Kathleen Tessaro Famous Quotes & Sayings
84 Kathleen Tessaro Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
Love is self-serving - we do all sorts of things for our own comfort and call it love. But revenge is an intimate thing, don't you think? Would you be willing to enact another persons vengeance?
Sis took Eva to the public library and showed her how to get a card. Every week, Eva read her way through the works of Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, Henry James and Elizabeth Gaskell. She dreamed of heroines from modest backgrounds attracting unprecedented attentions, soaring tales of love across social divides and sudden unexpected reversals of fortunes. In these pages, anything was possible, even for a girl like her.
We live in a disposable world. There's no point in investing yourself too heavily.
Love doesn't fix anything ... it destroys more than it fixes. and when the dust has settled, it's just an afterthought. Lives still get ruined, people still leave, and life goes on and on and on.
the first forty-eight hours are the worst. the ego's taken a bit of a kicking. what you need is a constant supply of alcohol.
today was a day for taking tranquilizers washed down by vodka.
Curiosity is the most delightful of all human characteristics
"I see. No men in her life then?"
-"Not unless you count Jack Daniels and Johnny Walkers
That's what fashion is, really. A way of renegotiating the terms that life deals you. When a woman changes her hair what she's really saying to fate is, no. I refuse to be defined by those terms.
Something of Eva's disturbing beauty, slow-burning sensuality and razor-sharp mind was reflected in it.
What would you like to do with it?' he pressed. Grace thought a moment. 'Live, Monsieur Tissot. I'd like to live in great comfort. And peace.' And then she added, quite to her surprise, 'With no one to tell me what to do or how to do it.' He
As time went on, Eva grew to respect and even admire the eccentricities of Madame Zed. For example, rather than adapt to her surroundings, she transformed them.
There was a whole vocabulary of suffering, eloquent in its wordlessness, which gave voice to all the things she couldn't do or say.
He was in love with aspects of her. Andre wasn't capable of expressing himself like other people. He dreamt in smells, he heard music in colours.
Please tell me it's going to rain today, Francois.'
'Ah!' he smiled. (This was obviously familiar territory.) 'I regret to inform you that the forecast calls for nothing but sunshine.'
'Relentless sunshine,' she corrected him.
It was a scent that lacked coyness, made no concessions to charm. Like standing on the edge of a great and terrifying cliff, it was shocking, beautiful, sublime.
Turner watercolour
She had a smooth, low voice and a naughty, shocking sense of humour. Laughter followed in her wake; she collected admirers, both male and female, simply walking across the lobby. She had a certain knack for including everyone in her own private jokes, bending in conspiratorially to say something wickedly off-colour to one of the old stone-faced dowagers waiting for a cab. The next moment, they'd both be giggling uncontrollably
He was uncannily skilled at dissecting hidden meaning behind every interaction.
Innocence, like virginity, is more fun to lose than to keep.' 'Both are quite expensive, sir.
He didn't know what it was like to live between memory and regret with nothing to numb it.
Paulette shook her head and sighed. In her world Grace had failed to meet the responsibility of her own beauty. This was not just a waste but a sin.
Very few of us relate to what it's like to be a hero. But everyone understands what it's like to fail.
Too much reading is a bad habit. No one likes a girl who squints.
Easing back in her seat, Grace watched the children in the playground opposite, coats off, faces flushed, laughing hysterically with pleasure. They were so vividly alive, completely immersed in the game. She tried to recall a time when she'd been that way and realized she couldn't remember when that had been. She'd lost the knack of forgetting herself. Instead she seemed to look down on herself throughout the day, scrutinizing, judging; finding herself wanting more.
The universe is bound by unseen threads. We have only to untangle them a little to see a pattern unfold.
This, Mrs Munroe, is the scent of intoxication and desire. The perfume of seduction.
If you can capture a woman's imagination, then you will have her. But imagination is a strange creature. It needs time and distance to function properly.
Men are forced to resort to ridiculous displays of bravado in front of women.
Young men seemed to collect by her side, ready with drinks and conversation. She tanned quickly and easily, her delicate limbs oiled and gleaming. In the evening, she made the most of her new tan in low-cut clinging evening dresses in white or black.
Most people assume that a muse is a creature of perfect beauty, poise and grace. Like the creatures from Greek mythology. They're wrong. In fact, there should be a marked absence of perfection in a muse
a gaping hole between what she is and what she might be. The ideal muse is a woman whose rough edges and contradictions drive you to fill in the blanks of her character. She is the irritant to your creativity. A remarkable possibility, waiting to be formed.
Because happiness isn't made of fun. It's made of solid, real things. It's made of paychecks and clean clothing, and hot food and healthy children, and a man who can look you in the eye when he comes home because he has nothing to hide. It's not so rare. In fact, it's so common people don't notice it. They look for roses when they should be looking for indoor plumbing." Ma,
She tore off a piece of baguette; it was both crusty and soft, still warm in the centre. It was amazing how something so simple, so basic could be this delicious.
There are no elegant potatoes.
I believe it's a privilege, madam. One that's earned through a certain amount of courage and adversity.
In the silence of fragrance, Eva saw how ambiguous, complex stories could be told. Shifting and mutating, they blossomed, bloomed and faded; their very impermanence was incredibly moving to her. You could be laughing in public yet wear, right on the surface of your skin, a perfume ripe with longing, dripping with regret, shining with hope, all at the same time. It would fade as the day faded, vanishing into gossamer on your skin. And still it had the power to catch you unaware, piercing right through you, when you hung your dress up that night.
Life is, after all, a sensual experience. Our senses have the power to truly transport us but also to ground us. Make us human.
She'd always heard that Paris was elegant but had struggled to imagine how. She'd assumed it would be rigid; the demanding intolerance of perfection. But, being here, she was struck by the easy naturalness of everything. From the tall, slender trees, their leaves rustling high above her, to the chalky gravel that crunched beneath her feet or the classically proportioned buildings that rose, uniformly constructed from the same blonde stone, it was all orchestrated to hold the light. The entire city was enveloped in a halo of glowing softness.
I'm going to tell you something that no magazine or novel or television show will ever let on. Love wears you down. We think of it as hearts and flowers and happily ever after but in real life, the things you have to do in the name of love kill you ... You end up doing a thousand things in a day in the name of love that you wouldn't ask a dog to do.
Sex is the most powerful weapon in your arsenal
innocence is attractive in children, but it makes brittle, disappointed adults.
Someone liking you is just the beginning; it always starts nicely but before you know it it's like Persephone being dragged into the Underworld.
Romantic love is an illusion Hughie,. It can be manupulated, twisted, piled up like a bunch of fun-house mirrors. The very nature of it is deceptive. It promises closeness but the only thing is ever really reveals is the dreams and fears of the person with the obsessions. That's why it's so easy to control
When you are older and have swum out into the stream of life, you'll see
there are no "good" people, little girl. We're all trying and failing, trying too hard and failing too often. Remember that. We shouldn't judge too harshly, in the end, the sins of others" ...
She was wearing a simple silver sheath cut within an inch of indecency, curving round her slender shoulders and then falling away to expose the smooth white skin of her back and just a hint of the soft round curve of her breasts. She had on no jewellery, only a pale wash of lipstick, and again the black halo of hair was arranged so that it looked almost wind tossed. Yet her dark tresses shone, framing her face with a soft, unearthly light. Next to the other women at the table, with their diamonds, heavy strands of pearls, and meticulously groomed faces and hair, she seemed feral and bewitching. The impact of her beauty lay in her confidence and her utter lack of self-awareness. In contrast, others appeared to be trying too hard, careful and staid.
A young woman on the cusp of her sexual awakening is a powerful creature.' She
Father Paul was at the start of life. His glassy convictions needed protection. They waited patiently until he too, succumbed to the unbearable unevenness of God's will, the sureness of his grace, the darkness of his mercy.
The world was full of collectors, scouring the earth for pieces of themselves.
...I have to have some answers."
"And what if there are no answers?"
She held her ground. "Then at least I will have asked the questions.
I thought I could change my character as easily as I could change my coat.
But I've been searching for the right one ever since.
But Paris had been designed. Here, historical landmarks appeared graciously; evenly spaced for maximum aesthetic impact. One had only to follow from one to another to reach any destination, including the Left Bank.
I'm an exceptional artist. Trapped in the body of man with no musical
Do you know what this dress is for?' Miss Waverly whispered. Eva shook her head. 'Seduction!' The word disturbed Eva; it was laden with the murky enticements of sin, dangerous moral ambiguity and the certain promise of future remorse. But even worse than that was the implication of mysterious skills that remained beyond her comprehension.
Because she was connected to you. Because even despite her absence, she existed and you existed. You are a fact in each other's lives in the same way that the sea exists even if you never go to the seaside.
Some day you will have a nemesis,' Madame warned bitterly. 'It's not easy, you know. Someone who has the ability to do everything you wish you could, but with greater ease, style, success.
Climbing the steps to the hotel, Grace paused, taking a long look at Paris, in all its shimmering, enigmatic elegance, wearing the nigh as a beautiful woman wears diamonds.
We forgive not because it's easy or the right thing to do, but that the choice to forgive is in itself powerful. It's an affirmation, a willingness to take life on life's terms. And a privilege that no one can take from you. It
There's an art to life. Some people have talent for it. A boundless hope illuminates them. Where others are vague and tentative, they have only sharp, clear edges. Energy soars; lights burn brighter when they enter a room.
After all, if I started confiding my innermost problems to someone, I'd have to do something about them. And I'm not ready for that yet.
glass, madam. He looks to see his own face, not
If you cannot fit into the mould, then you must step out of it,
It could be argued that all perfume is born out of shame; a self-consciousness of our natural odour.
Fragrance is an aspiration. A goal. Not just a tool of seduction but of power and status.
Are we at war with fate?
The warm humid air of New York clung to the night, unwilling to relinquish its suffocating hold. And yet to Eva, the city had an underlying hum of possibility; a constant forward motion that promised, no matter what, that change was on its way.
She inhaled again. 'You made it rain,' she said softly, delighted.
'Everyone needs a respite from the sun.
To me, chance isn't random. The universe is bound by unseen threads. We have only to untangle them a little to see the pattern unfold.
An uninterrupted view of the Paris skyline was spread out before her, like a giant landscape painting rendered in shades of blue-grey, charcoal and purple-tinted umber; the dreamy palette of shifting shadows at twilight. The blue hour.
Likewise, while the men and women were no more naturally attractive than their English counterparts, they dressed with an assurance and attention to detail that would have been considered the height of arrogance in England. Here, maintaining a certain chic was apparently nothing less than a civic duty.
I knew her a long time. The truth was we both had certain expectations of each other. In the end, I suppose they were too high.
People take for granted what is in fact an art. To live well, to live comfortably by one's own standards takes a certain maturity of spirit, exceptional character, truly refined taste, and - ' 'And money.
It, Valmont found himself staring at her. At the easy, languid way in which she crossed the floor; of the taut perfection of her figure, which, without being conspicuously on show beneath the soft folds of her white summer dress, was not entirely hidden by it either. It struck him as a calculated statement; both ambiguous and provocative without being obvious. This subtlety pleased him. Although finely boned and petite, she possessed bearing and composure; a certain reckless enjoyment of her own body. And her face was equally striking, with large feline eyes and full lips, poised on the verge of a smile, as if she were recalling a private joke. Her hair was black. It was brushed back from her face and arranged like a soft dusky halo round her head. A little straw handbag dangled from her wrist and she frowned slightly as she made her way up to the front desk.
In every book she'd ever read, the heroine was subject to self-doubt and unjust criticism. And in every case, it only served to harden their resolve.
Smells are custodians of memories.
To sin. To miss the mark ... We try and we fail, like archers who aim for the target but fall short of the mark. When you are older and have swum out into the stream of life, you'll see- there are no 'good' people, little girl. We're all trying and failing, trying too hard and failing too often. Remember that. We shouldn't judge too harshly, in the end, the sins of others ... Sometimes I think the only things we have in common with one another are our shortcomings.
I'd like to live in great comfort. And peace.' And then she added, quite to her surprise, 'With no one to tell me what to do or how to do it.
Eva was assigned to learn her duties from Rita Crane, an older woman of indeterminate age and one of the world's most unsuccessful secret drinkers.
she exuded the air of a woman used to spending her days glowing brightly at the centre of her own, personal solar system.
Mass was like grand opera, a magic show with the most expensive props in town. And faith, a sleight of hand trick, in which one was both the magician and the audience; the deceiver and the deceived. Still, who could resist a good magic trick?
They seemed to be removed from her by more than just language. French people leading French lives. Why was it that anything you couldn't readily understand became mysterious and glamorous?
Around her the tables were filling with people, tourists planning their next stop over a coffee, businessmen meeting for luncheon, well-heeled women taking a break from their sprees, leaning in to gossip with one another, shopping bags piled at their feet.
Some of us, no matter how hard we try, aren't meant to lead ordinary lives. Fate finds us. Gives us a shove.
You see, nothing is more immediate, more complete than the sense of smell. In an instant, it has the power to transport you. Your olfactory sense connects not to the memory itself, but to the emotion you felt when that memory was made. To recreate a scent memory is one of the most challenging, eloquent pursuits possible. It's poetry, in its most immediate form.
What could be more beautiful than the fact that love exists in a random universe?
Ladies didn't wake up on the floor, covered in cat.
What a shock it had been when she began to grow invisible to men and they no longer registered her. How humiliating to discover time had abducted her favorite version of herself and replaced it with a saggy middle-aged woman instead.
[...] I look in the mirror every day, when I brush my teeth or wash my face or comb my hair. It's just I tend to look at myself in pieces and avoid joining them up all together. I don't know why; it just feels safer that way.
But tonight I force myself to look at the whole thing. And suddenly I see how the bits and pieces add up to someone I'm not familiar with, someone I never intended to be.
![Kathleen Tessaro Sayings: [...] I look in the mirror every day, when I brush my teeth or wash](https://www.greatsayings.net/images/kathleen-tessaro-sayings-1925355.jpg "Kathleen Tessaro Sayings: [...] I look in the mirror every day, when I brush my teeth or wash")
Men don't like clever wives, they like charming ones!
Thing is,' Sis confided, 'all the important people here look ordinary and the really fancy ones are usually broke or on the make. I'll tell you, you're in an upside-down world now,' she said, shaking her head. 'Takes a while, but you'll get used to it.
Dorsey was out of her league. When a woman like Kay Waverley took you on over a man, you were done for. It was the scandal of the season and all of Monte Carlo agreed; poor little Dorsey wasn't handling it well.
You see, the truth is no one ever really falls in love with anyone but themselves. Love is a mirror; a reflective surface projecting who we wish we were. What we've all waiting for is someone to come along who will show us something new about ourselves that we can adore. And then, because someone loves us, in turn, we love ourselves. Does that make sense?
There are no great fanfares for the truly great moments of your life. Just dripping taps and the sound of your own footsteps, walking from one room into another
