronzage d’épaule dans le miroir pour agripper la bouteille que mon ami me tend à bout

What he had just seen was no longer the ingenuous and simple eye of a child; it was a mysterious gulf which had half opened, then abruptly closed again. There comes a day when the young girl glances in this manner. Woe to him who chances to be there! That first gaze of a soul which does not, as yet, know itself, is like the dawn in the sky. It is the awakening of something radiant and strange. Nothing can give any idea of the Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 1199 dangerous charm of that unexpected gleam, which flashes suddenly and vaguely forth from adorable shadows, and which is composed of all the innocence of the present, and of all the passion of the future. It is a sort of undecided tenderness which reveals itself by chance, and which waits. It is a snare which the innocent maiden sets unknown to herself, and in which she captures hearts without either wishing or knowing it. It is a virgin looking like a woman. It is rare that a profound revery does not spring from that glance, where it falls. All purities and all candors meet in that celestial and fatal gleam which, more than all the bestplanned tender glances of coquettes, possesses the magic power of causing the sudden blossoming, in the depths of the soul, of that sombre flower, impregnated with perfume and with poison, which is called love.

You’re already an asshole. Don’t be a gaping one.

We’re social animals with a biological imperative to reproduce. That’s it. That’s all. Love is a neurochemical response with a shelf life long enough to perpetuate the species.

The vast sea of nothingness after your death is no different than the vast sea of nothingness before your birth, and yet you’re not the least bit terrified of what happens before you are born.

When Maxime went to the Bois de Boulogne, with his waist tightly compressed like a woman's, lightly dancing in the saddle on which he was swayed by the canter of his horse, he was the god of the age, with his strongly developed hips, his long slender hands, his sickly lascivious air, his correct elegance, and his slang learnt at petty theatres. At twenty years of age he placed himself above all surprises and all disgusts. He had certainly dreamt of the most unusual beastliness. But with him vice was not an abyss, as it is with certain old men, but a natural external bloom. It curled upon his fair hair, smiled upon his lips, and dressed him like his clothes. However his great characteristic was especially his eyes, two clear and smiling blue apertures, true mirrors for a coquette, but behind which one perceived all the emptiness of his brain. Those harlot eyes were never lowered; they courted pleasure, a pleasure without fatigue which one summons and receives.

For myself, never encouraging any of the advances that were made to me, my lovers dropped off like the untimely shoots of spring. I did not even coquet with them; because I found, on examining myself, I could not coquet with a man without loving him a little; and I perceived that I should not be able to stop at the line of what are termed innocent freedoms, did I suffer any.

Red General Jacqueminot Prince Camilla de Rohan, (darkest Rose of all). Jubilee. Baron Bonstetten. General Washington. John Hopper. Ulrich Brunner. Victor Verdier. [134] Pink Mrs. John Laing (constant bloomer). Anne de Diesbach. La France (blooms all summer). Magna Charta. Mme. Gabriel Luizet. Baroness Rothschild. Paul Neyron. White Margaret Dickson. Coquette des Alpes. White Maman Cochet (blooms continually). Madame Plantier (blooms continually). Coquette des Blanches. Mme. Alfred Carriere. Marchioness of Londonderry. Yellow I know but two hardy yellow Roses: The Persian Yellow. Soleil d’Or.

It is rare that a profound revery does not spring from that glance, where it falls. All purities and all candors meet in that celestial and fatal gleam which, more than all the best-planned tender glances of coquettes, possesses the magic power of causing the sudden blossoming, in the depths of the soul, of that sombre flower, impregnated with perfume and with poison, which is called love.

Il n'y a point de mal à voir ce que les gens nous montrent. Ce n'est point moi qui ai tort de vous trouver coquette; c'est vous qui avez tort de l'être, Mademoiselle.

Coquette, La Plenitude, Le Bouquet, La Sirene, L'Imperatrice etc., At prices varying from