Quotes About Luxury

I want you both to remember," Kathleen told the twins, "the pleasure of shopping lasts only until it's time to settle the bill." "But we won't have to do that," Pandora pointed out. "All the bills go to Lord Trenear." Devon grinned. "I'll remind you of this conversation when there's no money left to buy food.

Sukey's approving glance swept over Amanda's black evening dress, made of shimmering crinkled silk that had been cut very low across the bosom and fitted tightly to her voluptuous shape. Rows of glittering jet beads adorned the bodice and long sleeves, while her gloves and shoes were of soft chamois leather. It was a sophisticated ensemble, one that made the most of Amanda's looks and generously displayed her bosom.

Whereas other clubs served the eternal beefsteak and apple tart, the lavish buffet at Jenner's was constantly replenished with ever-more artful dishes... hot lobster salad, casserole of pheasant, prawns on pillowy beds of pureed celery root, quail stuffed with grapes and goat cheese and served in pools of cream sauce. And Evie's favorite- a sticky flourless almond cake topped with raspberries and a thick layer of meringue.

Either way, you should get out of that house." "I did. I'm at the Sleep Chalet on Route 9." "Sounds swanky." "If the swank were onomatopoeic, then it would be," Luna said.

If you push people beyond the threshold, you make them slaves of the moment. Tomorrow is a luxury.

But you just keep wagging your pricey manicure and that horse-choking diamond bracelet at me. That helps make it all seem so much more right.

Late Hours" On summer nights the world moves within earshot on the interstate with its swish and growl, and occasional siren that sends chills through us. Sometimes, on clear, still nights, voices float into our bedroom, lunar and fragmented, as if the sky had let them go long before our birth. In winter we close the windows and read Chekhov, nearly weeping for his world. What luxury, to be so happy that we can grieve over imaginary lives.

In winter we close the windows and read Chekhov, nearly weeping for his world. What luxury, to be so happy that we can grieve over imaginary lives.

Sanguine was an expensive cloth dyed blood-red –

Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.

You don't know many friends you have till you buy a big-ass house on the beach.

Maybe money can't buy happiness, but it can get you a nice little villa in Tuscany, and that's close enough for me.

Hawaii is a paradise--and I can never cease proclaiming it; but I must append one word of qualification: Hawaii is a paradise for the well-to-do.

Desserts are for pleasure. They are indulgences and luxuries, and we count on them to raise our spirits. And what could raise a mood or spirit better than a luscious creamy dessert like a quivering panna cotta, a rich butterscotch pudding, a caramel apple shortcake, or a Venetian-style fried custard?... When we're served them, we feel safe and loved, and when we prepare them and serve them to others, we feel generous and nurturing.

Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon, So costly were they; carpets, every stitch Of workmanship so rare, they make you wish You could glide o'er them like a golden fish.

Money, if it does not bring you happiness, will at least help you to miserable in comfort.

Han enseñado a la gente a necesitar demasiadas fruslerías. Me temo que el noventa y cinco por ciento de la población de Europa occidental aceptaría la destrucción del planeta a cien años vista si ése fuera el precio de poder seguir teniendo lavadora.

here's a thing I've learned: Perfection is deception. An illusion. It's a carefully curated but false narrative. The golden family you think you know from the luxury home down the street—they're not who you believe they are. They have faults, secrets. Sometimes dark and terrible ones.

Perfection is deception. An illusion. It's a carefully curated but false narrative. The golden family you think you know from the luxury home down the street—they're not who you believe they are. They have faults, secrets. Sometimes dark and terrible ones.

I don't have to work. I could buy your fucking penthouse twice over myself with my trust fund.

She wears chunky gold neck jewelry like battle armor and carries a leather briefcase for which some crocodile or snake probably gave its life.

A dress is a weapon. It must dazzle his eye, raise his temperature . . . and empty his purse.

We had reached the doors to my suite, which still felt awkward to say, even in my own head. My suite. Guys like me don't have suites. We have lairs.

We followed him through the wealthy splendor of the house. Hardwood floors. Custom carved woodworking. Statues. Fountains. Suits of armor. Original painting, one of them a van Gogh. Stained-glass windows. Household staff in formal uniform. I kept expecting to come across a flock of peacocks roaming the halls, or maybe a pet cheetah in a diamond-studded collar.