Goblets Quotes & Sayings

A big practice in chaos magic is the use of sigils, which are abstract words or symbols you create and embed with your wishes. — Sophia Amoruso

I love making cakes, and I'm good at it. — Buddy Valastro

When the world grinds you down, bent to tear you apart, cling to what you hold dear, and stay true to your heart. For the world has a way to dismantle your cause, to exploit what you lack and expose all your flaws. But when every layer of your being is gone, and it seems there's no point anymore to go on; just remember one thing, at the end of the day, when you have self-respect they can't take that away. — Wes Fesler

The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold, on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian glass, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the velvet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like white foam, to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of amethyst. — Oscar Wilde

Is this, like, a thing? Do casino owners just grab women they want and declare them as theirs or something? Because I'm starting to see a trend, — Alessandra Torre

Sparkling and bright in liquid light Does the wine our goblets gleam in; With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in. — Charles Fenno Hoffman

Music and dance. What I have written must surely suggest a people cursed by Heaven,... No people on earth, I am persuaded, loves music so well, nor dance, nor oratory, though the music falls strangely on my ears... More than once I have been at Mr. Treacy's when at close of dinner, some traveling harper would be called in, blind as often as not, his fingernails kept long and the mysteries of his art hidden in their horny ridges. The music would come to us with the sadness of a lost world, each note a messenger sent wandering among the Waterford goblets. Riding home late at night, past tavern or alehouse, I would hear harps and violins, thudding feet rising to a frenzy. I have seen them dancing at evening on fairdays, in meadows decreed by custom for such purposes, their bodies swift-moving, and their faces impassive but bright-eyed, intent. I have watched them in silence, reins held loosely in my hand, and have marveled at the stillness of my own body, my shoulders rigid and heavy. — Thomas Flanagan

All words are possible, then, all names. They rain down, all these words, they disintegrate into a powdery avalanche. Belched from the volcano's mouth, they spurt in to the sky, then fall again. In the quivering air, like gelatine, the sounds trace their bubble paths. Can you imagine that? — Jean-Marie G. Le Clezio

The banquet proceeded. The first course, a mince of olives, shrimp and onions baked in oyster shells with cheese and parsley was followed by a soup of tunny, cockles and winkles simmered in white wine with leeks and dill. Then, in order, came a service of broiled quail stuffed with morels, served on slices of good white bread, with side dishes of green peas; artichokes cooked in wine and butter, with a salad of garden greens; then tripes and sausages with pickled cabbage; then a noble saddle of venison glazed with cherry sauce and served with barley first simmered in broth, then fried with garlic and sage; then honey-cakes, nuts and oranges; and all the while the goblets flowed full with noble Voluspa and San Sue from Watershade, along with the tart green muscat wine of Dascinet. — Jack Vance

Galen stowed the goblets behind a curtain and walked up to twitch the hem of Rose's shawl. She gasped and looked around.
"Hello," Galen said in a low voice. "Would you like to dance?"
"So you're Pansy's good spirit?"
"I am."
"Your voice sounds familiar." Her eyes sparkled. "Could you pretend to snore, so that I could make sure? — Jessica Day George

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop. — J.K. Rowling

Wine was served during the meal (rich and heavy, it was usually diluted with water), but the real drinking began once the food had been cleared away. This was the commissatio - a ceremonial drinking competition at which goblets had to be drained in a single gulp. Healths were drunk. This was the time for conversation and debate, which might last well into the evening, and was the Roman equivalent to the Greek symposium. — Anthony Everitt

I don't have a set schedule to work on poetry at any given time, at the same time every day, but I do try to work on poetry every day and I do find some time every day that I can with some exceptions to work on poetry. — Edward Hirsch

The way she affected me, how much i loved her ... it was like my life-force. Consuming and endless. — Kahlen Aymes

If a rooster crows while you're thinking about a man," the fortuneteller had once told Maria, "then he's the one you'll marry. — Karen Cecil Smith

They say you should treat your body like a temple. I treat mine like a fast-moving dumpster. — Matthew Inman

Aunt Elizabeth came in. "Emily, the rock-crystal goblet! Your Grandmother Murray's goblet! And you have broken it!" "No, really. Aunty dear, I didn't. Mr. Greaves - Mr. Mark Delage Greaves did it. He threw it at the stove." "Threw it at the stove!" Aunt Elizabeth was staggered. "Why did he throw it at the stove?" "Because I wouldn't marry him," said Emily. "Marry him! Did you ever see him before?" "Never." Aunt Elizabeth gathered up the fragments of the crystal goblet and went out quite speechless. There was - there must be - something wrong with a girl when a man proposed marriage to her at first meeting. And hurled heirloom goblets at inoffensive stoves. — L.M. Montgomery

I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
My scepter for a palmer's walking staff
My subjects for a pair of carved saints
and my large kingdom for a little grave. — William Shakespeare

Ah, Meese has brought us her finest goblets! A moment, whilst Kruppe sweeps out cobwebs, insect husks and other assorted proofs of said goblets' treasured value. — Steven Erikson

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.
I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad!
Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache. — Pablo Neruda

This table is a pigeon trap. A dozen different forks and knives and spoons. Four different goblets. All of them just waiting to be knocked over or misapplied and mishandled. It's a wonder anyone is ever tempted to eat. — Siri Mitchell

Trying to make strangers laugh is crazy and more than a little narcissistic. — Chris Hardwick

When a great figure passed through a city of Burgundy or Champagne, the corporation of the city turned out to deliver an address and present him with four silver goblets in which there were four wines. On the first goblet he read the inscription "monkey wine," on the second "lion wine," on the third "sheep wine," on the fourth "swine wine." These four inscriptions expressed the four descending degrees of drunkenness: the first, which enlivens; the second, which irritates; the third, which stupefies; finally the last, which brutalizes. — Victor Hugo

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords. — Federico Garcia Lorca

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where. — William Shakespeare

Right, we've got a few questions for you," Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once.
"I panicked okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an' that was bleedin' You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn't wanna do it--"
"For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated," said Hermione.
"Well, you're a bunch of bleedin' 'eroes then, aren't you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself--"
"We're not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye," said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus's baggy, bloodshot eyes. "We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum."
"Well then, why the 'ell am I being 'unted down by 'ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain't got none of 'em left, or you could 'ave 'em--"
"It's not about the goblets either, although you're getting warmer," said Harry. "Shut up and listen. — J.K. Rowling

We saw also an autograph letter of Lucrezia Borgia, a lady for whom I have always entertained the highest respect, on account of her rare histrionic capabilities, her opulence in solid gold goblets made of gilded wood, her high distinction as an operatic screamer, and the facility with which she could order a sextuple funeral and get the corpses ready for it. — Mark Twain

It's real, Six. You can't get mad at a real ending. Some of them are ugly. It's the fake happily ever afters that should piss you off. — Colleen Hoover

America is going to start happening outside of the parties. — Jeff Sharlet

Rose unearthed three crystal goblets that almost matched, and even found a tablecloth that hadn't been attacked by moths since its last public appearance. — Elizabeth C. Bunce

He began to attack the bone with a regular knife and spoon. Until I nudged him with an elbow. "The marrow shovel." It was meant to reach down to the bottom of a bone and lift the marrow out. He reached for the utensil. "That's right. I always forget!" He wouldn't if Aunt had been his teacher. "Why do you think it is that we can't just use a knife?" I smothered a laugh as I remembered that I had asked Aunt that very same thing. "I don't know." "Neither do I. This table is a pigeon trap. A dozen different forks and knives and spoons. Four different goblets. All of them just waiting to be knocked over or misapplied and mishandled. It's a wonder anyone is ever tempted to eat!" "You're doing quite well." "Franklin's much better at all of this than I am." "But you're much better at conversing." "And making you laugh? Am I better at that?" I smiled. "Yes. I would say so." "Good. Because that, at least, is something worthwhile. — Siri Mitchell

In Afghanistan, this is the problem, because everybody holds a piece of that mirror, and they all look at it and claim that they hold the entire truth. — Mohsen Makhmalbaf

This guy is pretty slick, Atticus. What else do you think he has in his pockets? Maybe a thick salami for me?> I almost dropped the goblets. Gods, Oberon, it's a good thing no one can hear you. It's not polite to ask if a man has a big salami in his pants, okay? Especially this guy. Laughter bubbled forth from Jesus as he poured two generous shots for us. "I like your hound, Siodhachan." He turned his head a bit to address him. "Hello, Oberon. I can hear what you say as well, and I tell you truly, I have nothing against salami itself. It is best to know when to keep your salami in your pants and when to pull it out, however, and even my priests have had some difficulty with that issue. Fortunately for us, there is little doubt regarding the right course of action in this situation." He pulled a long soppressata from the same pocket that had produced the goblets. — Kevin Hearne

The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up - flaked up, with rose-water snow. — Herman Melville