Quotes from Lisa St. Aubin de Terán

Traveling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, 'I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.

I knew, as every peasant does, that land can never be truly owned. We are the keepers of the soil, the curators of trees.

He knew what he did because all Venetians knew it.

I was touched by the millennial madness.

Words are the bricks and mortar of love.

It was always a dream house, and like a dream, it has no end.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there. The palace started as a single vaulted room and grew in proportion to my despair. It began as an exercise to keep my mind from its melancholy, then it became a dream and a necessity. . . . I built a temple in my head. . . . Its hallways were as lofty as a cathedral, and the arch of each window as supple as a bow. Its corridors were the passages of my own brain.

Their only chance to mix with royalty was while they played Bézique. They never played any other game but this one that had grown out of the French court: it was the game of the cavaliers, a game of waiting between battles.

Traveling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, 'I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.

The palace started as a single vaulted room and grew in proportion to my despair. It began as an exercise to keep my mind from its melancholy, then it became a dream and a necessity. . . . I built a temple in my head. . . . Its hallways were as lofty as a cathedral, and the arch of each window as supple as a bow. Its corridors were the passages of my own brain.

I knew, as every peasant does, that land can never be truly owned. We are the keepers of the soil, the curators of trees.

Travelling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.

Like poetry, in times of intense emotion the image returns to me. Like poetry, it stroked my soul and, by turns, lulled and stoked my senses.

My head was a desolate place and as barren as the bare hills of Le Marche. Until I began to build in it, only vultures nested there.

Their only chance to mix with royalty was while they played Bezique. They never played any other game but this one that had grown out of the French court: it was the game of the cavaliers, a game of waiting between battles.

Fine food is poison. It can be as bitter as antimony and bitter almonds and as repulsive as swallowing live toads. Like the poison the emperor took every day to stop himself being poisoned, fine food must be taken daily until the system becomes immune to its ravages and the taste buds beaten and abused to the point where they not only accept but savour every vile concoction under the sun.