Prince Phillips Quotes

Roses are red, Violets are blue, No amount of money, Can stop me from loving you, Try as they may, Try as they might, I’m not letting go, Without a fight, Some say it’s wicked, Some say it’s sinful, Some it’s wrong, And just wrong, I don’t know much, But when push comes to shove, I definitely don’t believe, There’s such thing wrong as love.

Practically every princess in peril has been saved by Love's First Kiss! For goodness' sake, between witches and fairies, can't we think of something more original? I'm weary of this. Why must a young girl need a man to save her? Why can't a princess fight for her own life, break her own curse? Why must it always be a prince? By Hades, I want to kill Prince Phillip on principle, just so we don't have yet one more prince kissing some helpless sleeping girl, making her feel like she has to marry him out of gratitude.

Her eyes were full of hate. Full. And... at the same time, empty. Soulless. Like those horrible creatures she keeps around her. The dragon was frightening... but Maleficent, she was bone-chilling.

Maybe I should let my faithful manservant answer the rest of your questions, since he seems to have all the answers." "I'm saving her time," Bodie replied. "She brings you a redhead, you'll give her grief. Look for women with class, Annabelle. That's most important. The sophisticated types who went to boarding schools and speak French. She has to be the real thing because he can spot a phony a mile away. And he likes them athletic." "Of course he does," she said dryly. "Athletic, domestic, gorgeous, brilliant, socially connected, and pathologically submissive. It'll be a snap." "You forgot hot." Heath smiled. "And defeatist thinking is for losers. If you want to be a success in this world, Annabelle, you need a positive attitude. Whatever the client wants, you get it for him. First rule of a successful business." "Uh-huh. What about career women?" "I don't see how that would work." "The kind of potential mate you're describing isn't going to be sitting around waiting for her prince to show up. She's heading a major corporation. In between those Victoria's Secret modeling gigs." He lifted an eyebrow. "Attitude, Annabelle. Attitude.

Talikin

For Dad, Thanks for being late to supper that day! And for always encouraging us to write!

God, what I wouldn’t give to live in a fairytale, sometimes. Or even just a romantic comedy. In them, this wouldn’t fly. Like, imagine if Prince Charming had picked up the glass slipper and decided the city was too big to scour it for someone who fit the damn thing? Or if Prince Phillip saw Maleficent blowing fire all over the forest and went nope, fuck that, too risky? Or if Prince Eric was all like, “Hmm, I could fight the giant octopus sea witch from my nightmares, but then I could also sail home and return to eating fish I now know are sentient, safe in denial and cognitive goddamn dissonance!”? But they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t have done any of that, because in stories guys fight. They fight for the person they care about, and they don't give up, ever.

Why must a young girl need a man to save her? Why can’t a princess fight for her own life, break her own curse? Why must it always be a prince? By Hades, I want to kill Prince Phillip on principle, just so we don’t have yet one more prince kissing some helpless sleeping girl, making her feel like she has to marry him out of gratitude.

You’d think the fairies would have thought of something more creative. Practically every princess in peril has been saved by Love’s First Kiss! For goodness’ sake, between witches and fairies, can’t we think of something more original? I’m weary of this. Why must a young girl need a man to save her? Why can’t a princess fight for her own life, break her own curse? Why must it always be a prince? By Hades, I want to kill Prince Phillip on principle, just so we don’t have yet one more prince kissing some helpless sleeping girl, making her feel like she has to marry him out of gratitude.

Placing a hand over his chest, he introduced himself. “I am Prince Phillip of Grithim.” I sucked in a breath before he voiced the question I knew he’d come to obtain the answer to. “Where the hell is my brother?” I liked him better than William already.

A different time. The era of synth pop and mixtapes, hair gel and new wave. Of Prince and paramilitaries, Madonna and moving statues. Magdalene laundries, the Eighth Amendment, bodies as battlegrounds—pig slit and gaping. Different but the same. Absolution for the guilty but not for us.

That said, I don’t really understand the point of the royal princes joining the army. Why send a couple of pampered party boys like Harry or William in to fight? In a war you need a ruthless, merciless killing machine, someone like Andy McNab, or Prince Philip. Prince Philip is the perfect soldier: he likes shooting things and he’s a racist. He’d kill his own daughter-in-law if he thought he could get away with it.

whom had long gone to bed. By now the tears that had coursed down his ever-sun-tanned cheeks had gone . . . The question is: What made Charles weep such bitter tears? Sorrow, naturally . . . Shock and nostalgia also at what he had seen, standing there beside an electric fan which made a breeze that lifted the fringe of the dead Princess’s hair. And guilt . . . No one has ever seen him racked with such a sense of frustration and confusion as yesterday. He was distraught, and entirely drained, seeking answers to the unanswerable.’ The first sign of life from Balmoral came on Thursday, the day the Daily Mirror shouted, ‘Your subjects are suffering, speak to us Ma’am’. That day the Union flag was hoisted to half mast over Buckingham Palace – for the first time ever – and the family emerged from the gates of Balmoral. The children had said they would like to go to church again, so Charles took the opportunity to give them a taste of what awaited. The Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince of Wales, William, Harry and their cousin Peter Phillips all got out of their cars to look at the messages and floral tributes that had been left there. About sixty members of the public were there, as were some photographers, and apart from the noise of their camera shutters clicking there

I want porridge!" she said, exasperated. "That's all. I wanted a bunny before and 'it' appeared, and now I want porridge. The way my aunts used to make it on cold mornings. Warm and buttery, with rich toasted acorns in it." "Acorns? Really? That sounds... um... I mean, it's an interesting gastronomic choice." She rolled her eyes. "We lived in the middle of a 'forest,' Royal Prince. It was what we had. And a real treat in the middle of winter." Then she proceeded to ignore him. She closed her eyes and cupped her hands. She prayed and wished and imagined and begged. Phillip stayed politely silent- though he did look around, sigh a little, and do all sorts of other things to obviously fret over the passage of time. She tried to call up the feel of the wooden bowl in her hands: it warmed almost like flesh where the wood was thin and the heat of her fingers and the hot porridge mingled. She summoned the smell, a mix of dairy and things of the earth and the tall green grass and the woods. Sometimes there was even a dollop of honey on top. She thought so hard she felt like she had to go to the privy. Her concentration faltered for a moment when she distractedly wondered if that ever happened to Maleficent when she was performing an incantation. But after a few seconds she was back in her dream of porridge. Time passed... "GOOD LORD!" The smell in her head was giving to a real scent in her nose now, with even that faint, almost 'un'tasty burnt smell the acorns sometimes gave off. She smiled and opened her eyes. In her hands was a cracked wooden bowl full of porridge, just like she remembered.

He put his hat back on his head and said good-bye to Charity, who continued to stare at him with wide eyes. She didn’t say anything in response to his gesture. I started to chastise my daughter for being rude, but before I could get a word out, she took a deep breath, turned toward me and said, “Mama, this man looks just like Prince Phillip . . . from Sleeping Beauty.” She fastened her gaze back on Noah, staring at him with an expression that bordered on adoration. “Are you Prince Phillip? My mama has been waiting for you such a long, long time.

The Frog Prince,” Prairie said to Phillip, reading the title on the page. “I can read,” he said. “I believe this is an omen.

Sir Daniel Harker, a many years retired plenipotentiary to one of the smaller Powers, shrugged his shoulders.

Often there's nothing better than to leave a sick body alone to allow it to be healed by that prince of physicians, time.

It's easy to be envious of someone when you think you know their life, but you can't ever, can you?

I love you. I tried so hard not to love you, but I couldn’t stop myself.” Ash squeezed his hand holding hers. “Good.” Prince Phillip’s voice was low and intense. “Don’t ever stop, because I will never stop loving you.

Philip had to apologize in 1999 after a walkabout at an Edinburgh electronics factory when he commented that a fuse box bursting with wires looked “as if it was put in by an Indian.

Prince Philip’s study in his private quarters at Wood Farm, the house on the Sandringham Estate where he spent much of his retirement years, was as minimal and uncluttered as the boardroom of a ship. His was always the leanest operation of the Palace machine, deploying only two private secretaries, an equerry, and a librarian to execute several hundred royal engagements a year. Despite his peremptory manner, he was by far the most popular member of the family to work for—“very unassuming and knows that it is not always as easy to do something as it is to ask for it be done,” as one household servant put it. In 2008, he gave his Savile Row tailor (John Kent of Norton & Sons) a fifty-one-year-old pair of trousers to be altered.

I like 'Rose' better, I think. 'Aurora' implies something ethereal and unattainable. Not like a beautiful, sweet-smelling flower.

Thank you, Pig Keeper," Phillip said, and placed a few gold coins in the boy's hand. The boy's eyes went wide as he felt the weight of the gold,even as he absently corrected his prince. "Uh, Assistant Pig Keeper, actually.

Prince Phillip was Sleeping Beauty’s prince; Prince Charming was Snow White’s prince. Get your fairy tales straight.