Quotes About Vase

What did your mother do?" he said. "Sir?" "When it was time for bed," said the King. "Tell me." The girls exchanged nervous glances. He was talking about Mother. "She used to help the girls with their prayers," said Azalea, hesitant. "And-sometimes she would read stories." The King set the sword on the table, next to the vase. "Very well," he said as the girls whispered to one another. "I will read you a story." The whispering stopped.

When Vivian began to recover they brought her a fluted glass vase with an arrangement of lilies and yellow roses from the flower shop on Eighteenth Street owned by an elegant man Arthur had once been involved with, Christos, who was friends with both of them. He, too, loved the theater and everything about it. Later he opened a restaurant.

Hallo, Bertie. Hallo, old turnip. Where have you been all this while? Oh, here and there! Ripping weather we're having, Bertie. Not bad. I see the Bank Rate is down again. No, really? Disturbing news from Lower Silesia, what? Oh, dashed! He pottered about the room for a bit, babbling at intervals. The boy seemed cuckoo. Oh, I say, Bertie! he said suddenly, dropping a vase which he had picked off the mantelpiece and was fiddling with. I know what it was I wanted to tell you. I'm married.

Altar of the East in a clear vase, one bud a thin and dawn-pink ribbon a cone of dark incense from the farthest desert a white candle the picture of a child a single feather a flute carved of reed . . . a scroll, inscribed by hand a stoppered silver bottle containing just your breath

The heart was a bicameral thing, both stoical and skittish. Who was to say that it mightn't endure the years of separation and the abrupt reversals of fate, only to be repulsed by a misaligned vase, by a lipsticked tooth, by a hundredth of an ounce of ash?

It escalates, as it always does. Who knows what the neighbours must think. Stuart yells, I scream, he throws my vase full of flowers at the wall so that it shatters into a zillion pieces, sending water and petals everywhere.

bearing a bouquet of cleaning supplies and a bucket as a vase.

I hate getting flowers. I can't stand when I get a bouquet of flowers, because I have to stop what I do, cut the flowers, put them in a vase - if you're going to bring flowers, bring them in a vase already!

My latest decorating obsession is dipping - like painting the bottom of things. I've done it to almost every terra-cotta pot in my house. Every African vase I have is painted gold on the bottom. It's so fun and easy, and it instantly livens up a piece. You feel like you've really accomplished something.

The tablecloth was blue. The napkins were blue. The lovely porcelain plate in front of her was an Oriental design of white and blue. The flowers that made up the centerpiece were blue, the vase they reposed in—blue. Sir Graham grinned at her, and she saw a devilish, wicked gleam in his—also blue—eyes before his long lashes swept down to hide it. "You are pleased, Majesty?

I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too— And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower, That, fading from your vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me Almost a loneliness. —Emily Dickinson

of the human body:] "It was once, though it no longer is, a divine form. It is the cloak of all possible phantasms of human desire. The flowers of desire are contained in this vase whose contours we attempt to define.

And I wanted to be able to listen, to digest the bloody images, to paint them flat and unremarkable onto the vase of posterity. To release him from it and make him Achilles again.

My heart is a red rose. When happy, it sparkles brillianly. When sad it bleeds and forms a dark puddle under it. When my heart dies, the soft fragile petals fall. So you might want to put your rose in a vase

A thought that is almost beautiful – a thought that you speak not, but that you cherish within you at this moment, will irradiate you as though you were a transparent vase.

However," he continued when she remained silent, her throat a knot of emotion, "it seems Montgomery could not help himself when it came to this vase. I'm afraid he has a weakness for beautiful things and has been known to relocate an item if he feels it is not being accorded the proper appreciation. Once he 'relocated' an ancient sculpture from the home of another archangel.