La Rose Quotes

Women want to be loved like roses. They spend hours perfecting their eyebrows and toes and inventing irresistible curls that fall by accident down the back of their necks from otherwise austere hair-dos. They want their lover to remember the way they held a glass. They want to haunt.

Sorrow eats time. Be patient. Time eats sorrow.

Lilac Rose LaRoux. Untouchable. Toxic. I should've been named Ivy, or Foxglove, or Belladonna.

Every Valentine's Day, the student council sponsered a holiday fundraiser by selling roses that would be delievered in class. The roses came in four colors:white, yellow, red, pink, and the subtleties of thier meaning were parsed and analyzed by the female population to no end. Mimi had always understood it thus:white for love, yellow for friendship, red for passion, and pink for a secret crush.

La Vie En Rose. It is the French way of saying, 'I am looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses.

Wait--we have one left," the runner said, bringing out what was surely the most expensive bouquet of all: a three-foot tall arrangement of two hundred white roses, in the palest ivory color. All the girls swooned. Almost no boys bought white roses ever. It was a big sign of commitment. But this one practically trumpeted a captured heart. The runner set the bouquet in front of Schuyler. Mimi raised an eyebrow. She had always won the roses lottery. What was this all about? For me?" Schuyler asked, awestruck by the size of the thing. She took the card from the tallest stem. For Schuyler, who doesn't like love stories." It was not signed.

La souffrance physique on la subit, la souffrance morale on la choisit.

Let me worship you," he said. She remembered the words she had whispered to him in the back of the limo after La Rose. You will worship me, and I won't even have to order you. His request felt sinful and devious, and she reveled in it. She answered, "Yes.

Rosa que al prado, encarnada, te ostentas presuntuosa de grana y carmín bañada: campa lozana y gustosa; pero no, que siendo hermosa tambien serás desdichada.

The rose fell into his lap, and he looked up, startled. Mimi grinned. "Hey handsom" Mimi sent. "What's up?" Jack replied, without speaking. "Just thinking of you." Jack's smile deepened, and he threw the rose back at her so that it landed in her lap. Mimi tucked it behind her ear and fluttered her eyelashes appreciatively.

Si la rose savait que sa grâce et sa beauté la conduisent droit dans un vase, elle serait la première à trancher la gorge avec sa propre épine.

Cele mai interesante întrebări rămân întrebări. Și conțin în ele un mister. La fiecare răspuns trebuie să adaugi un "poate". Numai întrebările fără interes au răspunsuri definitive.

Viaţa e un dar buclucaş. La început ai tendinţa să-l supraestimezi crezând că viaţa pe care ai primit-o este veşnică. Apoi, dimpotrivă, îl subestimezi, găsind că-i o porcărie, scurtă de nu-nţelegi nimic din ea şi pe care uneori ţi-ar veni s-o arunci de să nu se vadă. Abia către sfârşit pricepi că nu-i vorba de nici un dar, ci de un simplu împrumut. Pe care trebuie să încerci să-l meriţi.

Getting blown up happened in an instant; getting put together took the rest of your life.

- Ştii, de fapt nu de necunoscut mă tem, ci de fapul că voi pierde toate câte le cunosc.

To my surprise, Joscelin rose. ‘Phedre-’ He began, then halted. Sitting below him, I watched him smile to himself, quiet and private. ‘Phedre yields with a willow’s grace,’ he said softly. ‘And endures with the strength of mountains. Without her, life would be calm; and yet lack all meaning.

Si je m'intéresse à ce que pensent les cons, je n'aurai plus de temps pour ce que pensent les gens intelligents.

«Porque estoy cansado y estoy solo, y tú eres la única persona con la que puedo hablar sin ponerme en peligro.»

«—Te amo —susurró y me besó la frente—. Con espinas y todo.»

Le spine della rosa sono nacoste dal fiore: the thorns of the rose are hidden by the bloom.

A bee rose up from a sun-filled paper cup, off to make slum honey from some diet root beer it had found inside.

Mignonne, allons voir si la rose Qui ce matin avait declose Sa robe de pourpre au soleil, A point perdu cetter verpree, Les plis de sa robe pourpree, Et son teint au votre pareil

He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.

[I]f you seek in every way to minimise my firm beliefs by your anti-feminist attacks, please recall that a small dagger or knife point can pierce a great, bulging sack and that a small fly can attack a great lion and speedily put him to flight.

Il n'y a pas de solution à la vie sinon vivre.

Psalm 37:4 4 Delight thyself also in the LORD: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.

Girls were not named for flowers, as flowers died so quickly. Girls were named for deathless things - forms of light, forms of cloud, shapes of stars, that which appears and disappears like an island on the horizon.

Un petit nuage rose descendait de l'air et s'approchait d'eux. "J'y vais! proposa-t-il. -vas-y", dit Colin. Et le nuage les enveloppa. A l'intérieur, il faisait chaud et ça sentait le sucre à la cannelle.

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.

Un baiser, mais à tout prendre, qu'est-ce? Un serment fait d'un peu plus près, une promesse Plus précise, un aveu qui peut se confirmer, Un point rose qu'on met sur l'i du verbe aimer; C'est un secret qui prend la bouche pour oreille, Un instant d'infini qui fait un bruit d'abeille, Une communion ayant un goût de fleur, Une façon d'un peu se respirer le coeur, Et d'un peu se goûter au bord des lèvres, l'âme!

El diablo no es el príncipe de la materia, el diablo es la arrogancia del espíritu, la fe sin sonrisa, la verdad jamás tocada por la duda.

Dunque, pare che alle anime viventi possano toccare due sorti: c'è chi nasce ape, e chi nasce rosa... Che fa lo sciame delle api, con la sua regina? Va, e ruba a tutte le rose un poco di miele, per portarselo nell'arnia, nelle sue stanzette. E la rosa? La rosa l'ha in se stessa, il proprio miele: miele di rose, il più adorato, il più prezioso! La cosa più dolce che innamora essa l'ha già in se stessa: non le serve cercarla altrove. Ma qualche volta sospirano di solitudine, le rose, questi esseri divini! Le rose ignoranti non capiscono i propri misteri. La prima di tutte le rose è Dio. Fra le due: la rosa e l'ape, secondo me, la più fortunata è l'ape. E l'Ape Regina, poi, ha una fortuna sovrana! Io, per esempio, sono nato Ape Regina. E tu, Wilhelm? Secondo me, tu, Wilhelm mio, sei nato col destino più dolce e col destino più amaro: tu sei l'ape e sei la rosa.

Мислите, които не казваш, са мисли, които тежат, вдълбават се, от тях натежаваш, вцепеняваш се, те задръстват мястото за нови мисли и някак те омърсяват. Ако не споделяш, ще се превърнеш в бунище за стари, смрадливи мисли.

No, the sadness will soften, its edges will become less rough. In time missing him will be the way you love him.

He already had one foot in the winter of heaven. He was going to be whisked up.

No podía ser la novia de Mason porque cuando me imaginaba a alguien sujetándome y murmurándome marranadas al oído, ese alguien tenía acento ruso.

—Adónde vamos? La sonrisa de Rhys se ensanchó cada vez más. —A Velaris, la Ciudad de la Luz de las Estrellas. –Capítulo 13, pág. 129

Zeena's first published sermon at 7 years old. From “The Cloven Hoof” periodical, 1970, San Francisco, CA, USA.: “The question, 'What is the difference between God and Satan?,' was put to Zeena LaVey, seven-year-old daughter of the High Priest. Her answer was... 'SATAN MADE THE ROSE AND GOD MADE THE THORNS.

- Ако се интересувах от онова, което си мислят тъпанарите, нямаше да имам време да се интересувам от онова, което мислят умните хора.

Lea--when a man climbs a glass mountain, it's not usually for the damn golden apple. It's for the person he gives the apple to.

A veces las cosas complejas, son por las que más merece la pena luchar

Mi-am dat imediat seama că veniseşi. Şi că-mi dezvăluiai secretul, marele tău secret: priveşte lumea în fiecare zi ca şi cum ai vedea-o pentru întâia oară.

Life, when it was good, was indeed pink. La vie en rose.

—Porque yo no querría morirme sola —respondí, y me tembló la voz cuando volví a mirar a Tamlin y me obligué a buscar sus ojos con los míos—. Porque me gustaría que alguien me sostuviera la mano hasta el final y un rato más después. Eso es algo que todo el mundo merece, inmortales y humanos. –Capítulo 17, pág. 177

—¿Te enamoraste de mí porque yo te recordaba a tu amigo? —pregunté con voz casi sin expresión. Él me tocó la nariz. —Me enamoré de ti, sabelotodo, porque eras de los nuestros..., porque no me tuviste miedo y porque decidiste terminar tu victoria espectacular arrojándole ese pedazo de hueso a Amarantha como una jabalina. Entonces sentí el espíritu de Cassian junto a mí, y habría jurado que lo oí decir: «Si no te casas con ella, estúpido, lo haré yo». –Capítulo 55, pág. 500

I pensieri che non dici sono pensieri che pesano, che si incrostano, che ti opprimono, che ti immobilizzano, che prendono il posto delle idee nuove e che ti infettano.

Писането е само лъжа, която разкрасява нещата. Работа за възрастни.

Tu es comme l’odeur des roses (…) tu ôtes l’appétit.

White people covered the earth like lice.

Codziennie patrz na świat, jakbyś oglądał go po raz pierwszy.

There Albine lay, panting, exhausted by love, her hands clutched closer and closer to her heart, breathing her last. She parted her lips, seeking the kiss which should obliterate her, and then the hyacinths and tuberoses exhaled their incense, wrapping her in a final sigh, so profound that it drowned the chorus of roses, and in this culminating gasp of blossom, Albine was dead.

Les roses de Saadi J'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses ; Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes Que les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir. Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées Dans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées. Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir ; La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée. Ce soir, ma robe encore en est tout embaumée... Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir.

-Tanti Roz, mi se pare că au inventat un alt spital decât cel real. Se prefac că oamenii vin la spital decât ca să se vindece. Deși unii vin ca să moară. -Ai dreptate,Oscar. Și cred că facem aceeași greșeală și în privința vieții. Uităm că viața e fragilă, fărâmicioasă, efemeră. Ne credem toți nemuritori.

Sève qui monte et fleur qui pousse, Ton enfance est une charmille : Laisse errer mes doigts dans la mousse Où le bouton de rose brille.

La verdadera fuerza no se trata de ser soberbio. Se trata de saber cuándo necesitas ayuda y tener el coraje de aceptarla.

The worst kind of loneliness gripped him. The kind you feel alongside another person.

Don’t ever think I fell for you or fell over you. I didn’t fall in love, I rose in it. I saw you and made up my mind. My mind. And I made up my mind to follow you too,

Tot el m-a ajutat şi să cred în tine. Sunt plină de iubire, Doamne, parcă mă arde pe dinăuntru, mi-a dăruit atâta, încât să-mi ajungă pentru toţii anii de-acum încolo.

Всъщност не ме е страх от непознатото. Но е вярно, че се притеснявам да загубя онова, което познавам.

Funny how often the Will of God puts a dollar in a pocket, said Dr. Ames.

There was the unspeakable neatness of military preparation for violence

Dacă pronunți cuvântul MOARTE într-un spital, nimeni nu aude. E sigur că se lasă tăcerea și-apoi se schimbă subiectul.

Le domande più interessanti rimangono domande. Avvolgono un mistero. A ogni risposta, si deve associare un "forse". Sono solo le domande senza interesse ad avere una risposta definitiva.

Si está en San Francisco la seguiré allí. Si está en Tokyo la seguiré allí. Y si está en el infierno la seguiré allí. ¿Por qué no?. Allí es donde acabaremos de todas formas y probablemente juntos.

Los dos machos eran altos, las alas plegadas sobre cuerpos poderosos, musculosos, cubierto de cuero oscuro, armaduras que me recordaron las escamas de algunas bestias con formas de serpientes. Los dos llevaban espadas largas idénticas, con hojas simples y muy bellas tal vez no debería haberme por la ropa elegante después de todo. El que era tan solo un poco más grande, la cara en sombras, soltó una risita y dijo: —Vamos, Feyre, no mordemos. A menos que nos pidas que lo hagamos, claro. –Capítulo 16, pág. 16

...for although we may fully respect our social conventions...it may unfortunately happen that , through the perversity of others we encounter only the thorns of life, whilst the wicked gather nothing but roses. will it not be said that virtue, however fair she may be, becomes the worst cause one can espouse... when she has grown so weak that she cannot struggle against vice? ” - La Nouvelle Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu, suivie de l'histoire de Juliette

Così il piccolo principe addomesticò la volpe. E quando l'ora della partenza fu vicina: « Ah! » disse la volpe, « piangerò.» « La colpa è tua », disse il piccolo principe, « io non ti volevo far del male, ma tu hai voluto che ti addomesticassi...» « E' vero », disse la volpe. « Ma piangerai! » disse il piccolo principe. « E' certo », disse la volpe. « Ma allora che ci guadagni? » « Ci guadagno », disse la volpe, « il colore del grano. » «Da te, gli uomini», disse il piccolo principe, «coltivano cinquemila rose nello stesso giardino... e non trovano quello che cercano...» «Non lo trovano», ripetei. «E tuttavia quello che cercano potrebbe essere trovato in una sola rosa o in un po' d'acqua...» «Certo», confermai. E il piccolo principe soggiunse: «Ma gli occhi sono ciechi. Bisogna cercare col cuore.»

Urmându-ţi aşadar sfatul, m-am străduit să-l pun în aplicare. Contemplând lumina, culorile, copacii, păsările, animalele. Simţeam cum aerul îmi pătrunde în nări făcându-mă să respir. Vocile de pe culoar veneau spre mine ca din bolta unei catedrale. Iar eu eram viu. Fremătam de o bucurie necuprinsă şi pură. Aceea de a exista. O bucurie care mă fermeca.

C’est une folie de haïr toutes les roses parce que une épine vous a piqué, d’abandonner tous les rêves parce que l’un d’entre eux ne s’est pas réalisé, de renoncer à toutes les tentatives parce qu’on a échoué… C‘est une folie de condamner toutes les amitiés parce qu’une d’elles vous a trahi, de ne croire plus en l’amour juste parce qu’un d’entre eux a été infidèle, de jeter toutes les chances d’être heureux juste parce que quelque chose n’est pas allé dans la bonne direction. Il y aura toujours une autre occasion, un autre ami, un autre amour, une force nouvelle. Pour chaque fin il y a toujours un nouveau départ.

Zhang studied the Englishman closely. “Jesus is knocking on the door of your heart. You must decide today. Will you open the door? Will you tell Him what you believe about yourself, and about Him, and about what Jesus did on the cross and how He rose from the dead? And then will you allow Him to enter? Will you?

Това е старото ми мече, то вече няма очи, нито уста, нито нос, загуби половината от пълнежа си и целият е изпорязан. Малко прилича на вас. Осинових го една вечер, когато тъпите ми родители ми донесоха ново мече. Все едно щях да приема да имам ново мече! Ами, както я бяха подкарали, направо да бяха заменили и мен с чисто ново братче.

Amore non è amore Se muta quando scopre un mutamento O tende a svanire quando l‘altro s‘allontana. Oh no! Amore è un faro sempre fisso Che sovrasta la tempesta e non vacilla mai; È la stella che guida di ogni barca, Il cui valore è sconosciuto, benché nota la distanza. Amore non è soggetto al Tempo, pur se rosee labbra E gote dovran cadere sotto la sua curva lama; Amore non muta in poche ore o settimane, Ma impavido resiste al giorno estremo del giudizio; Se questo è un errore e mi sarà provato, Io non ho mai scritto, e nessuno ha mai amato.

If life is a movie most people would consider themselves the star of their own feature. Guys might imagine they're living some action adventure epic. Chicks maybe are in a rose-colored fantasy romance. And homosexuals are living la vida loca in a fabulous musical. Still others may take the indie approach and think of themselves as an anti-hero in a coming of age flick. Or a retro badass in an exploitation B movie. Or the cable man in a very steamy adult picture. Some people's lives are experimental student art films that don't make any sense. Some are screwball comedies. Others resemble a documentary, all serious and educational. A few lives achieve blockbuster status and are hailed as a tribute to the human spirit. Some gain a small following and enjoy cult status. And some never got off the ground due to insufficient funding. I don't know what my life is but I do know that I'm constantly squabbling with the director over creative control, throwing prima donna tantrums and pouting in my personal trailor when things don't go my way. Much of our lives is spent on marketing. Make-up, exercise, dieting, clothes, hair, money, charm, attitude, the strut, the pose, the Blue Steel look. We're like walking billboards advertising ourselves. A sneak peek of upcoming attractions. Meanwhile our actual production is in disarray--we're over budget, doing poorly at private test screenings and focus groups, creatively stagnant, morale low. So we're endlessly tinkering, touching up, editing, rewriting, tailoring ourselves to best suit a mass audience. There's like this studio executive in our heads telling us to cut certain things out, make it "lighter," give it a happy ending, and put some explosions in there too. Kids love explosions. And the uncompromising artist within protests: "But that's not life!" Thus the inner conflict of our movie life: To be a palatable crowd-pleaser catering to the mainstream... or something true to life no matter what they say?

The lamp hummed: 'Regard the moon, La lune ne garde aucune rancune, She winks a feeble eye, She smiles into corners. She smoothes the hair of the grass. The moon has lost her memory. A washed-out smallpox cracks her face, Her hand twists a paper rose, That smells of dust and old Cologne, She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells That cross and cross across her brain." The reminiscence comes Of sunless dry geraniums And dust in crevices, Smells of chestnuts in the streets, And female smells in shuttered rooms, And cigarettes in corridors And cocktail smells in bars.

The thing about car chases is this: if you're traveling through downtown LA at lunchtime, you can forget about them. In that kind of traffic, all you can hope to have in the way of a highway pursuit is a crawling affair where the object of the chase has plenty of time to make a distress call.

—Tú —jadeé sin apartar los ojos de los músicos que tocaban con tanta perfección que hasta los clientes de los restaurantes de los alrededores habían dejado de comer—. Tú enviaste esa música al calabozo. ¿Por qué? La voz de Rhysand era ronca. —Porque estabas a punto de rendirte. Y no encontré ninguna otra forma de salvarte. La música se alzó hasta parecer llenarlo todo. Yo había visto un palacio en el cielo en las alucinaciones..., un lugar entre la puesta del sol y el amanecer, una casa sobre los pilares de piedra de luna. —Vi la Corte Noche. Él me miró de refilón. —Yo no te mandé esas imágenes.

Contre qui, rose, avez-vous adopté ces épines? Votre joie trop fine vous a-t-elle forcée de devenir cette chose armée? Mais de qui vous protège cette arme exagérée? Combien d’ennemis vous ai-je enlevés qui ne la craignaient point? Au contraire, d’été en automne, vous blessez les soins qu’on vous donne.

The one thing I am now sure of is that if there is such a thing as destiny, it is a result of our passion, be that for money, power, or love. Passion, for better or worse. It can keep a soul alive even if all that survives is a shimmering. I've even seen it. I've been bathed in it. I've been changed by it.

Aujourd'hui, je suis fou de mort, partout la mort, et ces roses sur ma table qui me parfument tandis que j'écris, affreusement vivant, ces roses sont des bouts de cadavres qu'on force à faire semblant de vivre trois jours de plus dans de l'eau et les gens achètent ces cadavres de fleurs et les jeunes filles s'en repaissent.

—Hace quinientos años luché en campos de batalla no muy lejos de esta casa. Luché junto a humanos e inmortales, sangré con ellos. Y voy a volver a estar de pie en este campo de batalla, Nesta Archeron, para proteger esta casa.., para proteger a vuestro pueblo. No puedo pensar en una manera mejor que terminar mi existencia que defendiendo a los que más lo necesitan. Vi una lágrima sobre la mejilla de Nesta. Y vi como Cassian levantaba una mano para enjugársela. –Capítulo 57, pág. 519

- Wydaje mi się, ciociu, że oni chcieliby widzieć ten szpital innym, niż naprawdę jest. Jakby człowiek przychodził do szpitala tylko po to, żeby wyzdrowieć. A przecież przychodzi się tutaj także po to, żeby umrzeć. - Masz rację, Oskarze. Myślę zresztą, że popełnia się ten sam błąd w stosunku do życia w ogóle. Zapominamy, że życie jest kruche, delikatne, że nie trwa wiecznie. Zachowujemy się wszyscy, jakbyśmy byli nieśmiertelni.

El bien. No, yo no era el bien. Yo no era nada, y mi alma, mi alma eterna, estaba maldita... Traté de conseguir que los pulmones que me traicionaban tomaran aire para decir la palabra. No..., no. Pero no tuve que decirla. Él trueno sonó detrás de mí como si alguien hubiera arrojado dos enormes piedras, una contra la otra. Todos gritaron y cayeron hacia atrás, algunos desaparecieron corriendo por los costados del patio. Se abrió la oscuridad. Yo me volví, y a través de la noche que se movía como humo en el viento, descubrí a Rhysand, que en ese momento se enderezaba las solapas de la chaqueta negra. —Hola, Feyre, querida —ronroneó.

[S]ince you are angry at me without reason, you attack me harshly with, "Oh outrageous presumption! Oh excessively foolish pride! Oh opinion uttered too quickly and thoughtlessly by the mouth of a woman! A woman who condemns a man of high understanding and dedicated study, a man who, by great labour and mature deliberation, has made the very noble book of the Rose, which surpasses all others that were ever written in French. When you have read this book a hundred times, provided you have understood the greater part of it, you will discover that you could never have put your time and intellect to better use!" My answer: Oh man deceived by willful opinion! I could assuredly answer but I prefer not to do it with insult, although, groundlessly, you yourself slander me with ugly accusations. Oh darkened understanding! Oh perverted knowledge ... A simple little housewife sustained by the doctrine of Holy Church could criticise your error!

Като стана дума, честит рожден ден, Дядо Боже. Маминка Роза, която ме сложи да спя в леглото на големия си син, който е ветеринарен лекар в Конго, при слоновете, ми пошепна, че като подарък за теб сдобряването ми с родителите ми върши добра работа. Честно казано, аз не го намирам много за подарък. Но щом Маминка Роза, която ти е стара дружка, казва така... Целувки, до утре Оскар

Si tu veux nous nous aimerons Avec tes lèvres sans le dire Cette rose ne l'interromps Qu'à verser un silence pire Jamais de chants ne lancent prompts Le scintillement du sourire Si tu veux nous nous aimerons Avec tes lèvres sans le dire Muet muet entre les ronds Sylphe dans la pourpre d'empire Un baiser flambant se déchire Jusqu'aux pointe des ailerons Si tu veux nous nous aimerons.

I find it most offensive that the character of Reason, whom [Jean den Meun (author of the Romance of the Rose)] himself calls the daughter of God, should put forth such a statement as ... where she says by way of a proverb that "in the war of Love it is better to deceive than be deceived." And indeed I dare say that in making that statement Jean den Meun's Reason denied her Father, for the doctrine He gave was altogether different.

Snails first,” Pépé said, bright-eyed. “That season’s only six weeks away.” “You have a season for hunting snails?” Layla asked incredulously. Pépé gave her an indignant look. “You can’t just gather them whenever you’re hungry, you know. You’ll decimate the population, and then no snails for the future.” “What a terrible loss,” Layla said dryly. Everyone at the table stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “Exactly,” his grandfather said firmly.

What a pretty dress,” Ariadne said to Cordelia, her voice warm. Her own gown was of flattering wine-colored silk. “I believe that’s the shade they call ‘ashes of roses.’ Very popular in Paris.” “Oh, yes,” Cordelia said eagerly. She’d known so few girls growing up—just Lucie, really—so how did one impress them and charm them? It was desperately important. “I did get this dress in Paris, as a matter of fact. On Rue de la Paix. Jeanne Paquin made it herself.” She saw Lucie’s eyes widen in concern. Rosamund’s lips tightened. “How fortunate you are,” she said coolly. “Most of us here in the poky little London Enclave rarely get to travel abroad. You must think us so dull.” “Oh,” said Cordelia, realizing she had put her foot in it. “No, not at all—” “My mother has always said Shadowhunters aren’t meant to have much of an interest in fashion,” said Catherine. “She says it’s mundane.” “Since you’ve spoken of Matthew’s clothes admiringly so often,” said Ariadne tartly, “should we assume that rule is only for girls?

Ah! comme la neige a neigé! Ma vitre est un jardin de givre. Ah! comme la neige a neigé! Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre À la douleur que j'ai, que j'ai! Tous les étangs gisent gelés, Mon âme est noire: Où vis-je? Où vais-je? Tous ses espoirs gisent gelés: Je suis la nouvelle Norvège D'où les blonds ciels s'en sont allés. Pleurez, oiseaux de février, Au sinistre frisson des choses, Pleurez, oiseaux de février, Pleurez mes pleurs, pleurez mes roses, Aux branches du genévrier. Ah! comme la neige a neigé! Ma vitre est un jardin de givre. Ah! comme la neige a neigé! Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre À tout l'ennui que j'ai, que j'ai!...

Eiffel Tower" To Robert Delaunay Eiffel Tower Guitar of the sky Your wireless telegraphy Attracts words As a rosebush the bees During the night The Seine no longer flows Telescope or bugle EIFFEL TOWER And it's a hive of words Or an inkwell of honey At the bottom of dawn A spider with barbed-wire legs Was making its web of clouds My little boy To climb the Eiffel Tower You climb on a song Do re mi fa sol la ti do We are up on top A bird sings in the telegraph antennae It's the wind Of Europe The electric wind Over there The hats fly away They have wings but they don't sing Jacqueline Daughter of France What do you see up there The Seine is asleep Under the shadow of its bridges I see the Earth turning And I blow my bugle Toward all the seas On the path Of your perfume All the bees and the words go their way On the four horizons Who has not heard this song I AM THE QUEEN OF THE DAWN OF THE POLES I AM THE COMPASS THE ROSE OF THE WINDS THAT FADES EVERY FALL AND ALL FULL OF SNOW I DIE FROM THE DEATH OF THAT ROSE IN MY HEAD A BIRD SINGS ALL YEAR LONG That's the way the Tower spoke to me one day Eiffel Tower Aviary of the world Sing Sing Chimes of Paris The giant hanging in the midst of the void Is the poster of France The day of Victory You will tell it to the stars

He was becoming an effective human being. He had learned from his birth family how to snare rabbits, make stew, paint fingernails, glue wallpaper, conduct ceremonies, start outside fires in a driving rain, sew with a sewing machine, cut quilt squares, play Halo, gather, dry, and boil various medicine teas. He had learned from the old people how to move between worlds seen and unseen. Peter taught him how to use an ax, a chain saw, safely handle a .22, drive a riding lawn mower, drive a tractor, even a car. Nola taught him how to paint walls, keep animals, how to plant and grow things, how to fry meat, how to bake. Maggie taught him how to hide fear, fake pain, how to punch with a knuckle jutting. How to go for the eyes. How to hook your fingers in a person’s nose from behind and threaten to rip the nose off your face. He hadn’t done these things yet, and neither had Maggie, but she was always looking for a chance. When

You must know, my loved one, that there are beings in the elements which almost appear like mortals, and which rarely allow themselves to become visible to your race. Wonderful salamanders glitter and sport in the flames; lean and malicious gnomes dwell deep within the earth; spirits, belonging to the air, wander through the forests; and a vast family of water spirits live in the lakes and streams and brooks. In resounding domes of crystal, through which the sky looks in with its sun and stars, these latter spirits find their beautiful abode; lofty trees of coral with blue and crimson fruits gleam in their gardens; they wander over the pure sand of the sea, and among lovely variegated shells, and amid all exquisite treasures of the old world, which the present is no longer worthy to enjoy; all these the floods have covered with their secret veils of silver, and the noble monuments sparkle below, stately and solemn, and bedewed by the loving waters which allure from them many a beautiful moss-flower and entwining cluster of sea grass. Those, however, who dwell there, are very fair and lovely to behold, and for the most part, are more beautiful than human beings. Many a fisherman has been so fortunate as to surprise some tender mermaid, as she rose above the waters and sang. He would then tell afar of her beauty, and such wonderful beings have been given the name of Undines. You, however, are now actually beholding an Undine.

Qu'une goutee de vin tombe dans un verre d'eau; quelle que soit la loi du movement interne du liquide, nous verrons bientôt se colorer d'une teinte rose uniforme et à partir de ce moment on aura beau agiter le vase, le vin et l'eau ne partaîtront plus pouvoir se séparer. Tout cela, Maxwell et Boltzmann l'ont expliqué, mais celui qui l'a vu plus nettement, dans un livre trop peu lu parce qu'il est difficile à lire, c'est Gibbs dans ses principes de la Mécanique Statistique. Let a drop of wine fall into a glass of water; whatever be the law that governs the internal movement of the liquid, we will soon see it tint itself uniformly pink and from that moment on, however we may agitate the vessel, it appears that the wine and water can separate no more. All this, Maxwell and Boltzmann have explained, but the one who saw it in the cleanest way, in a book that is too little read because it is difficult to read, is Gibbs, in his Principles of Statistical Mechanics.

– Întrebam şi eu, nu-i nevoie să faceţi mutra asta, domnule doctor. De altfel, dacă e să fim sinceri, ţin să vă spun că, din partea mea, am fost cât se poate de corect în ce priveşte medicamentele, iar dumneavoastră de asemenea în privinţa bolii. Aşa că terminaţi odată cu aerul ăsta de vinovăţie. Nu e vina dumneavoastră dacă trebuie să daţi veşti neplăcute oamenilor anunţându-i că suferă de tot felul de boli incurabile cu nume latineşti. Destindeţi-vă niţel, relaxaţi-vă, ce naiba, că doar nu dumneavoastră sunteţi Dumnezeu Tatăl. Nu sunteţi dumneavoastră cel care comandă naturii.Dumneavoastră nu sunteţi decât un reparator. Nu mai fiţi aşa încordat, domnule doctor, ce naiba, nu vă mai daţi atâta importanţă, altminteri nu veţi putea continua multă vreme meseria asta. Uitaţi-vă numai un pic ce mutră faceţi!

Perhaps there was a secret door down low in the wall, a door only large enough for a child. If I stepped through that door, I would be in another world, in fairyland perhaps. It would be warm and bright there, and I would have a magical wand to protect myself. I'd ride on the back of a dragonfly, swooping through the forest. I'd battle dragons and talk to birds and have all kinds of grand adventures. Later, I found that small door into fairyland could be conjured any time I needed it. The world beyond the door was different every time. Sometimes, I found a little stone house in the woods where I could live with just Nanette and my sister, Marie, and a tabby cat who purred by the fire. Sometimes, I lived in a castle in the air with a handsome prince who loved me. Other times, I was the prince myself, with a golden sword and a white charger.

Suspiro y me muevo a estudiar los carteles de películas: el Sr. Darcy con su mano en la mejilla de Elizabeth hace nada por mí, más que querer escupir. Puede ser que la ame, pero durante toda su vida, Sr. Darcy quiso ser un desgraciado irritable. Edward Cullen, con sus brazos alrededor de Bella protectoramente mientras Jacob mira hacia ellos, me hace querer vomitar. ¿Y ellos llamaron a su bebe Renesme? POR FAVOR. Jack y Rose del Titanic me tienen apretando los puños. Rose debió abandonarlo ese día. Si lo hubiera hecho, podrían haber llegado a la balsa salvavidas. Romeo y Julieta se ven como idiotas para mí ahora. Ellos sabían que no funcionaria. Romeo nunca debería haber vuelto a su balcón. Fue su estúpida culpa. Él lo sabía. Si él simplemente no hubiera intentado, ambos habrían vivido. ¿Y quién bebe estúpido veneno para resolver sus problemas? Lamentable. Patético. Todos ellos.

LA ROSE ET LE RESADA Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Tous deux adoraient la belle Prisonnière des soldats Lequel montait à l'échelle Et lequel guettait en bas Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Qu'importe comment s'appelle Cette clarté sur leur pas Que l'un fut de la chapelle Et l'autre s'y dérobât Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Tous les deux étaient fidèles Des lèvres du coeur des bras Et tous les deux disaient qu'elle Vive et qui vivra verra Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Quand les blés sont sous la grêle Fou qui fait le délicat Fou qui songe à ses querelles Au coeur du commun combat Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Du haut de la citadelle La sentinelle tira Par deux fois et l'un chancelle L'autre tombe qui mourra Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Ils sont en prison Lequel A le plus triste grabat Lequel plus que l'autre gèle Lequel préfère les rats Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Un rebelle est un rebelle Deux sanglots font un seul glas Et quand vient l'aube cruelle Passent de vie à trépas Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Répétant le nom de celle Qu'aucun des deux ne trompa Et leur sang rouge ruisselle Même couleur même éclat Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas Il coule il coule il se mêle À la terre qu'il aima Pour qu'à la saison nouvelle Mûrisse un raisin muscat Celui qui croyait au ciel Celui qui n'y croyait pas L'un court et l'autre a des ailes De Bretagne ou du Jura Et framboise ou mirabelle Le grillon rechantera Dites flûte ou violoncelle Le double amour qui brûla L'alouette et l'hirondelle La rose et le réséda

At first he had appreciated only the material quality of the sounds which those instruments secreted. And it had been a source of keen pleasure when, below the narrow ribbon the violin part, delicate, unyielding, substantial and governing the whole, he had suddenly perceived, where it was trying to surge upwards in a flowing tide of sound, the mass of the piano-part, multiform, coherent, level, and breaking everywhere in melody like the deep blue tumult of the sea, silvered and charmed into a minor key by the moonlight. But at a given moment, without being able to distinguish any clear outline, or to give a name to what was pleasing him, suddenly enraptured, he had tried to collect, to treasure in his memory the phrase or harmony—he knew not which—that had just been played, and had opened and expanded his soul, just as the fragrance of certain roses, wafted upon the moist air of evening, has the power of dilating our nostrils.

-Simplemente pensé… no lo se. Pensé que me odiarías. La diversión desapareció de su rostro. Se acerco a mí y apoyo las manos en mis hombros, sus ojos color verde oscuro estaban serios. ―Rose, nada en este mundo podría hacer que te odiara. ―¿Ni siquiera intentar traer a mi exnovio de vuelta de la muerte? Adrian me acerco, y incluso en sueños, pude oler su piel y su colonia. ―Si soy honesto. Si Belikov volviera aquí en este momento, ¿vivo como solía estar? Habría algunos problemas. No quiero pensar que pasaría entre nosotros si… bien, no vale la pena perder el tiempo. Él no esta aquí. ―Yo todavía… todavía querría intentarlo - le dije humildemente. ―Todavía lo intentaría, incluso si estuviera de vuelta. Simplemente estoy teniendo un tiempo difícil para dejar ir a alguien que me importa. ―Lo se. Hiciste lo que hiciste por amor. No puedo estar enfadado contigo por esto. Fue una estupidez, pero por amor. ¿Tienes alguna idea de lo que haría por ti? ¿Por mantenerte a salvo?

This was why love was so dangerous. Love turned the world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals sails appeared charmed. They blazed red in the day and silver at night, like a magician’s cloak, hinting at mysteries concealed beneath, which Tella planned to uncover that night. Drunken laughter floated above her as Tella delved deeper into the ship’s underbelly in search of Nigel the Fortune-teller. Her first evening on the vessel she’d made the mistake of sleeping, not realizing until the following day that Legend’s performers had switched their waking hours to prepare for the next Caraval. They slumbered in the day and woke after sunset. All Tella had learned her first day aboard La Esmeralda was that Nigel was on the ship, but she had yet to actually see him. The creaking halls beneath decks were like the bridges of Caraval, leading different places at different hours and making it difficult to know who stayed in which room. Tella wondered if Legend had designed it that way, or if it was just the unpredictable nature of magic. She imagined Legend in his top hat, laughing at the question and at the idea that magic had more control than he did. For many, Legend was the definition of magic. When she had first arrived on Isla de los Sueños, Tella suspected everyone could be Legend. Julian had so many secrets that she’d questioned if Legend’s identity was one of them, up until he’d briefly died. Caspar, with his sparkling eyes and rich laugh, had played the role of Legend in the last game, and at times he’d been so convincing Tella wondered if he was actually acting. At first sight, Dante, who was almost too beautiful to be real, looked like the Legend she’d always imagined. Tella could picture Dante’s wide shoulders filling out a black tailcoat while a velvet top hat shadowed his head. But the more Tella thought about Legend, the more she wondered if he even ever wore a top hat. If maybe the symbol was another thing to throw people off. Perhaps Legend was more magic than man and Tella had never met him in the flesh at all. The boat rocked and an actual laugh pierced the quiet. Tella froze. The laughter ceased but the air in the thin corridor shifted. What had smelled of salt and wood and damp turned thick and velvet-sweet. The scent of roses. Tella’s skin prickled; gooseflesh rose on her bare arms. At her feet a puddle of petals formed a seductive trail of red. Tella might not have known Legend’s true name, but she knew he favored red and roses and games. Was this his way of toying with her? Did he know what she was up to? The bumps on her arms crawled up to her neck and into her scalp as her newest pair of slippers crushed the tender petals. If Legend knew what she was after, Tella couldn’t imagine he would guide her in the correct direction, and yet the trail of petals was too tempting to avoid. They led to a door that glowed copper around the edges. She turned the knob. And her world transformed into a garden, a paradise made of blossoming flowers and bewitching romance. The walls were formed of moonlight. The ceiling was made of roses that dripped down toward the table in the center of the room, covered with plates of cakes and candlelight and sparkling honey wine. But none of it was for Tella. It was all for Scarlett. Tella had stumbled into her sister’s love story and it was so romantic it was painful to watch. Scarlett stood across the chamber. Her full ruby gown bloomed brighter than any flowers, and her glowing skin rivaled the moon as she gazed up at Julian. They touched nothing except each other. While Scarlett pressed her lips to Julian’s, his arms wrapped around her as if he’d found the one thing he never wanted to let go of. This was why love was so dangerous. Love turned the world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns.