Marie Windsor Quotes

As the Queen’s grandmother Queen Mary once said to a relative, “You are a member of the British royal family. We are never tired and we all love hospitals.

Snow crunched under the feet of three cloaked figures – a queen, her lady, and a gravedigger – as they hurried along a moonlit path in Windsor Castle's lower ward. The gravedigger pushed a cart that held a slab of marble, his pick and shovel, and some straw. When the trio reached the steps of St. George's Chapel, Queen Mary stopped. She turned her head, pushing aside the fur of her hood, and a gust of wind needled her with crystallized snow. She looked back at her attendants. Was she wrong to trust them with this night's work?

The only way to conquer Barbara Stanwyck was to kill her, if she didn’t kill you first. Lynn Bari wanted any husband that wasn’t hers. Jane Russell’s body promised paradise but her eyes said, “Oh, please!” Claire Trevor was semi-sweet in Westerns and super-sour in moderns. Ida Lupino treated men like used-up cigarette butts. Gloria Grahame was oversexed evil with an added fey touch—a different mouth for every role. Ann Sheridan and Joan Blondell slung stale hash to fresh customers. Ann Dvorak rattled everyone’s rafters, including her own. Adele Jergens was the ultimate gun moll, handy when the shooting started. Marie Windsor just wanted them dead. Lucille Ball, pre–Lucy, was smart of mouth and warm as nails. Mercedes McCambridge, the voice of Satan, used consonants like Cagney used bullets. Marilyn Maxwell seemed approachable enough, depending on her mood swings. And Jean Hagen stole the greatest movie musical ever made by being the ultimate bitch. These wonderwomen proved that a woman’s only place was not in the kitchen. We ain’t talkin’ Loretta Young here.

Consumption was understood as a manner of appearing, and that appearance became a staple of nineteenth-century manners. It became rude to eat heartily. It was glamorous to look sickly. “Chopin was tubercular at a time when good health was not chic,” Camille Saint-Saëns wrote in 1913. “It was fashionable to be pale and drained; Princess Belgiojoso strolled along the boulevards … pale as death in person.” Saint-Saëns was right to connect an artist, Chopin, with the most celebrated femme fatale of the period, who did a great deal to popularize the tubercular look. The TB-influenced idea of the body was a new model for aristocratic looks—at a moment when aristocracy stops being a matter of power, and starts being mainly a matter of image. (“One can never be too rich. One can never be too thin,” the Duchess of Windsor once said.) Indeed, the romanticizing of TB is the first widespread example of that distinctively modern activity, promoting the self as an image. The tubercular look had to be considered attractive once it came to be considered a mark of distinction, of breeding. “I cough continually!” Marie Bashkirtsev wrote in the once widely read Journal, which was published, after her death at twenty-four, in 1887. “But for a wonder, far from making me look ugly, this gives me an air of languor that is very becoming.” What was once the fashion for aristocratic femmes fatales and aspiring young artists became, eventually, the province of fashion as such. Twentieth-century women’s fashions (with their cult of thinness) are the last stronghold of the metaphors associated with the romanticizing of TB in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

Her face gave her away: the half-smirk, her shadowy eyes and that look were sure signs that she was up to no good, even if she wasn’t. You somehow suspected her motives might just be tainted. Not an asset for an actress who wants to play traditionally romantic leading roles, but great viewing for her fans who wanted her to be bad, wanted her to gun down the next dope who came along. Marie Windsor was at her best when she was ruthless or just plain tough; she made her roles interesting—heck, she looked interesting—giving them a visceral, raw energy many of them didn’t deserve. Yeah, she couldn’t be trusted, what of it?" - Laura Wagner on Marie Windsor

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First one, then the other, describes in clear fencing language, in detail exactly what occurred. For example: “Mary was in coda longa, I was in posta di donna. Mary attacked with a thrust to my face. I tried to exchange the thrust, but my sword caught on the back of my mask and I missed my parry. Mary’s thrust landed in my face”. Then Mary describes what she thought happened “well, I started in tutta porta di ferro, and attacked with a mandritto fendente … (you’ll be amazed how rarely you’ll agree with each other to start with). Lastly, the observer states what he thought happened. If the observer doesn’t have a reliable fencing memory, use a video camera too. When

If a sportsman true you’d be Listen carefully to me; Never, never let your gun Pointed be at anyone; That it might unloaded be Matters not the least to me. You may hit or you may miss, But at all times think of this: All the game birds ever bred Won’t pay for one man dead. Forty

Popularity for a King is much more important among those he does not know than among those he does.

began. The coronation ceremony—a

PREFACE

The Windsors, the Spencers, and the clergy departed back through the nave, following the path of the casket. We were asked to remain in our seats until the stewards invited us to leave. After the overpowering emotions the funeral had evoked, I was relieved to sit quietly to pull myself together. My companion kindly offered me a ride back to Chelsea, but I had agreed to do a brief interview right after the ceremony. We waved our programs triumphantly at the usher who’d been so snappy to us earlier. He smiled back, relieved that the pressure of the funeral was over.

married and a child was born in Malta in 1862. To give the story greater attraction, Mary Bird was said to have been employed as a cook in 1856 at Windsor Castle. Harman had no reason to question Meghan or her suggestion that she travel to Malta with Gina Nelthorpe-Cowne. Elle

Arthur published small volumes of verse, and within time he was accepted as an unofficial Poet Laureate to the Court at Windsor, the work of the official incumbent Alfred Austin being so awful that even the Queen and the then Prince of Wales could tell.

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