Quotes About Dorothy

on Tuesdays and Fridays Dorothy walked to lessons with her piano teacher, Mrs. Hickenlooper.

Like Hilary (who never watched her own television programmes), Dorothy had no intention of ever consuming the products which she was happy to foist upon an uncomplaining public.

The Boyds, Prescott and Dorothy." Sue gave Ray a knowing look as she continued. "The Crescent Cove—Round Island Hunt Club, I guess they own it now." Ray was familiar with the location: a gated and fenced enclave that held the largest tract of private land in the county.

f While Mr. William Bradford was absent in the shallop, his wife Dorothy accidentally fell overboard from the Mayflower at Cape Cod and was drowned.

Intentions, yours or anyone else's, don't matter; they never matter and never excuse.

Not to every young girl is it given to enter the harem of the Sultan of Turkey and return to her homeland a virgin.

Whatever fascination Lymond held for her mother, it had no power at five in the morning.

Intolerance drunk is bad enough, but intolerance sober is quite insupportable.

Fools make news, and wise men carry it.

And isna Sybilla a wee love o' a bitch?' 'You say the nicest things about my mother,' said Lymond.

Unwanted, unasked, unwelcome as ever, here I am.' 'Again,' said Lymond.

Intentions, yours or anyone else's, don't matter; they never matter and never excuse: get that into your head.

Faith, thought O'LiamRoe. And not a decent creature among them thought to say that the only rule in it is for a man to have a fine, steady seat for an elephant.

I would have forgone even the body for the sake of the mind. And I would have claimed neither body nor mind, had I discovered a soul.

It would have made a fitting tomb, she supposed, for Thady Boy Ballagh. That it was fitting for Francis Crawford she would not believe.

A long sea voyage with Jerott spewing drunk on every deck is not my idea of an adequate quid pro quo.

This is a clever bastard, my friends. I like that word entertainment, for instance.

This officer, but doubt, is callit deid.

You tried to …? How?' 'In the time-honoured fashion,' he said. 'My cuffs are too tight to gratify you with a view.

We may lack some polish,' he said. 'But distrust the society which displays overmuch dangerous charm.

He received another kiss which led him to wonder, hopefully, if the English bastard at the Hôtel d'Hercule was dying.

Evil the drink and ill the resting place. I am not, unfortunately, asleep.

I rather think one of us drunk is sufficient.

Patriotism is a fine hothouse for maggots.