Fabric Jewellery Quotes

And when wine has soaked Cupid’s drunken wings, he’s stayed, weighed down, a captive of the place. ... Wine rouses courage and is fit for passion: care flies, and deep drinking dilutes it. ... Don’t trust the treacherous lamplight overmuch: night and wine can harm your view of beauty. Paris saw the goddesses in the light, a cloudless heaven, when he said to Venus: ‘Venus, you win, over them both.’ Faults are hidden at night: every blemish is forgiven, and the hour makes whichever girl you like beautiful. Judge jewellery, and fabric stained with purple, judge a face, or a figure, in the light.

If someone skilled at studying moons, planets, stars and other celestial bodies such as galaxies, comets, asteroids and gamma-ray bursts were to analyse the Romani migration and settlement patterns, as they wandered India and Persia 1500 years ago, passing through Armenia in the early 9th century, trading spices, incense, rugs, fabrics, colouring agents and jewellery along the Great Silk Road, and then beginning to establish themselves in Europe, arriving in Transylvania in the 13th century, and then onto Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France and England in the 14th century they may very well discover that their routes mirrored that of the stars

I won’t be the half-heard,’ said Marr, making his way down a carpeted hallway in the upper levels of the villa, a passageway replete with portraits that bore unmistakable genetic links. Only the most recent picture had no date of death beneath it. A woman shawled with rich fabrics and draped in expensive jewellery stared back at him, handsome with rich living and what looked like subtle flesh sculpting. ‘Did you own this fine dwelling?’ he asked the portrait. ‘How did it feel to have it taken from you? To have your dreams crushed under the boots of the Sons of Horus?’ The portrait was, of course, silent. ‘Are you even still alive? Perhaps you fled to the interior countryside to wait out the war. Maybe you took refuge in another of your holdings, or in the household of a friend.’ Marr stepped away from the portrait and hurled the amphora at the wall. It shattered and soaked the picture, drenching it in wine that dripped in garnet droplets from its gilt frame. ‘It doesn’t matter!’ he roared. ‘Whatever became of you, you are nothing now. Whatever your achievements, they are as dust in the wind. All your labours, all your dedication, blood, sweat and tears… all shed for nothing.