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“I have important things to tell you, but who can concentrate with all that racket?" That "racket" turned out to be because of flowers, hundreds of them, arriving by the cartful. Roses, orchids, lilies, daffodils, irises, and a dozen other varieties that she could not name. Heavy porcelain vases were mounted all around the grand ballroom and the royal gardens, displaying the arrangements in all their grandeur. But one arrangement stood out from the rest. From the duchess's window, Cinderella watched the gardeners erect a trellis studded with roses. When the palace staff wheeled out a barrow of flowers, white pearlescent roses intertwined with pink ones as flushed as the height of sunrise, she nearly gasped. Her parents' favorite flowers. White and pink roses, with a touch of myrtle. Charles had been listening.”

“My mother used to grow roses in her garden. We'd pick them together every morning." She fell silent, remembering how she'd carried on the tradition with her papa after her mother died. One by one they'd cut the flowers, each still so fresh that dew glistened on its petals and trickled down her trembling fingers. "Eight pink roses, seven white ones, and three sprigs of myrtle," she murmured, pointing at the pink and white roses in the line of bushes. "What is that?" "It's what I would always bring Mama- the same arrangement my father presented to her when he'd asked her to marry him." The story of their courtship had been her favorite, one Papa had told her over and over. She'd never tired of it, never stopped asking him to tell it to her. Before her mother had died, he'd always ended the story with a smile, saying, "Your mother is my true love." Once she was gone, his expression became solemn, shadows sinking into the lines of his brow, his teeth clenched tight to keep from grimacing. Then he would say, "Your mother was my true love." So Cinderella had learned how one word could change everything. And she had stopped asking her father for the story.”

“You have only hours until you go from palace servant to the future queen of Aurelais. Many will not take the news well, particularly not the blue-blooded young ladies who will resent the prince for rebuffing them for you." Cinderella thought of her stepsisters, who'd reveled for years in tormenting her. "I can handle it." When she did not elaborate, Genevieve appraised her. "When Charles declares that you are to be the princess of Aurelais, all attention will be on you. This is the first impression everyone will have of you. "You have natural grace, which most princesses take decades to learn, but it won't be enough. Nothing would ever be enough, even if you had been born royal." The duchess lifted Cinderella's chin so their eyes were level. "In my time, we stood by the three P's. I thought it was a bunch of hogwash, but I'll impart it to you anyway. It was essential that a princess be poised, pleasant, and-" "Pretty?" Cinderella guessed. "Presentable," corrected the duchess. "That's what all the wigs and powder and rouge were for. Nowadays, women are more after the natural look. Which, I suppose, isn't a problem for you." She hummed approvingly. "Now, what color gown should you like to wear tonight?" "Something blue," replied Cinderella thoughtfully. "It was my mother's favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together." "That's a beautiful thought, Cindergirl.”

“Let's just say you've got an honest way about you- and a sharper eye than I initially thought." She brushed her fingers over the nearest table. "Not a speck of dust." "Oh." Cinderella felt little pride from the compliment. "It is my job," was all she said. "I'm glad you understand that, girl. Though no one told you to reorganize my books." There was a note of accusation in the duchess's voice, and Cinderella didn't know how to respond. "I apologize, ma'am. I-" "Most of my attendants arrange them like flowers, by color and size, but you did it by substance and author. You couldn't have done that without reading them." She swallowed. "I didn't have time to read any, ma'am... but I couldn't resist skimming a few.”

“Cinderella barely recognized her own voice. She sounded strong, firm- nothing like the girl she'd once been. "Stepmother. Anastasia. Drizella." They halted in their step, turning slowly to face her. Cinderella caught her breath, not at all surprised by Lady Tremaine's upturned nose and lifted chin. She used to fear that expression, used to fear displeasing her stepmother. She no longer had that fear. The crowds had gone silent, but even if they hadn't, Cinderella wouldn't have noticed the dozens of onlookers in the chamber. A strange sense of calm had flooded her; the words she was about to say were ones she'd never dared before, but she'd dreamed of them for years. No longer would they be fantasy. "I wish we could have been a family," she said, her voice strong yet quiet. "Ever since my father married you, it's what I wished for most. Instead, you neglected me, you made me serve you, and then you tried to sell me." She paused. "But I'm not angry with you." Now she had Lady Tremaine's attention. "I thought I would be," Cinderella admitted. "I was. But then I realized that it would only make me unhappy. And after being unhappy in your house for so long, I would never choose to feel that way again. I've accepted we aren't a family, and that we never will be. I've also accepted that I cannot forget those years that you were cruel to me." The height of Lady Tremaine's chin wilted ever so slightly. She wouldn't look at Cinderella, but her stepsisters lowered their eyes, shame tingeing their cheeks. "I forgive you, Stepmother, Anastasia, Drizella. I am not angry with you; if anything, I pity you. You can't know happiness if your life is built around resentment. For your sakes, I hope your hearts change.”

“You know, everyone says the duchess is such a terrible mistress, but you don't seem to be that afraid of her." "I'm not," Cinderella admitted. "I've seen real cruelty, and the duchess is not even close. She can be difficult, but her heart is in the right place. Besides, she likes Bruno, and since adopting him, she's been kind to me." "Maybe, but I think there's more to it than Bruno," determined Louisa. "You just seem so cheerful, Cinderella- cheerful yet sad. I don't know how to explain it, but I bet people find it difficult being angry with you. I wonder if that's why the duchess likes you so much. Even Aunt Irmina does, even if she won't admit it.”

“And why the name Bruno?" "My papa picked it. He said it meant 'brown,' like his coat. But also 'protector.' We didn't mean to keep him at first. But he came to us looking so starved and sad that we took him in, and once he'd been fed, Papa and I couldn't part with him." Cinderella smiled at Bruno. "He's been my sweetest companion ever since. And my most loyal protector." "I like dogs more than people," said the duchess. "For that very reason- they don't let you down as much.”

“All these girls swooning over my nephew. I hope you aren't one of them." "I wouldn't be eligible, Your Highness," Cinderella said, swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. "All because of some silly laws that my silly ancestors made. The world is changing, Cindergirl, and anyone- I do repeat, anyone- can make something of herself if she puts her mind to it. Oh, to be young today!" "You think a servant could become a princess?" "My husband came back from a family without wealth, but he was smart- and practical. He was a shrewd businessman, and became one of the richest men in Aurelais. Anybody can become anything, so long as they put their minds to it." She eyed Cinderella. "Hard work and fortitude, Cindergirl, is what will get you ahead. Not swooning over my nephew.”

“He'd seen how uncomfortable she'd looked being the center of attention. His aunt had told him how, when she'd asked Cinderella what she wished to wear for the ball, she'd replied, "Something blue. It was my mother's favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together." Other young women in the kingdom would have asked for a gown fit for a princess, for satin gloves rimmed with crystals, a tiara studded with rubies. Cinderella had asked for none of these things. That was why he loved her. For the earnest way she thought of her words before she spoke, or how her eyebrows danced when she smiled, or how her voice became singsong when she teased him. That was why he missed her.”

“I'm ready," she whispered, her stomach fluttering as soon as the words left her. Charles looked at her, the light in his eyes wavering. "Then-" "Yes," she spoke over him. "I accept." He drew her close, holding both her hands and bringing them to his lips. Wishing this moment could last forever, she leaned against the prince's shoulder. At last, she knew. So this was love.”

“The story of Cinderella and her glass slipper had spread far and wide, and many wished to hear it from her own lips. But as she and the prince traveled the far corners of the world, recounting how they'd met and come to fall in love, they emphasized that their story didn't end with the glass slipper being found and returned to Cinderella. No, their fairy tale continued on, with each day together and later with their children. As for the glass slippers, Cinderella and Charles kept them displayed in the garden for all to see- as a reminder that magic, as wonderful as it could be, was never the key to making one's dreams come true or making one happy. After all, spells were fragile, hopes could shatter, and dreams could stay dreams, never given a chance to take wing. If one looked very carefully, sewn onto the cushion upon which the slippers stood was the word for what Cinderella and the prince found to be even greater than magic, than dreams, than happily ever afters, than even hope- It was love.”

“In the shadows, a glass slipper shimmered on her foot. She bent to pick it up. Strange, that everything should disappear except her glass slipper. She hugged it to her chest. Before this night, she hadn't thought magic would ever touch her life. None of this would have been possible without her fairy godmother. She gazed at the stars twinkling above her. Somehow, she knew her godmother was listening. "Thank you so much... for everything." Carefully, she tucked her glass slipper into her pocket. At least she would have it to remind her of what a beautiful night it had been. Her fairy godmother's spell had been broken. Tomorrow, everything would go back to the way it was before. Her stepmother would go back to ordering her around the chateau, her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella, to tormenting her over every one of their needs, but she'd caught a glimpse of happiness, something she hadn't felt in many years. Her eyes had opened to the possibility of leaving home, of dreaming dreams that might actually come true. But she wasn't brave enough to chase them- not yet. Not so soon, anyway, after such a magnificent night. What she didn't realize was- she might not have a choice.”