Fix Her Crown Quotes

A smart woman fixes her own crown and does not dethrone other women from their own glory. For she knows on her own, she is strong.

But if you can fix some conception of a true human state of life to be striven for — life, good for all men, as for yourselves; if you can determine some honest and simple order of existence; following those trodden ways of wisdom, which are pleasantness, and seeking her quiet and withdrawn paths, which are peace; — then, and so sanctifying wealth into 'commonwealth,' all your art, your literature, your daily labours, your domestic affection, and citizen's duty, will join and increase into one magnificent harmony. You will know then how to build, well enough; you will build with stone well, but with flesh better; temples not made with hands, but riveted of hearts; and that kind of marble, crimson-veined, is indeed eternal.

A smart woman fixes her own crown. She does not dethrone other women from their own glory. For she knows on her own, she is strong.

Don’t be afraid to fixed your sister crown , With a #complement If she cute tell her If her car stop help her If she hurting hug her

There was a time—the year after leaving, even five years after when this homely street, with its old-fashioned high crown, its sidewalk blocks tugged up and down by maple roots, its retaining walls of sandstone and railings of painted iron and two-family brickfront houses whose siding imitates gray rocks, excited Rabbit with the magic of his own existence. These mundane surfaces had given witness to his life; this cup had held his blood; here the universe had centered, each downtwirling maple seed of more account than galaxies. No more. Jackson Road seems an ordinary street anywhere. Millions of such American streets hold millions of lives, and let them sift through, and neither notice nor mourn, and fall into decay, and do not even mourn their own passing but instead grimace at the wrecking ball with the same gaunt facades that have outweathered all their winters. However steadily Mom communes with these maples—the branches’ misty snake-shapes as inflexibly fixed in these two windows as the leading of stained glass—they will not hold back her fate by the space of a breath; nor, if they are cut down tomorrow to widen Jackson Road at last, will her staring, that planted them within herself, halt their vanishing. And the wash of new light will extinguish even her memory of them. Time is our element, not a mistaken invader. How stupid, it has taken him thirty-six years to begin to believe that.

The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out. I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass. Yonder, by the ever-brimming goblet's rim, the warm waves blush like wine. The gold brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun— slow dived from noon—goes down; my soul mounts up! she wearies with her endless hill. Is, then, the crown too heavy that I wear? this Iron Crown of Lombardy. Yet is it bright with many a gem; I the wearer, see not its far flashings; but darkly feel that I wear that, that dazzlingly confounds. 'Tis iron—that I know—not gold. 'Tis split, too—that I feel; the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against the solid metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs no helmet in the most brain-battering fight! Dry heat upon my brow? Oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so the sunset soothed. No more. This lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since I can ne'er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned in the midst of Paradise! Good night—good night! (waving his hand, he moves from the window.) 'Twas not so hard a task. I thought to find one stubborn, at the least; but my one cogged circle fits into all their various wheels, and they revolve. Or, if you will, like so many ant-hills of powder, they all stand before me; and I their match. Oh, hard! that to fire others, the match itself must needs be wasting! What I've dared, I've willed; and what I've willed, I'll do! They think me mad— Starbuck does; but I'm demoniac, I am madness maddened! That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself! The prophecy was that I should be dismembered; and—Aye! I lost this leg. I now prophesy that I will dismember my dismemberer. Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. That's more than ye, ye great gods, ever were. I laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket-players, ye pugilists, ye deaf Burkes and blinded Bendigoes! I will not say as schoolboys do to bullies—Take some one of your own size; don't pommel me! No, ye've knocked me down, and I am up again; but ye have run and hidden. Come forth from behind your cotton bags! I have no long gun to reach ye. Come, Ahab's compliments to ye; come and see if ye can swerve me. Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents' beds, unerringly I rush! Naught's an obstacle, naught's an angle to the iron way! CHAPTER

WILL NEVER BE AN OPTION Why do you think I should be an option Or the side piece for any man? My deepest sympathy For your illusions. Assumptions are worse than demons; Bombs and bullets get more respect Than your disrespect. You are used to women Who have no problem Being an option or fighting with the Next woman for your attention. Reality check: I am not the one. I will create my kingdom Until the right man comes along. I will never be an option Or make him one. Hate me, slander me... Have your whole army of community Rise up against me... Grounded, I stand. I fear no man. I PROMISE YOU I will never share a man Or entertain a woman’s man. A woman who tears another woman down Needs to go within and heal her demons. I walk with queens Who fix another woman’s crown. Ironically, my self-respect started a war To tear me down on the internet. Your tongue became so poisonous, It reeks of death. For the attack I received, My Healing Journal ~ From Once Broken to I AM No remorse has come from you yet. I do not expect it. You will never acknowledge your wrongs. If you confront me, Expect the silence of resilience. My confidence is not cocky, Nor is it a red flag. I do not share. Never will. Never had.

Lady Meliara?” There was a tap outside the door, and Oria’s mother, Julen, lifted the tapestry. Oria and I both stared in surprise at the three long sticks she carried so carefully. “More Fire Sticks?” I asked. “In midwinter?” “Just found them outside the gate.” Julen laid them down, looked from one of us to the other, and went out. Oria grinned at me. “Maybe they’re a present. You did save the Covenant last year, and the Hill Folk know it.” “I didn’t do it,” I muttered. “All I did was make mistakes.” Oria crossed her arms. “Not mistakes. Misunderstandings. Those, at least, can be fixed. Which is all the more reason to go to Court--” “And what?” I asked sharply. “Get myself into trouble again?” Oria stood silently, and suddenly I was aware of the social gulf between us, and I knew she was as well. It happened like that sometimes. We’d be working side by side, cleaning or scraping or carrying, and then a liveried equerry would dash up the road with a letter, and suddenly I was the countess and she the servant who waited respectfully for me to read my letter and discuss it or not as I saw fit. “I’m sorry,” I said immediately, stuffing the Marquise’s letter into the pocket of my faded, worn old gown. “You know how I feel about Court, even if Bran has changed his mind.” “I promise not to jaw on about it again, but let me say it this once. You need to make your peace,” Oria said quietly. “You left your brother and the Marquis without so much as a by-your-leave, and I think it’s gnawing at you. Because you keep watching that road.” I felt my temper flare, but I didn’t say anything because I knew she was right. Or half right. And I wasn’t angry with her. I tried my best to dismiss my anger and force myself to smile. “Perhaps you may be right, and I’ll write to Bran by and by. But here, listen to this!” And I picked up the book I’d been reading before the letter came. “This is one of the ones I got just before the snows closed the roads: ‘And in several places throughout the world there are caves with ancient paintings and Iyon Daiyin glyphs.’” I looked up from the book. “Doesn’t that make you want to jump on the back of the nearest horse and ride and ride until you find these places?” Oria shuddered. “Not me. I like it fine right here at home.” “Use your imagination!” I read on. “‘Some of the caves depict constellations never seen in our skies--’” I stopped when we heard the pealing of bells. Not the melodic pattern of the time changes, but the clang of warning bells at the guardhouse just down the road. “Someone’s coming!” I exclaimed. Oria nodded, brows arched above her fine, dark eyes. “And the Hill Folk saw them.” She pointed at the Fire Sticks. “‘Them?’” I repeated, then glanced at the Fire Sticks and nodded. “Means a crowd, true enough.” Julen reappeared then, and tapped at the door. “Countess, I believe we have company on the road.” She looked in, and I said, “I hadn’t expected anyone.” Then my heart thumped, and I added, “It could be the fine weather has melted the snows down-mountain--d’you think it might be Branaric at last? I don’t see how it could be anyone else!” “Branaric needs three Fire Sticks?” Oria asked. “Maybe he’s brought lots of servants?” I suggested doubtfully. “Perhaps his half year at Court has given him elaborate tastes, ones that only a lot of servants can see to. Or he’s hired artisans from the capital to help forward our work on the castle. I hope it’s artisans,” I added. “Either way, we’ll be wanted to find space for these newcomers,” Julen said to her daughter. She picked up the Fire Sticks again and looked over her shoulder at me. “You ought to put on one of those gowns of your mother’s that we remade, my lady.” “For my brother?” I laughed, pulling my blanket closer about me as we slipped out of my room. “I don’t need to impress him, even if he has gotten used to Court ways!

Not as the prince stepped onto the small island where the queen was standing. Not as Aelin turned toward Rowan, and the only flame that remained was a crown of fire atop her head. Lorcan watched in silence as Rowan slid a hand over her waist, the other cupping the side of her face, and kissed his queen. Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan's head- the twin to the one Lorcan had seen burning that day at Mistward. He knew Whitethorn. He knew the prince wasn't ambitious- not in the way that immortals could be. He likely would have loved the woman if she'd been ordinary. But this power... In his wasteland of a soul, Lorcan felt that tug. Hated it. It was why Whitethorn had strode to her- why Fenrys was now hallway across the plain, dazed, attention wholly fixed on where they stood, tangled in each other.

A smart woman fixes her own crown. She does not dethrone other women from their own glory. For she knows on her own she is strong.

Um, Your Grace,” Margrit said. “Hm?” Cinderella asked, turning to look at more of her possessions scattered through the room. “What is it Margrit?” she asked when there was silence. “She only wanted to warn you of me.” Cinderella turned around to face Friedrich. He wore a band of red cloth tied over both his eyepatch and his eye, but he was still handsome and alarmingly roguish in his military uniform with his crown fixed on his head instead of his usual hat. “Your lady’s maids tell me you have lost all sense of propriety, and I am to fix you without setting eye on you,” he teased. “You’ve

Celia Wird, have you no shame? Standing out there half-naked, flashing those young boys like some kind of streetwalker!" Aric's dark brows shot up to his crown. "What the fu--" "Mind your own business, you goddamn raisin with legs!" Taran screamed from inside the house. Mrs. Mancuso flipped me off, of course. Bren flashed her a panty-dropping grin. "It's okay, Mrs. M. I'll be sure to take Celia to confession later so Father O'Callaghan can slap the sin out of her." "Be sure that you do." Mrs. Mancuso gave Bren an approving nod, and me another stiff one. Aric remained fixed to my front walkway. He may have been a guardian of the earth, but I doubted he'd ever encountered evil the likes of Mrs. Mancuso.

Her small head crowned with its great white braid nodded a little. No hugs or confessions of love. We were all a little stiff, I understood that. Family constellations are fixed things. They don’t change just because you’ve learned the names of the stars.

The crowd were cheering and Geraldine led the Ass squad in that annoying as fuck song about princesses as they all celebrated her win, but I ignore them as I moved forward to offer Roxy a hand up. “I’ll toss Mildred back in her room, heal her and cast a sleeping spell on her so that she can properly recover,” Cal announced as he moved around us and I couldn’t help but smile at him. It might have annoyed the fuck out of me that he’d been with my girl, but he really was a good friend. A true brother. He threw Mildred over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and shot out of the room as Seth howled in excitement. “Come on,” I said to Roxy. “I’ll clean you up and heal those wounds.” “Okay.” Roxy followed me back to the couch and I sat her down in my spot before throwing a ring of fire and a silencing bubble up around us to give us some pretence of privacy. “Doesn’t this count as us being alone?” Roxy asked as I dropped to my knees in front of her and she pulled her busted bottom lip between her teeth. That shouldn’t have been hot, but it really fucking was. “I’m going with no,” I replied, but as the ground trembled beneath my knees I had to admit it did. “Maybe you should just-” “I’m going to look after you,” I growled, leaving no room for negotiation. “So just let me.” Her lips parted, eyes flared, fingers gripped the edge of the couch and I was sure she was about to tell me no, but instead she just nodded. I reached out and curled my fingers wound around her waist as I pressed healing magic from my skin into hers, closing my eyes so that I could concentrate. She had cracked ribs and healing bones was more difficult than damaged tissue. She fell still as I shifted my hands over her flesh and I tried to ignore the way the floor quaked beneath me. We couldn’t stay in this bubble for long, but I wished that we could. I wished we could just build a bubble where the stars couldn’t see us and stay in it forever. Although I guessed if I offered her that she’d just say no again. I sighed as my magic depleted, using the last drops of it to heal her and clean the blood from her skin after burning through so much in the game. A soft touch against my hair made me open my eyes and I looked up at her as she pushed the crown onto my head. “Mildred knocked me off of the couch first,” she explained in answer to the question in my eyes. “So you win. Besides, you need a big head like yours to pull off a crown like this.” I snorted a laugh as the ground trembled so violently that I was almost knocked back onto my ass. Roxy quickly pulled the rings and bracelets from her hands and offered them to me too and I pushed them into my pockets wordlessly. But as she reached up to unclasp the blood ruby pendant from around her neck I caught her wrist to stop her. “Keep it,” I said, my gaze slipping to the priceless heart where it lay against her flesh. Dragons didn’t give treasure away. Ever. It was inherited through the family or we bought more of it, but we never gifted it to anyone. It went against everything we stood for and the fierce possessiveness of our natures. But for some reason that I couldn’t fully comprehend, I wanted her to keep that necklace. “It looks better on you anyway.” Her eyes widened but before she could reply, I dropped the wall of fire and stepped away from her. Darcy hurried forward with wild eyes, looking between me and her sister for a long moment like she’d expected us to be arguing or something. But the last thing I was going to do was call Roxy out for beating Mildred’s ass for me. She’d absolutely been working in my interests and I wasn’t even going to pretend to be pissed about it. “Darius fixed me up like new. Did you see the bit when I kneed her in the vag?” Roxy asked as she grinned and Darcy started laughing. “It was classic, you’ve gotta come see Tyler’s slow motion footage of you punching her in the throat too!” (Darius POV)

Gas She had never been in this part of Paris before—only reading of it in the novels of Duvain, or seeing it at the Grand Guignol. So this was the Montmartre? That horror where danger lurked under cover of night; where innocent souls perished without warning—where doom confronted the unwary—where the Apache revelled. She moved cautiously in the shadow of the high wall, looking furtively backward for the hidden menace that might be dogging her steps. Suddenly she darted into an alley way, little heeding where it led . . . groping her way on in the inky blackness, the one thought of eluding the pursuit firmly fixed in her mind . . . on she went . . . Oh! when would it end? . . . Then a doorway from which a light streamed lent itself to her vision . . . In here . . . anywhere, she thought. The door stood at the head of a flight of stairs . . . stairs that creaked with age as she endeavoured to creep down . . . then she heard the sound of drunken laughter and shuddered—surely this was—No, not that. Anything but that! She reached the foot of the stairs and saw an evil-smelling wine bar, with wrecks of what were once men and women indulging in a drunken orgy . . . then they saw her, a vision of affrighted purity. Half a dozen men rushed towards her amid the encouraging shouts of the rest. She was seized. She screamed with terror . . . better had she been caught by her pursuer was her one fleeting thought as they dragged her roughly across the room. The fiends lost no time in settling her fate. They would share her belongings . . . and she . . . Why! Was this not the heart of Montmartre? She should go—the rats should feast. Then they bound her and carried her down the dark passage, up a flight of stairs to the riverside. The water rats should feast, they said. And then . . . swinging her bound body to and fro, dropped her with a splash into the dark, swirling waters. Down she went, down, down. Conscious only of a choking sensation, this was death . . . then . . . "It's out, Madam," said the dentist. "Half a crown, please."—HITCH

And for future reference, chicks before dicks. Learn how to fix a woman’s crown instead of trying to tear her down

Over her head, Merlan grimaced at Lord Maycarpe, for they were both used to the queen’s somewhat forthright manner, but instead of returning the grimace as usual, Maycarpe’s gaze was fixed on Shan. Merlan had never seen such an expression on his employer’s face: amazement and what looked like greed.

People can always find ways to twist customs and traditions to suit their own ends. Those who love power will gather power. And it will never be as warm and trusting as the skin of a sleeping child, but that sort of thing is hard to value when your eyes are fixed upon a crown.

He stood next to one of the pillars before his hall. She stared fixedly at the open neck of his tunic so she need not see how the young spring sunlight danced in his hair; but she found herself watching a rapid little pulse beating in the hollow of his throat, and so she shifted her attention to his left shoulder. “Goodbye,” she said. “Thanks. Um.” The arm attached to the shoulder she was staring at reached out toward her, and she was so absorbed in not thinking about anything that its hand had seized her chin before she thought to flinch away. The hand exerted upward force and her neck reluctantly bent back, but her eyes stuck on his chin and stayed there.

The Ruins Of Time" Robert Lowell (Quevedo, Mire los muros de la partia mia and Buscas en Roma a Roma, (!)O peregrino!) I I saw the musty shingles of my house, raw wood and fixed once, now a wash of moss eroded by the ruin of age furning all fair and green things into waste. I climbed the pasture. I saw the dim sun drink the ice just thawing from the boldered fallow, woods crowd the foothills, sieze last summer's field, and higher up, the sickly cattle bellow. I went into my house. I saw how dust and ravel had devoured its furnishing; even my cane was withered and more bent, even my sword was coffined up in rust— there was no hilt left for the hand to try. Everything ached, and told me I must die. II You search in Rome for Rome? O Traveller! in Rome itself, there is no room for Rome, the Aventine is its own mound and tomb, only a corpse recieves the worshipper. And where the Capitol once crowned the forum, are medals ruined by the hands of time; they show how more was lost by chance and time the Hannibal or Ceasar could consume. The Tiber flows still, but its waste laments a city that has fallen in its grave— each wave's a woman beating at her breast. O Rome! Form all you palms, dominion, bronze and beauty, what was firm has fled. What once was fugitive maintains its permenance.

The Daglan ruled over the High Fae. And we, in turn, ruled the humans, along with the lands the Daglan allowed us to govern. Yet it was an illusion of power. We knew who our true masters were. We were forced to make the Tithe to them once a year. To offer up kernels of our power in tribute. To fuel their own power—and to limit our own. Bryce’s breath caught in her throat as an image of a Fae female kneeling at the foot of a throne appeared, a seed of light in her upheld hands. Smooth, delicate fingers closed around the Fae female’s droplet of power. It flickered, illumining pale skin. The hand that had claimed the power lifted, and Bryce stilled as the memory zoomed out to reveal the hand’s bearer: a black-haired, white-skinned Asteri. There was no mistaking the cold, otherworldly eyes. She lounged in golden robes, a crown of stars upon her head. Her red lips pulled back in a cold smile as her hand closed tightly around the seed of power. It faded into nothing, absorbed into the Asteri’s body. The Daglan became arrogant as the millennia passed, sure of their unending dominion over our world. But their overconfidence eventually blinded them to the enemies amassing at their backs, a force like none that had been gathered before. Bryce’s breath remained caught in her throat, Nesta still as death at her side, as the scene shifted to show a golden-haired High Fae female standing a step behind the Asteri’s throne. Her chin was lifted, her face as cold as her mistress’s. My mother served at that monster’s side for a century, a slave to her every sick whim. Bryce knew who it was before Silene spoke again. Knew whose truth she’d been led here, across the stars, to learn at last. Theia. 19 Lidia froze at Pollux’s words as he stepped into the steaming spray of the shower. “What do you mean they’ve fixed the Harpy?” The Hammer said over the noise of the water, tipping back his head to soak his golden hair, “They’ve been working on her as a pet project of sorts—Rigelus just told me. Apparently, it’s looking good.” “What is looking good?” Lidia asked, using all her training to keep her heartbeat calm. “That she’ll wake up. Rigelus needs one more thing.” Pollux opened the shower door and reached out a hand for her. An order more than an invitation. With fingers that felt far away, Lidia unbuttoned her uniform. “What about my cycle?” she

It’s her car, by the way, she’s just letting us borrow it today.” “That’s brave of you,” I say to Camille. “Have you seen him drive?” Camille grins. “If he runs into anything, I know how to fix it.

You know what I have to do now.” Greta slowly shakes her head, her clear blue eyes fixed on mine. “You don’t have to, Seb,” she says quietly. “Yes, I do.” “Why?” she says. “Because you think your father would have wanted revenge? Is that why?” “No—” I say, but Greta pushes on, overriding me. “Because I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Seb! Enzo told me a lot of things these last few years. Things he had done. Things he regretted. His hopes and dreams for you children. And especially for you, Seb. He said you were a good man. He said you weren’t like him—you’re more like your mother—” “He was wrong.” I cut her off. “I’m no different from Dante or Nero, or even my father. In fact, I might be worse.” “You don’t mean that—” “YES I DO!” I bark, startling Greta into silence. “Greta, I HATE Yenin. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to blow his fucking face off his skull, just like he did to Papa. He broke a blood contract, and he’ll pay for that, no matter what I have to do. I’m going to kill him, and his son, and every one of his men. I’m going to wipe them off the face of this earth, so anyone who even dreams of raising a hand to our family again will remember what happened to the Russians and shake with fear.