Fleur De Lis Quotes

Loved. I hadn't even realized how desperetly I'd wanted love.How much we both needed to know that in a world of dark corners and sharp needles, there really is a place where kisses taste like apple pie and where stars spill like suger across the sky. A place where unknown roads no longer scare you because you have another hand to hold. A place where butterflies always flutter whenever you see each other, and a single touch tells you that you are not alone. A place where every kiss still feels like the first. In that place of us, Liv and Dean, love has its own poetry and language. Allure, quartrefoil, fleur-de-lis...Professor. Beauty.

Monsieur, innocence is its own crown. Innocence has no truck with highness. It is as august in rags as it is draped in the fleur-de-lis.

He wore camel-colored breeches and dark brown Hessian riding boots, a snow-white shirt held together at the throat with a gold pin and a dark brown vest with little gold fleurs-de-lis embroidered on it. Kingsley looked magnificent, like a Regency-era fever dream. If Jane Austen had set eyes on Kingsley, she would never have written her genteel comedies of manner. She would have written porn.

They say in extreme moments time will slow, returning to its unmoving core, and standing there, it seemed as if everything stopped. Within the stillness, I felt the old, irrepressible ache to know what my point in the world might be. I felt the longing more solemnly than anything I’d ever felt, even more than my old innate loneliness. What came to me was the fleur de lis button in the box and the lost girl who’d put it there, how I’d twice carried it from Charleston to Philadelphia and back, carried it like a sad, decaying hope.

fleur-de-lis

You ought to be the recipient of unending kindnesses.

Are you offering to fight my battle for me?" "With you.

Moments like this, when one was truly cared about and supported, when concern and compassion came as naturally as breathing… that was what she wanted most of all.

My uncle Aldric said that Mr. Henri likes you even more than poems. I think that means he likes you a lot.

You’re his floor of lee,” Roderick said earnestly. “He wouldn’t want you to be sad.

And I refuse to give up hope.” “Hope of what?” “Hope for a future that includes you.

When a remarkably intelligent woman offers you a bit of very intelligent advice, you would do well to take it.

The breath of Paris pushes at my shutters. From the Balcony

I have heard queens' swans, moved a man to cry, heard Bach played in the Metro on guitars. I have made love in Paris. Let me die.

Following the dob up the stairs, he trudged with the phone to his ear. “Dr.

Par curiosité, par désœuvrement, par politesse, des Esseintes fréquenta cette famille et il subit, plusieurs fois, dans son hôtel de la rue de la Chaise, d’écrasantes soirées où des parentes, antiques comme le monde, s’entretenaient de quartiers de noblesse, de lunes héraldiques, de cérémoniaux surannés. Plus que ces douairières, les hommes rassemblés autour d’un whist, se révélaient ainsi que des êtres immuables et nuls ; là, les descendants des anciens preux, les dernières branches des races féodales, apparurent à des Esseintes sous les traits de vieillards catarrheux et maniaques, rabâchant d’insipides discours, de centenaires phrases. De même que dans la tige coupée d’une fougère, une fleur de lis semblait seule empreinte dans la pulpe ramollie de ces vieux crânes.

Lecteur paisible et bucolique, Sobre et naïf homme de bien, Jette ce livre saturnien, Orgiaque et mélancolique. Si tu n'as fait ta rhétorique Chez Satan, le rusé doyen, Jette ! tu n'y comprendrais rien, Ou tu me croirais hystérique. Mais si, sans se laisser charmer, Ton oeil sait plonger dans les gouffres, Lis-moi, pour apprendre à m'aimer ; Ame curieuse qui souffres Et vas cherchant ton paradis, Plains-moi !... sinon, je te maudis !

And you dare to wear the golden spurs of a knight? You dare to call yourself a Marshal of France and carry the fleur-de-lis on your coat of arms? The meanest lackey in this hall knows more of honour and loyalty than you! Hang and burn my servants and kill me - kill too, now that you have handed your companion-in-arms Arnaud de Montsalvy, to your cousin. With my last breath, I shall call on Heaven to witness that Gilles de Rais is a traitor and a felon!

No,” Noah protested, around Blue’s arm. “I’m serious. This place creeps me the hell out. Can we go?” Gansey’s face broke into a relieved, easy grin. “Yes, we can go home.” “I’m still not eating pizza,” Noah said, backing out of the church with Blue. Ronan, still in the ruins, looked over his shoulder at them. In the dim light of the flashlights, the tattooed hook that edged out above his collar looked like either a claw or a finger or part of a fleur-de-lis. It was nearly as sharp as his smile. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you,” he said. “I took Chainsaw out of my dreams.

With contradict’ry aim I stand, Rent in twain between two lands. One is lit with flowers bright, The other by sublime starlight. “A searing fire is one way felt. The sting of ice that does not melt Upon the other path is found. To both I am forever bound. “My mind is called to what I’ve known, And mem’ries of what once was home. Yet calls the road that leads to where I breathe now more familiar air. “In her is found the now and then, The song of hope, the sighed amen, Both fire and ice, both flow’rs and stars, The future, past, the near and far. “Where e’er the path that guides her feet, In what far clime her heart doth beat, Howe’er oft I depart or bide, Home is where my love resides.

The room was dark, though weak autumnal light filtered in through arched windows high on the walls, illuminating the room's rich aubergine brocade wallpaper. Its color cast a soft violet haze that floated through the bedroom, twinkling the huge diamond-shaped crystals that dropped from two immense, many-tiered silver chandeliers. They were larger than any I had ever seen, things out of a palace or a fairy tale. An imposing, heavily carved wardrobe, which looked as if it had been in place since the early fifteenth century, faced the bed where I lay. Beside it on the wall hung a large bronze shield with an iron French cross at its center, crowned by a gilded fleur-de-lis with a dazzling gemstone in the middle of the petal. Large portraits of nude ladies, odalisques that looked as if an Italian master- Titian, perhaps?- had painted them graced the adjacent wall. A heavy crystal vase of white long-stemmed roses sat on a table at the bedside, their petals tight, but their sweet perfume filling the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh baked bread. I ran my hands down my body. I was not in my own nightdress but in a pale green gown of fine quality damask silk with a triangular neckline and long, full sleeves that cupped my wrists, draping white lace over my hands to the fingers. I had never seen such a rich garment. I imagined it was something that the queen's daughters would have worn.

After Twiss went out the barn, Milly went up to their bedroom with the brown paper bag. She looked out the window before she turned it upside down and the bars of lavender soap shaped like seashells and the card shaped like a rectangle came tumbling out. Asa's name graced the front of the card. A note graced the back. 'I know why you did it, Milly. Bella swings a golf club just like him.' Milly sat a long time on her old twin mattress, staring at the fleur-de-lis carved into the headboard, at the life that didn't belong to her and the life that did, before she placed the soaps beneath the velvet tray in her jewelry box and closed it. She never washed her hands with a single one of the seashell-shaped soaps, although from time to time, when Twiss had gone for a walk or to the barn, she'd open her jewelry box and examine her only secret. 'La joie de vivre.' The scent of lavender. Forgiveness. Age-old love.

Eeh, but whah’s the use, the fuckin’ use?” Dixon resting his head briefly tho’ audibly upon the Table. “It’s over . . . ? Nought left to us but Paper-work . . . ?” Their task has shifted, from Direct Traverse upon the Line to Pen-and-Paper Representation of it, in the sober Day-Light of Philadelphia, strain’d thro’ twelve-by-twelve Sash-work, as in the spectreless Light of the Candles in their Rooms, suffering but the fretful Shadows of Dixon at the Drafting Table, and Mason, seconding now, reading from Entries in the Field-Book, as Dixon once minded the Clock for him. Finally, one day, Dixon announces, “Well,— won’t thee at least have a look . . . ?” Mason eagerly rushes to inspect the Map of the Boundaries, almost instantly boggling, for there bold as a Pirate’s Flag is an eight-pointed Star, surmounted by a Fleur-de-Lis. “What’s this thing here? pointing North? Wasn’t the l’Grand flying one of these? Doth it not signify, England’s most inveterately hated Rival? France?” “All respect, Mason,— among Brother and Sister Needle-folk in ev’ry Land, ’tis known universally, as the ‘Flower-de-Luce.’ A Magnetickal Term.” “ ‘Flower of Light’? Light, hey? Sounds Encyclopedistick to me, perhaps even Masonick,” says Mason. A Surveyor’s North-Point, Dixon explains, by long Tradition, is his own, which he may draw, and embellish, in any way he pleases, so it point where North be. It becomes his Hall-Mark, personal as a Silver-Smith’s, representative of his Honesty and Good Name. Further, as with many Glyphs, ’tis important ever to keep Faith with it,— for an often enormous Investment of Faith, and Will, lies condens’d within, giving it a Potency in the World that the Agents of Reason care little for. “ ’Tis an ancient Shape, said to go back to the earliest Italian Wind-Roses,” says Dixon, “— originally, at the North, they put the Letter T, for Tramontane, the Wind that blew down from the Alps . . . ? Over the years, as ever befalls such frail Bric-a-Brack as Letters of the Alphabet, it was beaten into a kind of Spear-head,— tho’ the kinder-hearted will aver it a Lily, and clash thy Face, do tha deny it.” “Yet some, finding it upon a new Map, might also take it as a reassertion of French claims to Ohio,” Mason pretends to remind him. “Aye, tha’ve found me out, I confess,— ’tis a secret Message to all who conspire in the Dark! Eeh! The old Jesuit Canard again!

De cette assise sortent les spirales des liserons à cloches blanches, les brindilles de la bugrane rose, mêlées de quelques fougères, de quelques jeunes pousses de chêne aux feuilles magnifiquement colorées et lustrées ; toutes s’avancent prosternées, humbles comme des saules pleureurs, timides et suppliantes comme des prières. Au-dessus, voyez les fibrilles déliées, fleuries, sans cesse agitées de l’amourette purpurine qui verse à flots ses anthères presque jaunes ; les pyramides neigeuses du paturin des champs et des eaux, la verte chevelure des bromes stériles, les panaches effilés de ces agrostis nommés les épis du vent ; violâtres espérances dont se couronnent les premiers rêves et qui se détachent sur le fond gris de lis où la lumière rayonne autour de ces herbes en fleurs. Mais déjà plus haut, quelques roses du Bengale clairsemées parmi les folles dentelles du daucus, les plumes de la linaigrette, les marabous de la reine des prés, les ombellules du cerfeuil sauvage, les blonds cheveux de la clématite en fruits, les mignons sautoirs de la croisette au blanc de lait, les corymbes des millefeuilles, les tiges diffuses de la fumeterre aux fleurs roses et noires, les vrilles de la vigne, les brins tortueux des chèvrefeuilles ; enfin tout ce que ces naïves créatures ont de plus échevelé, de plus déchiré, des flammes et de triples dards, des feuilles lancéolées, déchiquetées, des tiges tourmentées comme les désirs entortillés au fond de l’âme. Du sein de ce prolixe torrent d’amour qui déborde, s’élance un magnifique double pavot rouge accompagné de ses glands prêts à s’ouvrir, déployant les flammèches de son incendie au- dessus des jasmins étoilés et dominant la pluie incessante du pollen, beau nuage qui papillote dans l’air en reflétant le jour dans ses mille parcelles luisantes ! Quelle femme enivrée par la senteur d’Aphrodise cachée dans la flouve, ne comprendra ce luxe d’idées soumises, cette blanche tendresse troublée par des mouvements indomptés, et ce rouge désir de l’amour qui demande un bonheur refusé dans les luttes cent fois recommencées de la passion contenue, infatigable, éternelle ? Mettez ce discours dans la lumière d’une croisée, afin d’en montrer les frais détails, les délicates oppositions, les arabesques, afin que la souveraine émue y voie une fleur plus épanouie et d’où tombe une larme ; elle sera bien près de s’abandonner, il faudra qu’un ange ou la voix son enfant la retienne au bord de l’abîme. Que donne-t-on à Dieu ? des parfums, de la lumière et des chants, les expressions les plus épurées de notre nature. Eh! bien, tout ce qu’on offre à Dieu n’était-il pas offert à l’amour dans ce poème de fleurs lumineuses qui bourdonnait incessamment ses mélodies au cœur, en y caressant des voluptés cachées, des espérances inavouées, des illusions qui s’enflamment et s’éteignent comme des fils de la vierge par une nuit chaude.

The gossip will kill your Great Grandmother.

The Catholic Mass Effect In County Tipperary, Eucharistic bread bled on the Derrynaflan Paten where no soul but the priest spoke an iota of Latin. The chrismatory brimmed with oil of myrrh, having consecrated paten and chalice with ritualistic liqueur. Heraldic fleur-de-lis patterned the wall of the quire, where the priest would chant Mass, then preach his brimstone and fire. The knaves in the nave, who knew not an apse from their elbow, would hang on every word of In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti, and walk out the cathedral bearing forgiveness by the barrow.

Jeremy George Lake Charles Corvette Logo The original corvette logo was designed by Robert Bartholomew, interior designer for Chevrolet in 1953. The Corvette logo has changed a lot since the 1953 model launch, but it has always had two flags. When the Corvette was launched in 1953, Chevrolet devised a plan to use the Checkered Flag and the American Flag, two things that marked the Corvette as part of its original emblem. When Chevrolet prepared for its new Corvette Sport in the early 1950s, the task of designing the emblem and logo fell to Chevrolet interior designer Robert Bartholomew. Bartholome created the first version of the Corvette logo before the car itself was introduced in 1953. The original logo consisted of two crossing masts, two flags, a checkered flag and the US flag. Bartholomew had a last minute replacement flag bearing the Chevrolet logo and the Fleur-de-lis, a French symbol which was part of the coat of arms of the Louis Chevrolet family (USA ). Jeremy George Lake Charles The newly revealed emblem was part of a flurry of information released during the eighth-generation Corvette basketball tournament in Bowling Green, Kentucky. To keep fans enthralled until next year, Chevy also unveiled a revamped version of the Corvette Cross Flag logo that appeared on the Vette in 2014. The alleged logo for the eighth Chevrolet Corvette generation was leaked in February, and the models' Facebook page confirmed it was the real deal.

Even Matthew, whose taste did not run that way at all, could see that he was beautiful, his black hair slicked back, his suit impeccably tailored and his claret tie fastened with a silver stickpin, a fleur-de-lis that matched the discreet medallions on his cordovon loafers.

Voulez-vous un moment vivre entre ciel et terre, Respirer, à plein cœur, un air délicieux, Voir le monde à vos pieds, planer dans la lumière, Et croire près de vous quelqu'un venu des cieux? Lisez ce chant d'amour... Le regard du vulgaire N'en pénétrerait pas le sens mystérieux; Vous verrez, vous, comment on aime au monastère, Et, dans ces murs sacrés, combien l'on est heureux. A quinze ans! Tendre fleur, petite âme idéale, Thérèse offre à Jésus sa candeur virginale; Le Saint-Père a béni ce beau lis pour l'autel: La douceur de l'agneau, le céleste sourire, Les lyriques accents, tout en elle a fait dire: C'est un ange qu'on vit passer par le Carmel. P. N. Abbaye de Mondaye, 8 avril 1898.

In the inside pocket of his battledress, he kept his book of stories. The gold fleur-de-lis on the cover wore away; the leather became dull. But stories, he found, like the photograph, bore witness to the truth that there was another world than this. Chiefly, his duty was to remind his patients of this fact when nothing else could be done.

and in fact, he was, but…” He cleared his throat, and Ian reached into his pack and handed him a battered flask. Dark as it was, he felt the crude fleur-de-lis under his thumb. It was Ian Mòr’s old soldier’s flask, which his friend had kept from their time in France as young mercenaries, and the feel of it steadied him.

three white fleurs-de-lis on an azure background, set with three rubies and an emerald.

A fleur-de-lis. A family crest, maybe, and words in Latin. Ego Solus.

We too often wrongly think forgiveness looks like absolution,” Stanley had once said. “But I think forgiveness is becoming the person the one who hurt us would have prevented us from being. Forgiveness is never about the one who inflicted the pain but rather is the gift we give ourselves: permission not to be the proof of their hateful prophecies.

Aldric could sometimes be impatient with people who allowed emotion to get the better of their intellect. But he also had a good and compassionate heart. He didn’t scold Henri for his struggle or his painstakingly slow crawl toward healing from the wounds his father had inflicted.

Lady Mary came last. She looked magnificent, even regal. Her dress was highly fashionable; dark slate blue overlaid with black fleur-de-lis and stitched with jet beads across the throat and bosom, the sleeves garnered. A black hat adorned her head at a rakish angle, dashing and precarious.

The symbol of Louis XIV, the fleur-de-lis branded on a runaway was to be a physical reminder of sovereignty and the limits of moral and legal altruism. Flight infringed on ancien régime doctrine and mores. Flight was a doctrine refusing transcendental indoctrination. Recurrent flight in the era of the Code Noir was sure death. Political orders premised on the juridical paradox eventually became insolvent.

sidewalk, passed out next to his friend. “Who are these guys?” her oversized companion asked. Abigail held up the arm of one of the men and showed it to Elliott. On the back of his hand was an image of two winged dragons on either side of a fleur-de-lis. “Does that answer your question?” she asked. Elliott said nothing but instinctively reached up and touched the tattoo on his large neckTogether, Abigail and Elliott, dragged the unconscious men away from the store and down a narrow side walkway. Inside the store, Uncle Al settled his transaction with the clerk, folded up the now empty blanket and placed it back in his satchel. He tucked the satchel under his arm and stepped out the door, carefully looking up and down the street before heading on his way. Back in the confines of the narrow walkway,

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

Balancing a tall stack of dirty dishes bound for the free sink, Adriana crossed the marble floor, dodging, for no reason in particular, the silver fleur- de- lis patterns marking the occasional tile. She passed in between the island with its fat, sturdy legs and the open shelving lining the subway- tile walls on her left. The higher shelves exhibited Margot’s favorite and most worn cookbooks, the ones that had made the cut to travel from Vermont to Red Mountain. The other shelves displayed large glass containers of a wide variety of flours, rice, and beans.