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Queen Quotes

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Queen Quotes

“Her straw-colored pigtails did not qualify her to be Rapunzel and could not be spun to gold by imp fingers, she was too active to be Sleeping Beauty, too outspoken to be Cinderella, too keen on tall fellows to be Snow White. She held little carriage with sleeping upon legumes to display her regal daintiness and imagined that the only result would be a mushy, green stain on the underside of her mattress. Her eyes met the criteria only of the evil, ice queen.”

“This is Trenicia, the queen of the warrior women of the Isle of Akalla. Different places have different traditions and different customs. On the Isle of Akalla, the women rule, and the women do the fighting." "What do the men do?" the horseman Ekial asked curiously. "As little as they possibly can," the warrior woman said in a sardonic tone. "Over the years, they’ve foisted just about everything off on us. We have to grow the food, hunt the meat, and fight the wars. The men sit around getting fat and arguing with each other about something they call 'philosophy' - most of which is pure nonsense.”

“I am Sally Skellington, the Pumpkin Queen." There is warmth in my chest now, heat and fury and anger. "But I was born in Dream Town." The words feel like their won conjuring, a spell, a ritual or bedtime riddle to cast things into the stars and make them true. I feel suddenly awake and alive, a woman who isn't simply a rag doll, but a ruler who has traveled to all the realms, even the human world, to set things right. Who feels a spark, a wrath growing inside her.”

“He wipes away the tear streaming down my cotton cheekbone to my chin and looks at me like his own chest is about to fracture. And for a moment, I'm certain they should just bury us both here, at the center of the graveyard. Married and died on the same day. Unable to contain the unspeakable, awful, wondrous emotion breaking against our eyelids. The dreadful residents of Halloween Town applaud, tossing tiny dwarf spiders at our feet as we leave the cemetery, and the warmth in my chest feels like bats clamoring for a way out of my rib cage. Trying to break me apart. I am now Sally Skellington. The Pumpkin Queen. And I'm certain I will never again be as happy as I am right now.”

“I can't help feeling a connection with Luna beyond just our being rag dolls. Both of us quiet. Bookish. Daydreamy. But whereas I grew up as friendless as a lone daisy in a graveyard, Luna has every chance to blossom. Besides, I tell myself, I'm not some lost stray cat hiding in the shadows anymore. Dr. Finkelstein was wrong. I am a queen, and I'm exactly where I belong-- with my family and Jack, who completes me in ways I didn't even know possible.”

“You disappoint me, Cassandra. Your legends paint you differently," Daemon said softly, his voice thick with malevolence. "I'm a Priestess serving at this Altar," she said, working to keep her voice steady. "You're mistaken, if you think--" He laughed softly. She stepped back from the sound and found herself pressed against the counter. "Do you think I can't tell the difference between a Priestess and a Queen? And the Jewels, my dear, name you for what you are." She bent her head slightly in acknowledgment. "So I'm Cassandra. What do you want, Prince?”

“I just let the apples soak up the roses' scent." "You what?!" "This takes a teeny little while to do, but... first, you take the petals off the damask's and wash them gently. When you've washed a whole big fluffy pile of petals... you dump them all into a big pot of water! Let that boil down, and you get a sweet, pink rose syrup! While that was reducing, I lightly heated thin apple slices in an extract I made from boiled apple peels. Then I poured the rose syrup over them and let them soak for 30 minutes. That way the delicate pink color and sweet scent of the roses gently seeped into the apples. Just boiling the lot of them together into a mush like a barbarian is hardly royal, you know. An elegant and relaxing bath in rose-scented water. That is much more fitting for the Queen of Roses. If I had to give a name to perfect my new dessert, I'd call it... The Queen's Apple Tart!”

“With no VCRs or MTV in 1975, the 'Bohemian Rhapsody' video was the most expensive TV viewing in history. For the song's nine-week reign at UK number one, every fan who desperately wanted to see that mind-blowing 'promotional film' just one more time had to cast their vote by buying the single again and again, thereby forcing the mandatory Top of the Pops re-broadcast of the UK's number one song.”

“Fair Warning by Stewart Stafford Sheer Heart Attack! The auctioneer's hammer fell, On Freddie's exquisite clutter, The room officially rocked. The last item of King Mercury, Sold to the highest bidder, In the room and online, No Kensington Pyramid, though. Seven Seas of Rhye claimed, The Killer Queen laid to rest, A throne in flux, vacated, Champion bids will out, darling! © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Belle was different now too, from the poor, provincial girl she had once been to a queen in her own right. She stood tall in a gown as golden as the sun. It hearkened back to the dress she had worn the night she dined and danced with the Beast, when he had shown her a vision of her father and let her go to him, despite the fact that leaving meant an eternity as a monster. It was hard to understand how much had changed since then, and how far they had come.”

“Mor continued through them, a flash of colour and life in this strange cold place. She wore deepest red, the gossamer and gauze of her sleeveless gown clinging to her breasts and hips, while carefully placed shafts left much of her stomach and back exposed. Her hair was down in rippling waves, and cuffs of solid gold glinted around her wrists. A queen- a queen who bowed to no one, a queen who had faced them all down and triumphed. A queen who owned her body, her life, her destiny, and never apologised for it.”

“It ripens in perfection only in the glow of a midsummer’s sun; and the hotter the weather, the more delicious are its rich cooling juices. It is eminently suited to the season. When the weather is so hot that even eating is a labor, the peach is acceptable, for it melts in the mouth without exertion. It is the Queen of Delicacies.”

“I saw her, once. “She passed through our village, through fields littered with dead soldiers after her forces overwhelmed the nation of Dumor. Her other Elites followed and then rows of white-robed Inquisitors, wielding the white-and-silver banners of the White Wolf. Where they went, the sky dimmed and the ground cracked—the clouds gathered behind the army as if a creature alive, black and churning in fury. As if the goddess of Death herself had come. “She paused to look down at one of our dying soldiers. He trembled on the ground, but his eyes stayed on her. He spat something at her. She only stared back at him. I don’t know what he saw in her expression, but his muscles tightened, his legs pushing against the dirt as he tried in vain to get away from her. Then the man started to scream. It is a sound I shall never forget as long as I live. She nodded to her Rainmaker, and he descended from his horse to plunge a sword through the dying soldier. Her face did not change at all. She simply rode on. “I never saw her again. But even now, as an old man, I remember her as clearly as if she were standing before me. She was ice personified. There was once a time when darkness shrouded the world, and the darkness had a queen.” —A witness’s account of Queen Adelina’s siege on the nation of Dumor The Village of Pon-de-Terre 28 Marzien, 1402”

“You want us to fear you,” she growls at me, speaking now in accented Kenettran. “You think that you can come here and destroy our homes, kill our loved ones—then make us grovel at your feet. You think we will sell you our souls for a few coins.” She lifts her chin. “But I am not afraid of you.” “Is that so?” I tilt my head at her curiously. “You should be.” She challenges me with a smile. “You can’t even bring yourself to spill our blood.” She nods in the direction of Sergio, who has already started to draw his sword. “You have one of your lackeys do it for you. You’re a coward queen, hiding behind your army. But you cannot crush our spirits beneath your Roses’ heels—you cannot win.”

“Yes—at the cost of a third of your army. What will happen when you try to seize what remains of Tamoura? When the Beldish strike at you again? Queen Maeve is watching you, I’m sure.” He takes a deep breath. “Adelina, you’re Queen of the Sealands now. You’ve annexed Domacca and northern Tamoura in the Sunlands. At some point, your goal should be not to conquer more territories but to keep order in the territories you do have. And you won’t achieve that by ordering your Inquisitors to drag unmarked civilians out into the streets and brand them with a hot iron.”

“Wait a minute... that dish. I've seen it before! It's the Tempura-Egg Rice Bowl he served me before! "Now, I've made two servings of this. One for you, of course, Book Master. The other one... how about you taste it, Nakiri." "Yukihira?" "Don't confuse this for the dish I served you that other time. See, that old dish wasn't enough to make you say it was good... ... so I've been secretly working on some new twists I could add to it. Eat! Erina Nakiri! Dig in. I call it my Soma-Style... ... Eggs Benedict over Rice... ... fit for a Queen.”

“If we can secure victory in this Team Shokugeki and unseat the current Council of Ten... then I shall humbly accept the First Seat as my due! This battle is nothing less than the battle to restore the rightful queen to her throne, and I shall see us victorious! The rest of you are... yes. You shall be my loyal entourage, who dutifully serve and revere their queen! Be honored!" "Whoa. Talk about force of personality." "Yay! It's like she's finally back to her old self!" "Heh. A wonderful sight, if I do say so myself. The royal dignity of a queen at all times. That has always suited her best, I think." "Isn't it nice she's feeling better now, Soma? Um... Soma?" "Hold it right there, Nakiri! Where do you get off deciding that?! The First Seat is mine! You hear me?!" "Hold your tongue and listen to your betters, commoner!" "Hey! Don't you underestimate the strength of family cooking, Nakiri! What happened to all that modest and sweet "friends to the bottom of your heart" stuff, huh?!" "That was that. This is an entirely different matter! You just need to listen when the Divine Tongue tells you what's what!" "Daaad! Get over here and tell her!" "N-no fair! Getting Chef Saiba involved is against the rules!" "That was great, Erina. No, really. You did an awesome job... ... standing up to that stubborn blockhead of a father of yours." I think somewhere, somehow a certain father and son may have rubbed off on me a little.”

“As happens in dreams, when a perfectly harmless object inspires us with fear and thereafter is frightening every time we dream of it (and even in real life retains disquieting overtones), so Dreyer's presence became for Franz a refined torture, an implacable menace. [ ... H]e could not help cringing when, with a banging of doors in a dramatic draft, Martha and Dreyer entered simultaneously from two different rooms as if on a too harshly lit stage. Then he snapped to attention and in this attitude felt himself ascending through the ceiling, through the roof, into the black-brown sky, while, in reality, drained and empty, he was shaking hands with Martha, with Dreyer. He dropped back on his feet out of that dark nonexistence, from those unknown and rather silly heights, to land firmly in the middle of the room (safe, safe!) when hearty Dreyer described a circle with his index finger and jabbed him in the navel; Franz mimicked a gasp and giggled; and as usual Martha was coldly radiant. His fear did not pass but only subsided temporarily: one incautious glance, one eloquent smile, and all would be revealed, and a disaster beyond imagination would shatter his career. Thereafter whenever he entered this house, he imagined that the disaster had happened—that Martha had been found out, or had confessed everything in a fit of insanity or religious self-immolation to her husband; and the drawing room chandelier invariably met him with a sinister refulgence.”