Quotes About Rue

Rue, who when you ask her what she loves most in the world, replies, of all things, "Music.

Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.

How exactly did Rue end up on stage with nothing but the wind offering to take her place?

A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta's child could be safe.

The music swells and I recognize the brilliance of it. As the notes overlap, they complement one another, forming a lovely, unearthly harmony. It was this sound then, thanks to Rue, that sent the orchard workers of District 11 home each night. Does someone start it at quitting time, I wonder, now that she is dead?

Some of the plants have obituary names: Iris, Basil, Rue, Rosemary, and Verbena. Some, like meadowsweet and cowslips, sweet flag and spikenard, are like the names of Shakespeare fairies.

Nay, cried Bingley, this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning.

The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue." And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true. Into

O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue If England to itself do rest but true.

Rue's pulse quickens as she recognizes Dianne Klister. A notorious criminal lawyer in this town, and a media whore.

On the way he stopped at Paillard, the marvelous bakery on rue St-Jean, and at a dépanneur for beer then headed up rue Ste-Ursule, pausing to check the address he'd been given, unconvinced he had it right. But no. There it was. 9¾ rue Ste-Ursule. He shook his head. 9¾.