Valentino Quotes

I write short stories because I am one. I wish I was a novel. Breaths away from midnight, I know my final chapter is close. I look up at Valentino, wondering what life could’ve offered if I had more pages in me.

Do you think you wear a mask?’ ‘I’m wearing one right now.’ Valentino smiled softly. ‘We both are.’ ‘It’s a sad thought.’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But sometimes I wonder about the alternative. Imagine if we had no secrets, no respite from the truth. What if everything was laid bare the moment we introduced ourselves?

To die, one must first have been alive. And the Beast could finally say that by finding love, he had lived.

My name? My name is nothing compared to Orion.” “No, I love your name. You’ve got tons of nickname opportunities. I got O, and that’s it. Oh, actually, I also had people calling me ‘Oreo’ in high school. Hated that.” “That’s bad, but at least you didn’t have to deal with ‘Valentino’s Day’ every Valentines Day. I had to ask out my friends’ crushes for them like I was Cupid.” “I’m so sorry, Cupid.” “It’s okay, Oreo.

The words wounded deeper than the bruises and the scars from any physical pain he inflicted on me. At least those wounds healed.

It is hardest to kill the man who has the most to live for.’ He took a pretend shot. ‘The empty, the soulless, the hate-filled enemies drop like flies. Those who love, and love hard, are the ones left standing.

I cannot live in fear of losing him, for fear of not living my life at all.

A shoe decision change leads to bein' more than twenty minutes late? "The Choos are silver. The Valentinos are a blush. Sure, the Valentinos have crystal and mesh but I'd gone gray, smoky and drama. The blush requires soft pink, glimmer and dewy. That required total cleanse off and reapplication of makeup.", I explained.

You can’t avoid the inevitability of death. It comes at you one way or another, and takes us all to the same place in the end. To apologize for it is to apologize for the sun shining or the rain falling. It is what it is.

She honestly didn’t know what was worse: living her life in the dream world, or living in a world where everyone lied to her.

I am Valentino Rossi. If I stay in MotoGP it is to try to win. When that is not possible it is time to stay at home and work in the garden!

I never thought I’d hear you complaining about shoes, I hope hell isn’t freezing over because we don’t have Valentino ice skates.

He was a conundrum dressed in Valentino with “fuck” on his lips . . . I didn’t know why I found the contrast attractive. Maybe the novelty and honesty of it.

I write short stories because I am one. I wish I was a novel. Breaths away from midnight, I know my final chapter is close. I look up at Valentino, wondering what life could’ve offered if I had more pages in me.

I'm no longer a short story. I'm now a novel. Better yet, I'm a work in progress.

Well, well, my dear. Are we so brokenhearted as that? Is the loss of that terrible prince really worth your life?

Magic Mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

So many books to read and worlds to escape into, so much history to learn. No matter what was happening, no matter how distressing it was, all she had to do was go to the library and it would all be well in her world

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.

Only one thing comforted him: he had finally learned what it was to love. And the feeling was deeper and more meaningful than anything he’d felt before. He felt like he was dying. To die, one must have first been alive. And the Beast could finally say that by finding love, he had lived.

How do you honor a witch who betrayed you?

It was strange having so much knowledge at once and having so little power to direct her own fate. But she listened, she watched, and she learned.

To die, one must have first been alive. And the Beast could finally say that by finding love, he had lived.

We will be different people after tonight. Different versions of ourselves.

In the end, everything isn't always as black-and-white as the markings on a Dalmatian puppy. Even for an evil thing like Cruella De Vil.

I do not care about power and wealth, father. I want to marry for love.” “You want to marry for love?” The elder Valentino scoffed. “Que mierda. Marrying for love is like adding extra picante to your meal. It may seem like a good idea at the time, but your stomach will curse you for it with ulcers in the end.

...our brains are minuscule fragments of the universe, much too small to hold all the facts of the world but not too idle to speculate about them.

We're not here to discuss Maleficent! Her story is too long and complicated to debate in the time we have left...

His eyes looked cruel, piercing, almost like those of a wolf seeking his prey, and his mouth looked thinner, more sinister than it had looked before.

Hate—true hate—wasn’t just conjured; it was birthed.

You have to watch our for the quiet ones. Take some advice from me. The quiet observant girls are the deadliest.

It had become quite clear to me that I gated being told what to do. I wanted to be independent.

I want a love so deep that I feel it in every tiny cell in my body. I want a love that conquers all. A love that withstands the test of time.

his enemies would make him suffer even more for the pain he had caused so many before he became a beast.

Because she didn’t love herself. She feared rejection because she was so unlike anyone she’d ever known. She was so full of fear that she sequestered herself away.

So what if she was more interested in reading about princesses than being one herself?

I didn't like that person inside me who said and did awful things. But sometimes it felt as if I had no control over her.

Valentino and Valentina . . . That's some psycho shit.

Sometimes we create images of the people we love and hate in our minds, and those images override what we see with our eyes, even when they are right in front of us. Even if we've imagined them to be monsters, to see them as they truly are with our eyes and our hearts is sometimes shocking.

Christmastime was always my favorite time of year. It did something to me. It made me softer. More kindhearted. Not an affliction I fall prey to lately. But back then I loved the days leading up to Christmas almost as much as I loved the day itself.

Luck is one thing. It has always been there, it has always been a part of my success. It's a part of everyone's success. Without it, you can't be successful. But luck is something you have to stimulate, something you have to nurture through the choices you make...That's why things have always worked out for me. Things work out not just because I'm lucky, but because I plan ahead. I figure out what I want and I go for it. I've always spent a lot of time trying to surround myself with the right people, the kinds of teammates who could lead me to my goals.

I write short stories because I am one. I wish I was a novel. Breaths away from midnight, I know my final chapter is close. I look up at Valentino, wondering what life could've offered if I had more pages in me.

The old queen had failed them so miserably... She was such a bitter disappointment. But Ursula was different. There was no one to distract her, no one for her to love. She was alone in the world, alone in her grief, and alone with her pain. No, she wouldn't disappoint them. Unlike the old queen, Ursula would be able to fill her heart with hate.

Countless stories like this have been told over the years, and how do they end? Always in misery for the wicked queen or witch, always with death. And always she was wronged in some way, by something or some person who set her on this path.

It is our lot to lose our loves and feel our hearts break in the wake of that loss.

She had power over him now, the way he'd had it over her for so many years.

were holding a mirror up to the monster within, which was longing to escape

She felt thankful her father always gave her the freedom to express herself how she wished and live her life the way she thought was right. He allowed her to be herself.

It was a curious sensation, as if she had never known what it was to feel alive until that moment.

You’re so full of shit, if you ever had an enema you’d evaporate into thin air.

What sort of woman would do that—give up her life so easily, sacrificing her freedom for her father’s? The Beast wondered if he was capable of such a sacrifice. He wondered if he was capable of love.

Tulip looks beautiful. More importantly, she looks happy! And she’s living her life as she chooses.

Don’t let yourselves get caught up in someone else’s story. Stick to your own tale, my darlings. Write your own ending

The world is dark, selfish, and cruel. If it finds the slightest ray of sunshine, it destroys it,

No wonder men didn't take women seriously; they had classes in walking while men learned ancient languages.

The

You are beautiful, my dear, truly. Do not ever forget that, even if I am not here to remind you.

The sky, they thought, was particularly breathtaking at twilight; it was their magic hour, when everything looked perfect and they felt anything was possible.

Suddenly, a brilliant burst of green light shot up from the highest tower, warning every nearby creature that Maleficent was in a terrible rage.

I write short stories because I am one.

One of the most appealing things about being rich is having all your needs met.  But there is a loop-hole to this.  If you can diminish your wants and live on less, you’re just as powerful as the asshole in the Valentino suit.  The only difference is that he is working 60 hour weeks, and you don’t have to worry about staining your slacks when you sit on the beach.

(...) She realised she had lost something of herself over the past six years. She had lost her edge, her wit and her stoicism. She had become softer and she resolved to find herself again

Pavasarį ir panos pagražėja, mat kritiškai nužvelgia save veidrodyje prieš išeidamos į gatvę. Šv. Valentino diena, Moters diena ne atsitiktinai švenčiamos pavasarį. Motinos diena taip pat.

Valentino Masini wasn’t a small man. He wore a suit, ruffled and worn after what must have been a lightning flight across the country. His dark eyes held a death stare that would intimidate most.

Belle, so brave and noble—willing to take her father’s place as a prisoner in the castle dungeon. What sort of woman would do that—give up her life so easily, sacrificing her freedom for her father’s?

Yeah, well, my point is he stuck his neck out for you, and from what I know of him, he doesn’t really seem like the type to do something like that so lightly. Maybe he’s biding his time … or,’ she raised her finger, ‘maybe he’s scared of something … or someone. It’s probably his twin. The bossman. Old blue-eyes-creepysmile. What’s his name again?’ ‘You know his name,’ I said. ‘And can you keep your voice down, please? I’ve taken a vow of secrecy and anyone could be listening to you right now.’ Millie rolled her eyes. ‘And no, I doubt Valentino would be thrilled at the idea of me making out with his brother. Especially after everything that happened with Nic.’ ‘You know,’ said Millie who was now narrowing her eyes, ‘for someone with such a romantic name, he’s a real killjoy, isn’t he? He’s all, Ooh look at me, I’m sensitive and kind and I have a beautiful long name and pretty eyes, and then BAM! Psyche! I’m going to shoot you. You know what I call that, Soph? I call that false advertising, and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.

Once in school, going down to lunch from our third-floor classroom, Valentino Vail had leaned over the banister without warning and loosed a cataract of orange vomit. The stairway was the usual open stack and Valentino’s breakfast just dropped forever, three stories down, touching a good number of lives as it rocketed past and hitting the basement tile with a sound zookeepers must hear sometimes, around the elephants.

I write short stories because I am one. I wish I was a novel. Breaths away from midnight, I know my final chapter is close. I look up at valentino, wondering what life could have offered if I had more pages in me.

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.

Of the nine million Harlequin Romance and Silhouette Ecstasy books for women today, sold and read by the ton, no hero appears whose primary quality isn’t arrogance. If any man appears at first helpful, cheerful, and polite, he’s the villain. The man who at first appears hopelessly mean and insensitive, he’s the hero. It’s cornography. Margaret Mitchell’s inspiration for Rhett Butler was Valentino in that tango. It’s a twentieth-century malaise.

San Valentino significava avere il doppio dei coperti, la sala trasformata in un mare di tavoli da due, le coppie strizzate in mezzo metro quadrato di spazio ad aspettare in eterno una bistecca e a guardarsi negli occhi facendosi forza per ciò che le aspettava nel dopocena.

... Güzellik bir tecrübedir. Başka bir şey değil. Güzellik, kesin bir kalıp veya belirli özellikler bütünü değildir. O, hissedilen bir şeydir. Karşılıklı hissedilen bir sıcaklık ve zarafet duygusudur. Bizi içten içe bozan şey, güzellik anlayışımızın çürümüş ve körelmiş olmasıdır. En iyi kısmı gözden kaçırıyoruz. Filmin tamamına bakmalıyız: Charlie Chaplin'in tuhaf suratında Valentino'nunkinden çok daha esaslı bir güzellik vardır. Chaplin'in kaşlarında ve gözlerinde gerçek güzelliğin bir parçası, saf kalmış bir şeylerin ışıltısı bulunur. Fakat bizim güzellik anlayışımız o kadar çürük ve hantal ki onu göremiyoruz, görsek de tanımıyoruz. Biz sadece Rudolf Valentino'nun sözde güzelliği gibi, bariz bir şekilde ortada olanı görüyoruz. Çünkü onun güzelliği, bizim basmakalıp güzellik anlayışımıza karşılık geldiği için hoşumuza gidiyor.

Tulip hated this feeling. The last time she had felt this way, she had been utterly humiliated and deeply hurt. She couldn't imagine allowing herself to be charmed by another handsome man only to be heartbroken again. But she was different now, wasn't she? Stronger, bolder, and indeed more worldly.

Martha spoke again. “In case you’ve forgotten, here are the rules, Beast, laid out by all the sisters: You must love her and that love must be returned with true love’s kiss, before your twenty first birthday. She may use the mirror as you do, to see into the world beyond your kingdom, but she must never know the details of the curse or how it’s to be broken. You will notice she sees the castle and its enchantments differently than yourself. The most terrifying aspects of the curse are reserved for you.

a lovely little creature of three or four with a joyous bounce in her step and an inextinguishable sparkle of happiness twinkling in her eyes.

The only person who killed almost as many animals as the Prince was his good friend Gaston

It's hard to feel sorry for those willing to fling themselves into disaster. They are their own undoing, my dear. They bring it upon themselves. They don't merit your pity.

but I cannot live in fear of losing him, for fear of not living my life at all. May

That's my point. Almost all of us have been hurt by our families, but look at us now, making families of our own, with people we choose to love,

Now go. Don’t look back. I couldn’t bear to see you looking back at me while you go,

Maleficent had come to realize it was her fondness for Opal that allowed her to see though her eyes.

Being a Queen will Always be in Style!

Don’t forget, Beast, true love, both given and received, before the last petal falls.

But of course, isn't it always the case that the higher you fly, the farther you fall? And I would indeed fall, farther than I could have possibly imagined.

You’ll soon learn most of our stories are quite the same, James. I’m sure you’ll find all of us are either running away from or running to something.

You’re running toward your fate, a better life, and you still have it all before you. You get to choose the sort of man you want to be. It’s your choice, James, no one else's.

From your head to your toes, your beauty can be seen.” My fingertips trace a heart shape over where hers lies beneath her skin. “But it’s your beauty in here that I love the most.

please calm down! I’m getting the tea! Every conversation is better over tea!

You can yell at me. You can throw shit around the room. I don’t care. I’ll still be here, always. I want to help. But I can’t help if you don’t let me in,

I know thirty different ways to kill you and make it look like an accident.” “I know fifty.

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.

Each time he returned from battle he was a little less himself—and a little bit more at the same time. The experience seemed to both harrow his soul and enrich his understanding of the evils the world held.

into the West Wing. Not even the sisters came to this part of the castle. He had escaped their mockery for long stretches of time when he spent most of his days here in the beginning—hiding away, letting his anger swell to epic proportions, fearful of what he was becoming, yet intrigued concurrently. It had been that way at first, hadn’t it? Intriguing. The subtle differences in his features, the lines around his eyes that frightened his foes when he narrowed them. Using a look rather than words to strike fear into his enemies was very useful indeed. He had looked upon himself in the mirror in those days, trying to distinguish

I think it was because no one loved her.” “Why?” asked the child. “Because she didn’t love herself. She feared rejection because she was so unlike anyone she’d ever known. She was so full of fear that she sequestered herself away.

I no longer believed that Valentino would continue to build anything at all. Instead, he would merely leave behind the empire of hope that he had constructed in each of our minds. Leonardo's empire boasted cities more perfect than Plato or Augustine could have imagined. My empire of hope was an Italy defended by citizen soldiers rather than mercenary thugs, free of tyranny and foreign armies, with justice for all regardless of rank or wealth. But I feared I had come to Cesenatico only to wander among its ruins.

 Don't get me wrong, I'm still not trying to die, but watching Valentino live through his End Day has been rough. It's hard not to feel like the author of his story is some cruel bastard who won't give him any wins. There's so many ways he could've died by now-gunshot or beat down with a bat or smashing his head on the curb or that fall back at the apartment or run over in the middle of the street—and he's surviving for what? To get rejected by his agent, and find out his sister is still stuck back home? I can't celebrate my life knowing his final hours are not working out for him.

You can tell people you fell because the bike didn't follow the trajectory it was supposed to follow, or tell them that you are actually really fast, but the bike simply isn't. inside you, however, you know the truth. You know you fell off because you made a mistake, or because your opponent is simply faster than you.

She couldn’t act like a mother if she tried!” said Martha. “This is even better than I thought it would be!” said Ruby, laughing so hard she fell to the floor and rolled around in fits. Soon Martha joined her, and the two were laughing so hard they were crying, causing their makeup to drip down their hysterical faces.

Svenson jammed the cap down over his ears and marched for the door. “ ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to war we go!’ ” “Mama, how do you stand him?” demanded Frideswiede, youngest of the seven sisters. Her father counterwheeled, snatched his wife in a Rudolph Valentino embrace, and bussed her mightily. “ ‘Farewell, my own. I return with my shield,’ or—What the hell’s the rest of it?” “For you there is no rest of it,” said his helpmeet, tucking back a strand of flaxen hair and casting a somewhat complacent glance at Frideswiede. “Go, then, I will keep a herring in the window for you.” “Mama,” said Gudrun, the second youngest, “it’s a candle you’re supposed to keep in the window.” “Nonsense, my child. A candle would smoke up the glass and drip on the sill. A herring lies looking mournful and bereft. The symbolism is much more meaningful. Also it comes in handy for smorgasbord later. Get ready now at once or you will miss the school bus.

Bow was originally billed as the “Brooklyn Bonfire,” then as the “Hottest Jazz Baby in Films,” but in 1927 she became, and would forevermore remain, the “It Girl.” “It” was first a two-part article and then a novel by a flame-haired English novelist named Elinor Glyn, who was known for writing juicy romances in which the main characters did a lot of undulating (“she undulated round and all over him, twined about him like a serpent”) and for being the mistress for some years of Lord Curzon, former viceroy of India. “It,” as Glyn explained, “is that quality possessed by some few persons which draws all others with its magnetic life force. With it you win all men if you are a woman—and all women if you are a man.” Asked by a reporter to name some notable possessors of “It,” Glyn cited Rudolph Valentino, John Gilbert, and Rex the Wonder Horse. Later she extended the list to include the doorman at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. It the novel was a story in which the two principal characters—Ava and Larry, both dripping with “It”—look at each other with “burning eyes” and “a fierce gleam” before getting together to “vibrate with passion.” As Dorothy Parker summed up the book in The New Yorker, “It goes on for nearly three hundred pages, with both of them vibrating away like steam-launches.