Bride Quotes (52 Quotes)
“Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there;
She gives the best light to his sphere;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.”
“He wants a fifteen thousand pound settlement."
"He says you're a great deal of trouble."
She hesitated for one startled moment before choking back a laugh.
"I thought so." He leveled Drew a look. "If I pay you the fifteen thousand, do you swear to keep her?"
Drew reared back his head. "Forever?"
Her father scowled. "Forever."
"Oh, I suppose." He gave a long-suffering sigh. "If I must."
She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing outright.”
“All right, silent dark bear with angry frown, tell me more about your land.”
He settled back down, picturing it. “I would tend to our land from the moment the sun rose to when it set and then you ...she would tend to me.”
He laughed at her expression again. The world of exile camps and the Valley felt very far away, and he wanted to lie there forever.
“Let me tell you about your bride,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Both of you would cultivate the land. You would hold the plow, and she would walk alongside you with the ox, coaxing and singing it forward. A stick in her hand, of course, for she would need to keep both the ox and you in line.”
“What would we...that is, my bride and I, grow?”
“Wheat and barley.”
Her nose crinkled questioningly.
“I would pick them when they bloomed,” he said. “And when she called me home for supper, I’d place them in her hair and the contrast would take my breath away.”
“How would she call you? From your cottage? Would she bellow, ‘Finnikin!’?”
“I’d teach her the whistle. One for day and one for night.”
“Ah, the whistle, of course. I’d forgotten the whistle.”
“A bride, before a "Good-night" could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
But now she's laid; what though she be?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.”
“What would they talk about?
Hi, my name's Vane and I howl at the moon late at night in the form of a wolf. I sleep with your daughter and don't think I could live without her. Mind if I have a beer? Oh and while we're at it, let me introduce my brothers. This one here is a deadly wolf known to kill for nothing more than looking at him cross-eyed, and the other one is comatose because some vampires sucked the life out of him after we'd both been sentenced to death by our jealous father.
Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.”
“You next," he said. "Out of those clothes and into bed."
She nodded but didn't move from Sally's side. The thought of undressing exhausted her. Where would she find the strength such a task would require?
"I'm filthy. I'll ruin the new bed."
"I'll bring you some fresh water."
"I've no clothes to change into."
His grin was downright wicked. "I know."
A short laugh escaped her.”
“Their daughter scrunched up her hands and legs, waving them wildly in the air. He opened his palm, allowing the babe to kick his hand.
"Is she like a puppy?"
Constance choked. "What!"
He looked up. "Will she get her spots later?"
Laughter bubbled up from within her as she playfully whacked him on the shoulder.
"Yes. Yes, I'm afraid she will. As soon as the sun touches her skin, the freckles will appear."
A delicious two-dimple grin spread across his face.
"Good. I find I'm rather partial to freckled redheads.”
“A beautiful woman should always have at the back of her mind that her ravishing appearance is only an ephemeral quality. When she wakes up in the morning, looks into the mirror, and notices that something is fading away, she knows that the time is ripe for marriage. She should be careful of who she takes into her life because the union is gonna be everlasting.”
“Lord Randall barreled inside, brandishing his cane in Drew's face.
"You beggarly knave, I was told this marriage was in name only! Who gave you permission to consummate the vows?"
"Theodore Hopkin, governor of this colony, representative of the kind, and it's going to cost you plenty, for that daughter of yours is nothing but trouble. What in the blazes were you thinking to allow her an education?"
Drew bit back his smile at the man's shocked expression. Nothing like landing the first punch.
Lord Randall furrowed his bushy gray brows.
"I knew not about her education until it was too late."
Drew straightened the cuffs of his shirt.
"Well, be prepared to pay dearly for it. No man should have to suffer through what I do with the constant spouting of the most addlepated word puzzles you could imagine."
"I require fifteen thousand pounds."
Lord Randall spewed ale across the floor. "What! Surely drink has tickled your poor brain. You're a FARMER, you impudent rascal. I'll give you five thousand."
Drew plopped his drink onto the table at his side, its contents sloshing over the rim. A satisfied smile broke across his face.
"Excellent." He stood.
"When will you take her back to England with you? Today? Tomorrow?"
The old man's red-rimmed eyes widened.
"I cannot take her back. Why, she's already birthed a child!"
Drew shrugged. "Fifteen thousand or I send her AND the babe back, with or without you.”
“A poetess is not as selfish
as you assume.
After months of agonising
over her marriage of words—the bride—
and spaces—the groom,
she knows that as soon
as she has penned the poem,
it’s yours to consume.
So, without giving it a think,
she blows on the ink
and the letters fly away
like dandelions on a windy day,
landing on hands and lips,
on hearts and hips.
But more often than not,
you can easily spot
them trodden and forgotten,
becoming sodden and rotten.
Yet, she will continue to make
what’s others to take
is not the mark of a poetess.”