#〈✟*〉the girl inside the tin soldier ╲ VIOLET | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcutrio · 7 years

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Introduction [1]

Character Description

Tags: @crazy-rafe-madler @whothefuckisbellamyblake @imaginesofeverykind

Kat lifted her leg, exerting force and kicking the door ahead of her straight off its hinges, chewing raspberry bubble gum, unbothered. On her left, Courtenay stood poised, her eyes shaded with Ray Bans as she readied the minigun in her hands. On her right, Tabitha’s eyes turned a deep, fluid purple, streams of violet energy emitting from her fingers as she plunged mentally for the men ahead of her.

Below them, the Avengers turned, their focus snatched away from Ultron and the enhanced twins. Guarding his eyes against the sudden stream of sunlight, Steve squinted.

“Who the Hell are they?”

Pietro shot past him, sending his fist into his jaw before the super soldier even had time to process that there was a further trio joining the battle. Helping him to his feet, Buckey clenched his jaw.

“We don’t have time to find that out right now, buddy,” he seethed, slamming his metal fist into the temple of an approaching enemy.

“You ready, Courtenay?” Tabitha asked, heaving as she retracted her energy. Courtenay nodded, shoving her earbuds into her ears before lifting the minigun up to her hip and pulling down on the trigger.

As the bullets thundered rapidly about the room, Kat grasped the black market workers by their shirts and threw them carelessly into walls and over railings with ease.

As she dropped to the floor and swung her legs to knock a man to the ground, a heavy swoosh and a thunk interrupted her as a hammer slung into his chest and sent him flying. Hopping to her feet, she turned to the culprit, raising her fist only for it to be caught mid-air as she came face-to-face with the god of thunder.

“I’d be careful who you dare raise your fist to,” Thor warned carefully, dropping her fist.

She blew and popped her bubble gum smugly. “Then be careful with who you’re getting in the way of.”

Meanwhile, Tabitha raised her hands into the air, her mind in a foggy void as she focused and manipulated the vibranium miners hands behind their back and corrupted their minds with a deep, dark blackness of nothing, which scared them far more than their worst fears ever could. They fell to the ground in a whimpering heap, arms and legs dislocated.

As a body flew and landed with a thud in front of her, she faded back into reality and snapped her gaze towards the man who stood over the limp figure.

His dark, messy hair fell about his face with a hard gaze and a steely, stubbled jaw. Tabitha almost felt uncomfortable, realising he was analysing her, though she remained looking unfazed as she stared at his glinting, metal arm. Noticing an approach from beyond the man, she raised her hand quickly, bringing it to a sharp halt as she froze the man behind him before clenching his fist and hearing his bones crack as he shrivelled into a ball under her force.

“Stay focused,” she warned, licking her lips as the metal-arm wielding man glanced behind him for a brief, uneasy moment to stare at the crumpled victim, “you wouldn’t want to end up like the other guy.”

Above Tabitha upon the platform, Courtenay threw the empty, smoking minigun to the side, then reaching and twisting the dual pistols on her hips into her firm, gloved grasp. With ultimate precision, she aimed and hit six men dead-centre in the chest, her fingers not hesitating as she switched between targets. With each pull of the trigger, she hit the thump of the beat that ran through her earphones, the music squaring her focus down onto this very moment rather than letting it run rampant as it usually did.

As her guns ran dry, she lifted them and dropped the empty magazines, slamming the weapons down onto the prepared mags, cocking the weapons and aiming straight for Ultron.

“We got another enhanced on the field,” Kat reported, her fingers briefly touching the technology in her ear as she noticed the younger Maximoff twin.

“I got it,” Tabitha responded, her gaze lifting to the red energy force that glittered in the corner of her eye. The young, teenage girl noticed that she had been spotted and quickly retreated into the shadows. “Watch your back.”

Tabitha melted into the background, her body moving as if it were a glitch in reality before she ultimately vanished and set on her path towards the opposing, telekinetic girl.

As Kat looked around her, realising she had cleared out her area, she took a moment to catch her breath before it was suddenly stolen from her lungs as her mind clenched and gave into the manipulation of Wanda, who shifted from her and onto her next victim.

Falling to her knees, her mind shot back to the worst time in her life, the time when--

“Hey, hey, come back,” Courtenay shook Kat, who’d been in a daze for the past twenty minutes or so. Shuddering, she looked up at her counterpart, glancing at the concerned Tabitha behind her. “Everything good? You still tripping out there, mate?”

Swallowing and shaking her head no, she took the hands of her friends as they pulled her to her feet. She rubbed her temples, shaking away the thoughts and images that remained branded on her mind.

Courtenay and Tabitha tossed Kat’s arms over their shoulders, realising she was still too shaken to stay steady on her feet.

Tabitha glanced around worriedly. “We need to get out of here before--”

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Someone interrupted.

The trio all turned their heads, hesitating at the sight of Tony Stark stepping out of his Ironman suit. He looked beaten and bruised from beneath the metal suit, which made them all wonder just how protective it was.

Tabitha’s eyes glanced from him to Bucky, who continued to gaze at her, almost gaze through her, and she swallowed uncomfortably. The feeling of somebody knowing her inside and out when she didn’t know them at all was one of the worst.

“We were just leaving, actually,” Courtenay shot back sarcastically. “Get outta here with your sardine tin of a suit.”

Tony scoffed in response, “you’re not going anywhere.”

Thor twisted his hammer in his hand, poised as if ready for battle.

“Does it look like I am about to start throwing punches?” Kat shot towards him, causing him to lessen his tight grip on the Mjolnir's handle. “That’s what I thought.”

“We were sent here to help you,” Tabitha stepped forward, “so don’t even think about threatening us, Mr Stark.”

“Bunch of Spitfires,” he scoffed in response. “You’re just… kids, far too young for this kind of thing,”

“Kids?” Courtenay laughed. She would admit that the three of them are young, their age varying from twenty-one to twenty-three. But to say that they were kids was an insult to their life experiences and talents.

“We can do everything you can do,” Kat sniffed.

“--in heels and Chuck Taylors.” Tabitha finished, cracking her knuckles.

Steve shot Tony a glance before nodding at the trio. “Who sent you?”

The three exchanged glances before deciding silently that they would not tell the Avengers where they had came from specifically, but their forgiving eyes spoke thousands of words about the trust they hold in the team.

“A training programme that doesn’t exist anymore,” Kat said weakly, her voice gruff as she freed one arm to wipe at her nose. “Coming to you was our last mission.”

“Come with us, then,” Steve pressed, “we can’t let you leave and… besides, we’re your last mission. Where do you go next?”

“Don’t analyse us,” Tabitha jumped in, extremely private and defensive over the background and life that the three of them had experienced together. Courtenay and Kat were appreciative of her protectiveness.

“Look, Charlie's Angels, if you leave this place without us you’ll have us on your ass every second of every day,” Tony snapped, “you can either choose to live with that, or you can come with us now. It's your choice.”

“You make us sound like prisoners,” Tabitha seethed, “I will not be held captive by you.”

“And you won’t if you come with us,” Steve persuaded, “so, please, don’t make this hard on yourselves.”

The three, young women were quiet and hesitant, though their moment of silence and the strong tension in the air already revealed the choice they were about to make.

With an affirmative glance towards the other two, Courtenay nodded. “We will come with you.”

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement,” Tony remarked, “Now if you wouldn’t mind--”

“Zip it, tin-can,” Courtenay rolled her eyes, “take us with you but don’t treat us as if you mean more than us.”

“Alright,” Tony scoffed, holding his hands up in sarcastic defence. “Sheesh.”

#marvel imagine #mcu imagine #thor imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #thor x reader #bucky x reader

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kivrin · 7 years

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May 7, 1945 excerpt from a work in progress (other excerpts 1, 2, 3. 4) sequel to Burn Brighter Through the Cold.

Andrew woke gradually to a warm weight over his feet, dim light on his closed eyelids, and the faint scratching of a pen. He kept still, savoring the fragile peace, knowing there was another, harsher waking to come. He did not let himself wonder whether it would be the bustle of the base hospital or the rumble of the barracks. He tried not to allow the thought that it might be Bruce’s sitting room at college; that he’d had too long a sleep, too long a dream, when he went round after an early lecture at Merton to rouse Bruce for his tute and then take advantage of the comfortable sofa there.

The relation of the light and the bed (it was a bed, he could feel a sheet) were wrong for that, though. Wrong, but familiar. His own rooms at college? What had he drunk last night, to dream so hard?

He opened his eyes, and had to squeeze them shut again at once against a sting that wasn’t all the sudden light. The scene stayed on the inside of his eyelids, vivid as a Caravaggio: his own room at home, the bedside lamp moved to the desk, Dad writing by it in his shirtsleeves with his cufflinks and the clip of his fountain pen shining in the light. Andrew couldn’t tell if the piercing feeling in his chest was joy at being home or grief that everything else had been real.

He must have made a noise, because the scratching stopped and the chair creaked as Dad moved, as if to come sit on the edge of the bed as he had in the long suffocating nights when neither of them could sleep. Andrew knew he couldn’t bear that without the tears spilling over. He opened his eyes again.

“Wake you?” Dad said softly. “Sorry.” He put a hand out towards the lamp.

Andrew shook his head. “No. Time’s it?”

“Not quite midnight. You can…”

“No.” He stretched beneath the covers, wriggling his toes under the soothing pressure of the folded eiderdown at the foot of the bed, and turned onto his side. “You just back?”

“Few hours.”

“Find what you wanted in town?”

Dad made an equivocal motion with his head. “Was worthwhile.” In the half light his face was soft with weariness. “Have a good evening?”

“Sam had to work. Minding the kids for a meeting of the Married Families Club at SSAFA. I got a bite at the Red Lion and walked her home after.” He tucked his arm under his pillow and drew his knees up slightly, curling in with the memory of watching Sam gently disentangle small fingers from her hair. “Thought it might get a bit rough in the streets, people annoyed to still be waiting, but it was fine.”

“Good.” Dad wrote another line, then capped his pen and slid the paper closer to the lamp to let the ink dry.

“Working late,” Andrew observed.

He shook his head. “Letter. No one you know,” he added, before the question formed on Andrew’s lips.

“All right, have your secrets.”

Dad smiled and sat back in the desk chair, fiddling idly with a button on his open waistcoat.

The wind sighed through the back garden, making the oak branches creak, a sound so familiar Andrew hadn’t known he missed it before this moment. “Weren’t sitting up with me, were you?”

“I wasn’t ready to sleep.”

Andrew studied him carefully. “You all right?”

“Yes, fine.” He looked to the shaded window. “Just thinking.” A moment passed. “Milner’s with his wife at St. Mary’s,” he went on. “May be a father by now.”

“He going to ring you?”

“No, no, no, don’t expect it. But, no family of his own other than Mrs. Milner.” Dad made a little shrugging motion with his mouth. “So, perhaps. When the baby.”

Again, as at the station, Andrew had an uncomfortable pang of envy and uncertainty, as if he’d been supplanted while he was away. “Lucky little mite,” he said, around a yawn. “Born in a world without war.”

All at once the quiet room felt even quieter. Dad had gone very still, his eyes fixed on something beyond their reach. “That’s what Rosalind said about you.” His voice was rough. “Day you were born. She...” he let out a breath and for a long moment Andrew thought that was all he would say, but he went on. “Said you wouldn’t ever know… that.”

Rosalind. Her name hung in the air. How many years had it been, Andrew wondered, since he’d heard Dad say it? Surely, when the first shock had faded, he’d used it with Uncle Charles, even if with Andrew it had always been ‘your mum,’ and with others ‘my wife.’ But Andrew could only remember the sound of it when mum was alive. It had been a hopeful question when Dad came in from work; a sigh of admiration when she showed him a new picture; a rumble of annoyance when she told him to stay off a wrenched ankle. And then, nothing. Just that aching, hollow she.

He studied Dad’s bent head. “What did mum do? In the last war? Other than knit a battalion’s worth of socks,” he added.

“Two battalions, I think, by the end.” Dad didn’t look at him, but he smiled, and it was a softer, less sad smile than Andrew had feared. “She’d have liked to be a VAD, but her parents didn’t approve of such training for young ladies. So, she rolled bandages, and played in Red Cross concerts, and collected suitable reading material for convalescent soldiers. Eventually, she met people working on prosthetics for…” He moved a hand towards his face. “She never liked oil paints, but she was very good at matching colors. Even difficult things like skin. She’d do it in watercolor and then copy it in oil on the tin mask.” He shifted in the chair. “It wasn’t.... women weren’t called up, then. Had to volunteer.”

“Like Sam,” Andrew pointed out.

“Like Sam.” Dad tipped his head.

What would it be, to come home not to the remnants of his childhood, but to marriage, and fatherhood? To Sam and a tiny bundle, tinier even than the baby she’d been grinning at in All Saints Street? Andrew sat up and hugged his knees. “Dad. Do you ever think of marrying again?”

“Do you ever think of marrying at all?” he shot back. The quirk of his lips spoke of teasing, but his hand, Andrew saw, had gone tight on his button.

“Didn’t seem… lucky… to think too much about it during the war.”

Dad’s mouth turned wry. “And now?”

Andrew shrugged again. It struck him suddenly as unfair that he couldn’t bring Sam to meet Dad. That he had no way, short of a proposal, to signal seriousness of purpose. But if Dad hadn’t met Sam first, he’d never have met Sam at all, and certainly never encountered her after he’d gone up to Debden in ‘41. The whole courtship had been backwards that way, from their first meeting on the doorstep when she came to drive Dad to work, to their second chance after the days of nursing Dad side by side nearly as if they were already married.

And of course, they’d never have met at all if it weren’t for the war.

He thought of her heart beating against him, and the light in her eyes, and the warm touch of her hands. But also the hurt and the anger in her voice. That he put in her voice.

“I just got home, Dad,” he said. The silence stretched on. Andrew stared at the lumps of his feet under the bedclothes. In those first few years after Mum, he’d thought often and with dread of some strange woman sweeping in to make them a family of three again, but an alien family. And as he’d grown he’d thought often, if indistinctly, of himself with some anonymous pretty wife and hazy-faced children.

With Violet, and Kate, and other girls, there’d been the sense that he’d have to choose: the family he came from, or the family he made. At best, he’d thought, he’d always be interpreting one to the other. But Sam would never need Dad explained to her, and he’d never need to argue her virtues to Dad. To be home with both Dad and Sam seemed natural, strange only when he had to remind himself that it had never happened outside those few days in ‘43.

Andrew pleated the edge of the sheet. “How did you know? You and mum.”

The chair creaked. “Well. Was rather a different time.”

“Dad. Please?” He looked over to his father.

Dad pulled in the corner of his mouth, then raised his eyebrows in an expression of uncharacteristic helplessness. “Can’t speak for her,” he said. “Don’t know how she… just, that she did. Very grateful she did,” he added softly.

“You, then. How’d you know.”

He spread his hands on his knees. Outside, the wind sighed again. “In the army,” he began. “What… wore on me. More constantly even than the waiting…” His eyes flicked to Andrew. You know the waiting.

Andrew nodded.

“The… living in public. No privacy. The noise, not war, just men.”

Andrew nodded once more, though Dad’s eyes were far away. “When I. Was sent home, I... longed for... solitude. But I found that Rosalind, sitting with Rosalind was... restful as being alone.” He raised his head and let out a breath, then turned hesitantly to Andrew. “Does that…?”

Maybe. “Yes,” Andrew answered. “And… was it… being married, I mean… how you expected?”

“No.” Dad was very still. Then he smiled, his eyes closing, and shook his head. “It was better. Unimaginably better.”

Andrew hugged his knees tighter, as if that might ease the sudden tightness in his chest, an almost unendurable stirring of something he wasn’t sure he could name. Pleasure? Hope? Joy? His eyes stung.

And then, like the return of a pendulum, like the pull of a wave drawing back into the sea, came the memories. The dispersal hut; the Flamingo; light and shadow on the faces he’d known better than his own. Charlie. Douglas. Rex.

“Not fair to keep a young woman waiting,” Dad said.

“Fair.” The word scraped through his chest like a sanding block. “How is this, any of this, fair? That I…have a chance at that, and Rex, Rex and Connie…” His hands had curled into fists. He stretched his fingers and tried to breathe evenly. “Rex,” he repeated.

“None of it’s fair,” Dad agreed, after a long silence. “But not much of that’s your doing. The bad or the good.”

I don’t think any of it is about deserving, Sam had said. Not the good things that happen, nor the bad. Andrew stared at his hands and tried to believe it.

“Didn’t know him as you did, of course, but. I have the impression… Andrew.”

Andrew reluctantly raised his face to meet Dad’s.

“That the last thing, the very last thing, Rex would want, is your unhappiness.”

Carry on for him, Dad had said, after Rex went down, when Andrew came and cried on his shoulder. At the time Andrew had only thought of flying ops, not of the rest of life. But it was what they’d fought for, wasn’t it, for peace and safety and ordinary work, for weddings and babies?

And Rex himself, if Andrew had said you deserve this more… he would have laughed the strange bitter laugh that came out of him at odd moments, and thumped him on the shoulder, and said think I need your pity, Foyle?

“And I wonder, are you afraid Sam will say no, or that she’ll say yes?”

He had a nasty way of putting his finger on the crux of a problem. Andrew sighed. “Sam… you know how she has a way of… jumping into things, when she sees something that needs doing. Planting potatoes, or getting a pram down steps.” Andrew gave his father a pointed look. “Nursing you through that bloody awful bronchitis.”

Dad twisted his mouth and tilted his head. “All of those, even the, um, last… pretty strictly limited projects.”

“Yeah.”

“You were saying yesterday how strong she is. Not strong enough to know her own mind, though?”

Andrew flopped back on the pillow. “You’re worse than a seminar in logic, you know that?”

Dad made a little hmph of agreement that shifted into a yawn he covered with the back of his hand.

“Sorry. I’m keeping you up.”

“No, no. I’m the one woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me.” Andrew tucked an arm under his head. “But if you did I’d be glad.” To his mild surprise, he found it wasn’t a figure of speech. He was glad.

Dad smiled, and shuffled his papers together. “Go back to sleep,” he said gruffly as he rose.

“Don’t you stay up,” Andrew countered.

He switched off the light. “Fuss, fuss, fuss.”

“Dad?” Andrew asked, when he had the door half-closed. Dad didn’t speak, but he stopped. “It’s the last thing mum would have wanted, too, isn’t it? You being unhappy.”

Dad was quiet so long that once again Andrew thought he wouldn’t answer at all, but finally, soft in the darkness, there came a single syllable. “Yes.”

#foyle's war #foyle's war fanfiction #christopher foyle #andrew foyle #s/a wednesday #foyles pere et fils #sam/andrew land

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networkingdefinition · 4 years

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Orchid Quotes

Official Website: Orchid Quotes

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• A flower is a daisy chain, a graduation, a valentine; a flower is New Year’s Eve and an orchid in your hair; a flower is a single geranium blooming in a tin can on a murky city fire-escape; an acre of roses at the Botanical Gardens; and the first gold crocus of spring! … a flower is a birth, a wedding, a leaving of this life. – Jean Hersey • (After meeting her birth mother after more than 40 years). We exchange bunches of orchids, laughing at the coincidence of the flowers. A little unnerving: I wonder if that choice has anything to do with genetics. … I want to take mine home and look after them so that they live for days. I might spray the leaves, and make sure they sit in an easterly window, and keep them out of the direct sun. – Jackie Kay • An enchanting harmony of fuchsia, purple and pink undertones, Radiant Orchid inspires confidence and emanates great joy, love and health. It is a captivating purple, one that draws you in with its beguiling charm. – Leatrice Eiseman • An invitation to innovation, Radiant Orchid encourages expanded creativity and originality, which is increasingly valued in today’s society. – Leatrice Eiseman • An orchid in a deep forest sends out its fragrance even if no one is around to appreciate it. – Confucius • As the seed buried in the earth cannot imagine itself as an orchid or hyacinth, neither can a heart packed with hurt imagine itself loved or at peace. The courage of the seed is that once cracking, it cracks all the way.- Mark Nepo

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Orchid', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_orchid').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_orchid img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids. – Gillian Flynn • Einstein is notmerely an artist in his moments of leisure and play, as a great statesman may play golf or a great soldier grow orchids. He retains the same attitude in the whole of his work. He traces science to its roots in emotion, which is exactly where art is also rooted. – Havelock Ellis • Ella’s supersonic voice followed her all the way to Bleecker Street and then dissolved amid the noisy profusion of shops, cafes, and restaurants and the crush of people that made the West Village of Manhattan unique in the world. In a single block you could buy fertility statues from Tanzania, rare Amazonian orchids, a pawned brass tuba, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, or the best, most expensive cup of coffee you ever tasted. It was the doughnuts, incidentally, that attracted Gaia. – Francine Pascal • English Bohemianism is a curiously unluscious fruit. … Inside this hothouse, huge lascivious orchids slide sensuously up the sweating windows, passion-flowers cross-pollinate in wild heliotrope abandon, lotuses writhe with poppies in the sweet warm beds, kumquats ripen, open and plop flatly to the floor-and outside, in a neat, trimly-hoed kitchen-garden, English bohemians sit in cold orderly rows, like carrots. – Alan Coren • Every orchid or rose or lizard or snake is the work of a dedicated and skilled breeder. There are thousands of people, amateurs and professionals, who devote their lives to this business. Now imagine what will happen when the tools of genetic engineering become accessible to these people. – Freeman Dyson • For other people, love is like some rare orchid that can only grow in one place under a certain set of conditions. For me it’s like bindweed. It grows with no encouragement at all, under any conditions, and just strangles everything else. – Scarlett Thomas • Have you ever noticed how much they look like orchids? lovely! – Robert A. Heinlein • He bought me so many orchids that I looked like a well-kept grave. – Texas Guinan • Hope is like one of those orchids that grows around toxic waste: lovely in itself – and an assertion, if you like, of indefatigable good – but a sure sign that something nasty lies underneath. – Rachel Cusk • Human beings aren’t orchids; we must draw something from the soil we grow in. – Sara Jeannette Duncan • I also like to garden. I grow things, vegetables, flowers… I particularly like orchids. I raise orchids. – Beau Bridges • I hated roses. I hated them for being so trite, so clichéd, a default, all-purpose flower that said I love you, I’m sorry, and get well soon. Give me peonies and tulips, orchids or gardenia. Those were flowers with character.- Justina Chen • I have become an orchid washed in on the salt white beach. Memory, what can I make of it now that might please you-this life, already wasted and still strewn with miracles? – Mary Ruefle • I try to always have flowers in the house. I have a florist in Chinatown, and they deliver orchids every two weeks. I like living with living things. – Phillip Lim • I was fat! I was pustule-rich! I looked like a pink human grenade! When did I blossom into the irresistible little orchid that I am now? I don’t know. Getting taller helps. It spreads out a bit. – Dylan Moran • I was left alone there in the company of the orchids, roses and violets, which, like people waiting beside you who do not know you, preserved a silence which their individuality as living things made all the more striking, and warmed themselves in the heat of a glowing coal fire. – Marcel Proust • If he’d been any other man and i’d been any other girl, I’d have called the narrowing of his heavy-lidded dark eyes lust. But he was Barrons and I was Mac, and a blossoming of lust was about as likely as orchids blooming in Antarctica – Karen Marie Moning • If I see an orchid that’s fantastically expensive, I’ll buy it. It’s worth it, for no other reason than it gives me pleasure. – Lee Radziwill • If Lady Gaga and Dorothy Parker had a secret love child, it would’ve been Gypsy Rose Lee. Gypsy arrived for opening nights at the Met wearing a full-length cape made entirely of orchids, while Lady Gaga shows up wearing a full-length cloak made of meat. – Karen Abbott • In mauve sea-orchids as in her striking earlier book Guardians of the Secret, Lila Zemborain brings into relationship the viscera of the body and the spill of the universe in tense compositions that blur distinctions between lyric and prose poetry, between science and eros. – Forrest Gander • In the winter, I enjoy cross-country skiing and raising orchids and amaryllises. If I could grow tropical flowers as perennials, I would, especially hibiscus and mandavilla. – Diane Ackerman • Inspired teachers … cannot be ordered by the gross from the factory. They must be discovered one by one, and brought home from the woods and swamps like orchids. They must be placed in a conservatory, not in a carpenter shop; and they must be honored and trusted. – John Jay Chapman • Just as I wonder whether it’s going to die,the orchid blossoms and I can’t explain why it moves my heart, why such pleasure comes from one small bud on a long spindly stem, one blood red gold flower opening at mid-summer, tiny, perfect in its hour. – Sam Hamill • Lord Illingworth told me this morning that there was an orchid there as beautiful as the seven deadly sins. – Oscar Wilde • Love is an orchid which thrives principally on hot air. – Myrtle Reed • Malaysia-Singapore bilateral relations can blossom beautifully if cultivated and nurtured like an orchid plant. – Najib Razak • My hobbies are cooking and gardening, especially growing orchids. I love soccer, my husband and I support a British team called Chelsea, and I also enjoy tennis. We have 3 cats. – Juliet Mills • Nothing could be taken for granted. Women who loved you tried to cut your throat, while women who didn’t even know your name scrubbed your back. Witches could sound like Katharine Hepburn and your best friend could try to strangle you. Smack in the middle of an orchid there might be a blob of jello and inside a Mickey Mouse doll, a fixed and radiant star. – Toni Morrison • Once you start carrying your own suitcase, paying your own bills, running your own show, you’ve done something to yourself that makes you one of those women men like to call ‘a pal’ and ‘a good sport,’ the kind of woman they tell their troubles to. But you’ve cut yourself off from the orchids and the diamond bracelets, except those you buy yourself. – Sophie Tucker • One of my favorite stories was Black Orchid, because it was so different from all the others. I especially enjoyed dancing the Charleston. I have always been keen on dancing. – Sarah Sutton • One wants to move through life with elegance and grace, blossoming infrequently but with exquisite taste, and perfect timing, like a rare bloom, a zebra orchid… One wants… But one so seldom gets what one wants, does one? – Tony Kushner • Orchid hunting is a mortal occupation. – Susan Orlean • Orchids manufacture their intricate devices from the common components of ordinary flowers, parts usually fitted for very different functions. If God had designed a beautiful machine to reflect his wisdom and power, surely he would not have used a collection of parts generally fashioned for other purposes. Orchids were not made by an ideal engineer; they are jury-rigged from a limited set of available components. Thus, they must have evolved from ordinary flowers. – Stephen Jay Gould • Orchids were not made by an ideal engineer; they are jury-rigged from a limited set of available components. – Stephen Jay Gould • Ribbons a-flutter and orchids a-tremble, Yearly the vigilant Daughters assemble, Affirming in fervid and firm resolutions Their permanent veto on all revolutions. – Marya Mannes • She thought of the orchids spreading across the plains below, choking the life out of other plants, out of the soil itself, selfish and unstoppable. Tally Youngblood was a weed. And, unlike the orchids, she wasn’t even a pretty one. – Scott Westerfeld • She’s alone, they kept telling themselves, and surely she danced in no one’s arms, yet somehow that seemed to matter less and less. As the night went on, and clarinet and coyote call mingled beyond the lantern light, the magic of their own powder-blue jackets and orchids seemed to fade, and it came to them in small sensations that they were more alone than she was. – Jerry Spinelli • Somewhere close I knew spear-nosed bats flew through the tree crowns in search of fruit, palm vipers coiled in ambush in the roots of orchids, jaguars walked the river’s edge; around them eight hundred species of trees stood, more than are native to all of North America; and a thousand species of butterflies, 6 percent of the entire world fauna, waited for the dawn. – E. O. Wilson • The American way of stress is comparable to Freud’s ‘beloved symptom’, his name for the cherished neurosis that a patient cultivates like the rarest of orchids and does not want to be cured of. Stress makes Americans feel busy, important, and in demand, and simultaneously deprived, ignored, and victimized. Stress makes them feel interesting and complex instead of boring and simple, and carries an assumption of sensitivity not unlike the Old World assumption that aristocrats were high-strung. In short, stress has become a status symbol. – Florence King • The old orchid hunter lay back on his pillow, his body limp… ‘You’ll curse the insects,’ he said at least, ‘and you’ll curse the natives… The sun will burn you by day and the cold will shrivel you by night. You’ll be racked by fever and tormented by a hundred discomforts, but you’ll go on. For when a man falls in love with orchids, he’ll do anything to possess the one he wants. It’s like chasing a green-eyed woman or taking cocaine… it’s a sort of madness. – Susan Orlean • The orchid is Mother Nature’s masterpiece. – Robyn • The splendor of a human heart that trusts it is loved unconditionally gives God more pleasure than Westminster Cathedral, the Sistine Chapel, Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony”, Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”, the sight of 10,000 butterflies in flight, or the scent of a million orchids in bloom. Trust is our gift back to God, and he finds it so enchanting that Jesus died for love of it. – Brennan Manning • There are literally billions of people on the planet who live in an unimaginable poverty that’s not in any way different from the plight of the people in Orchid. And you can’t have the splendor of Rodeo Drive without the sweatshops of Indonesia; those two things go hand in hand. – Tom Morello • There have been 50 or 60 books written about Empress Orchid, but none of them bothered to really examine the period in China when she lived. I was taught that she was evil; it’s in all the textbooks. – Anchee Min • Tightly-plotted, well-researched and beautifully drawn, this book is a real delight. Garen Ewing’s mix of engaging characters, exciting old-school adventure, attractive ligne claire artwork and fluid storytelling makes The Rainbow Orchid easily one of the best graphic novels of the year. – Bryan Talbot • To rise above treeline is to go above thought, and after, the descent back into bird song, bog orchids, willows, and firs is to sink into the preliterate parts of ourselves. – Gretel Ehrlich • We humans think we are smart, but an orchid, for example, knows how to produce noble, symmetrical flowers, and a snail knows how to make a beautiful, well-proportioned shell. Compared with their knowledge, ours is not worth much at all. We should bow deeply before the orchid and the snail and join our palms reverently before the monarch butterfly and the magnolia tree. The feeling of respect for all species will help us recognize the noblest nature in ourselves. – Nhat Hanh • What is the pattern that connects the crab to the lobster and the primrose to the orchid, and all of them to me, and me to you? – Gregory Bateson • When I was fourteen, my father decided to initiate me into the ways of manhood, and took me to the local whorehouse. The woman spread her legs, and made me look between them. All I could see was something that looked like a dyin’ orchid; consequently, I have never been comfortable around women or orchids. – Tennessee Williams • When speech comes from a quiet heart, it has the strength of the orchid, and the fragrance of rock. – Stephen Mitchell • When two friends understand each other totally, the words are soft and strong like an orchid’s perfume. – Sara Jeannette Duncan • When we stopped to rest and Tony tried to figure out what was wrong with his compass, I asked him what he thought it was about orchids that seduced humans so completely that they were compelled to steal them and worship them and try to breed new and specific kinds of them and then be willing to wait for nearly a decade for one of them to flower. – Susan Orlean • While PANTONE 18-3224 Radiant Orchid, the captivating 2014 color of the year, encouraged creativity and innovation, Marsala enriches our mind, body and soul, exuding confidence and stability. – Leatrice Eiseman • While the 2013 color of the year, PANTONE 17-5641 Emerald, served as a symbol of growth, renewal and prosperity, Radiant Orchid reaches across the color wheel to intrigue the eye and spark the imagination. – Leatrice Eiseman • You like orchids?… Nasty things. Their flesh is too much like the flesh of men, their perfume has the rotten sweetness of corruption. – William Faulkner • You send me all these roses. Every time I think the last bouquet has arrived, finally, another turns up. I’m running out of vases. I didn’t know roses came in so many colors. You say they’re the perfect symbols of love because they have thorns and love is pain. I say life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. And you don’t get it. You say you love me, but you don’t speak my language. You don’t even realize I’m an orchid girl. – Erin Morgenstern • You’re a quiet, beautiful woman in a loud, ugly place. An orchid among weeds. You define obvious. – Lynn Viehl

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equitiesstocks · 4 years

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Orchid Quotes

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