Quotes About Wedding

The boy is right," my aunt said next to me. "You make a passable bride. Miracle of miracles.

For some people, showing up at a bridal salon without a ring or a groom might appear bizarre and quite unusual--but for me, it's a regular Tuesday afternoon.

If you've chosen someone to be in your bridal party, she should be a good enough friend that she does not want to upstage you.

His mother?" Gracie couldn't believe it. Suzy Denton looked much too young to be his mother. And much too respectable. "But you're not a-" She cut herself off in mid-sentence as she realized what she'd almost let slip. Suzy's wedding ring clicked against the steering wheel as she gave it a hard smack. "I'm going to kill him! He's been telling that hooker story again, hasn't he?

Thanks to April," she whispered, "you have the wedding you've dreamed about ever since you were a little girl." Dean's boom of laughter was one more reason she loved this man with all her heart.

She (Daisy) dug her nails into her palms and told herself she had no choice. "I, Theodosia..." She gulped for air. "...take thee Alexander..." She gulped again. "...to be my awful wedded husband...

Here comes the bride. All dressed in white. For some reason, Chelsea could hear Bugs Bunny's voice in her head, singing the childish words that had been put to the tune. It would have been funny if she hadn't been so damn scared.

The minister said you could kiss the bride—not inhale the bride," she whispered sharply as they plunged down the aisle.

She took a deep breath and gave him a somewhat tentative smile. "You see, I need a date for my wedding." He stared at her, convinced he'd misunderstood. "You need a what?

Plutarch rushes to reassure me. "Oh, no, Katniss. Not your wedding. Finnick and Annie's. All you need to do is show up and pretend to be happy for them." "That's one of the few things I won't have to pretend, Plutarch," I tell him.

Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's.

Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage… I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a mockingjay.

The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it's over.

I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, a blue hair ribbon for Prim, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page with yellow flowers and I shut it quickly because it was Peeta's brush that painted them.

We had to wait for Plutarch to finish getting his wedding footage, which, despite the lack of what he calls razzle-dazzle, he's pleased with.

What I find about wedding plans is that everyone wants to talk about when I don't. As soon as I do feel like talking about my wedding plans, their eyes glaze over and I can see them wishing they were dead

I notice that, as the wedding date approaches, some doors are opening and others are closing. I have no control.

Sentiment has never been unpopular except with a few sick persons who are made sicker by the sight of a child, a glimpse of a wedding, or the thought of a happy home.

Ought a woman to disclose her frailties earlier than the wedding day? Few husbands, I assure you, make the discovery in such good season, and still fewer complain that these trifles are concealed too long. Well, what a strange man you are! Poh! you are joking.

You are thirty minutes late. Yes. Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral? No. Why not, pray tell? Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.

Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral." I was always quick with the mouth. I would never learn.

I think when two people really love each other...way down deep...like where the souls sleep and dreams happen, where pain can't live 'cause there's nothing for it to feed on...then a wedding is a bleeding together of those two souls. Like two rivers running together. All that water becoming the same water. Mine did that.

She forgot: it was as simple as that. She just loved being with the guy. Possibly enough that not even their own wedding could screw it up.

She had never paid much attention to the Middle Eastern situation, per se, and now she knew why. It was an overload of craziness. It was a seventy-piece orchestra rehearsing a funeral dirge and a wedding march simultaneously in a broom closet.