Carriage Quotes

It is when we are incubating particularly awkward but potentially vital ideas that we tend to feel most desperate to avoid looking inside.
... we will have nothing substantial to offer anyone else so long as we have not first mastered the art of being patient midwives to our own thoughts.
We need long train journeys on which we have no wireless signal and nothing to read, where our carriage is mostly empty, where the views are expansive and where the only sounds are those made by the wheels as they click against the rails in rhythmical succession. ~ Alain De Botton

Hello?" I peered into the shadows.
Two green circles flashed in the dark. I yelped, jumping backward and pressing myself against the wall.
"And may I wish a very good morning to you, too, October." The voice was amused, underscored by a chuckle like thick cream. "What happened? Did the prettiest little princess miss her carriage home? ~ Seanan McGuire

I can lie about my name, I can lie about my school, but how am I going to lie about this fucking nose? "You seem like a very nice person Mr. Porte-Noir, but why do you go around covering the middle of your face like that?" Because suddenly it has taken off, the middle of my face! Because gone is the button of my childhood years, that pretty little thing that people used to look at in my carriage, and lo and behold, the middle of my face has begun to reach out towards God. Porte-Noir and Parsons my ass, kid, you have got J-E-W written right across the middle of your face ... ~ Philip Roth

A year and a half had indeed made some changes in Veda's appearance. She was still no more than medium height, but her haughty carriage made her seem taller. The hips were as slim as ever, but had taken on some touch of voluptuousness. The legs were Mildred's, to the last graceful contour. But the most noticeable change was what Monty brutally called the Dairy: two round, swelling protuberances that had appeared almost overnight on the high, arching chest. They would have been large, even for a woman: but for a child of thirteen they were positively startling. Mildred had a mystical feeling about them: they made her think tremulously of Love, Motherhood, and similar milky concepts. ~ James M. Cain

Cinderella was such a dork. She left behind her glass slipper at the ball and then went right back to her step-monster's house. It seems to me she should have worn the glass slipper always, to make herself easier to find. I always hoped that after the prince found Cinderella and they rode away in their magnificent carriage, after a few miles she turned to him and said, Could you drop me off down the road please? Now that I've finally escaped my life of horrific abuse, I'd like to see something of the world, you know? ... I'll catch back up with you later, Prince, once I've found my own way. ~ Rachel Cohn

But once Rausch was definitively gone for the day, the office transformed itself as instantaneously as a pumpkin into a carriage. Music ~ Hanya Yanagihara

He pulled the Carstairs family ring from his finger and held it out to Will. "Take it."
Will let his eyes drift down toward it, and then up to Jem's face. A dozen awful things he could say, or do, went through his mind. One did not slough off a persona so quickly, he had found. He had pretended to be cruel for so many years that the pretense was still what he reached for first, as a man might absently turn his carriage toward the home he had lived in for all his life, despite the fact that he had recently moved. "You wish to marry me now?" he said, at last. ~ Cassandra Clare

She didn't even have to smile, and she rarely did outside her house
it was the eyes, her dancer's carriage, the way she seemed to deliberate over the smallest movement of her body. ~ Alice Sebold

Her carriage bespoke an exquisite misery, a wretchedness so perfect and so absolute that it manifested as dignity, as calm. More than a dark horse, she was darkness itself, the cloak of it. ~ Eleanor Catton

A princess," (Queen Sophia) would proclaim, "requires a graceful and willowy carriage, not the appetite of a swineherd. ~ Catherine Gilbert Murdock

Espionage and counterespionage go together like horse and carriage. ~ Charles McCarry

Little minx," he whispered.
Smile widening, Suzette shifted and wiggled about on top of him again, inadvertantly leaning her breasts briefly closer to his face as she appeared to try to find a more comfortable position. He suspected the action was more to torture him than out of any true desire to get more comfortable and was proven correct when she murmured, "This reminds me of the first time we were alone in a carriage together,my lord."
Daniel closed his eyes against the view of her breasts not even an inch from his face as she twisted her upper body in his lap. Damn, she was so close that if he stuck his tongue out, he could run it across the top curves along the neckline of her gown, he thought. But then his eyes popped open again when she shifted once more and added in almost an undertone, "As I recall, we didn't reach our destination there, either. ~ Lynsay Sands

He's rumored to have more bravery than sense."
"Then he and Gabe make a good pair," Oliver growled.
"Lay off of him, will you?" Jarret told Oliver. Closest to being a blend of their parents, he had black hair but blue-green eyes and no trace of Oliver's Italian features. "You've been ragging him ever since that stupid carriage race. He was drunk. It's a state you ought to be familiar with."
Oliver whirled on Jarret. "Yes, but you were not drunk, yet you let him-"
"Don't blame Jarret," Gabe put in. "Chetwin challenged me to it. He would have branded me a coward if I'd refused."
"Better a coward than dead." Oliver had no tolerance for such idiocy. Nothing was worth risking one's life for-not a woman, not honor, and certainly not reputation. A pity that he hadn't yet impressed that upon his idiot brothers.
Gabe, of all people, ought to know better. The course he'd run was the most dangerous in London. Two large boulders flanked the path so closely that only one rig could pass between them, forcing a driver to fall back at the last minute to avoid being dashed on the rocks. Many was the time drivers pulled out too late.
The sporting set called it "threading the needle." Oliver called it madness. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I'll tell you what is convenient," he said after a moment. "To sleep until noon and have someone bring you your breakfast on a tray. To cancel an appointment at the very last minute. To keep a carriage waiting at the door of one party, so that on a moment's notice it can whisk you away to another. To sidestep marriage in your youth and put off having children altogether. These are the greatest of conveniences, Anushka - and at one time, I had them all. But in the end, it has been the inconveniences that have mattered to me most." Anna ~ Amor Towles

To the door of an inn in the provincial town of N. there drew up a smart britchka - a light spring-carriage of the sort affected by bachelors, retired lieutenant-colonels, staff-captains, land-owners possessed of about a hundred souls, and, in short, all persons who rank as gentlemen of the intermediate category. In the britchka was seated such a gentleman - a man who, though not handsome, was not ill-favoured, not over-fat, and not over-thin. Also, though not over-elderly, he was not over-young. His arrival produced no stir in the town, and was accompanied by no particular incident, beyond that a couple of peasants who happened to be standing at the door of a dramshop exchanged a few comments with reference to the equipage rather than to the individual who was seated in it. "Look at that carriage," one of them said to the other. "Think you it will be going as far as Moscow?" "I think it will," replied his companion. "But not as far as Kazan, eh?" "No, not as far as Kazan." With that the conversation ended. Presently, as the britchka was approaching the inn, it was met by a young man in a pair of very short, very tight breeches of white dimity, a quasi-fashionable frockcoat, and a dickey fastened with a pistol-shaped bronze tie-pin. The young man turned his head as he passed the britchka and eyed it attentively; after which he clapped his hand to his cap (which was in danger of being removed by the wind) and resumed his way. On the vehicle reaching the inn door, its occupant ~ Nikolai Gogol

It is difficult when you pass that way, especially when you are peacefully recovering from sea-sickness with the plush cushions of a boat-train carriage under your bum, to believe that anything is really happening anywhere. Earthquakes in Japan, famines in China, revolutions in Mexico? Don't worry, the milk will be on the doorstep tomorrow morning, the New Statesman will come out on Friday. ~ George Orwell

This was why I did what I
did," she whispered. "I looked at those men at the ball, and I thought of that night in the carriage when
you touched me, and I knew I could never let any of them touch me." She tilted her head back and
closed her eyes, pressing his hands to her breasts. "Only you. ~ Laura Lee Guhrke

I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise. ~ Jane Austen

It is perhaps dangerous to conclude too much about the character and intentions of a nation based on the snacks menu in a railway carriage, but I couldn't help wonder if Scottish nationalism hasn't gone a little too far now. I mean, these poor people are denying themselves simple comforts like KitKats and Cornish pasties and instead are eating neeps and foot medication on grounds of patriotism. Seems a bit unnecessary to me. ~ Bill Bryson

The clamor of traffic intensified as the coach's door swung open. Nathaniel clambered inside amid a swirl of emerald silk. He flashed Elisabeth a grin, pulling the door shut as he took a seat in the opposite corner.

"Best if I don't show myself," he explained. "I don't want to inflame the public. They go absolutely mad in the presence of celebrity, you see, and I'd prefer them not to storm the carriage. There are only so many propositions of marriage a man can bear. ~ Margaret Rogerson

The marquis de Carabas was not a good man, and he knew himself well enough to be perfectly certain that he was not a brave man. He had long since decided that the world, Above or Below, was a place that wished to be deceived, and, to this end, he had named himself from a lie in a fairy tale, and created himself
his clothes, his manner, his carriage
as a grand joke.
There was a dull pain in his wrists and his feet, and he was finding it harder and harder to breathe. There was nothing more to be gained by feigning unconsciousness, and he raised his head, as best he could, and spat a gob of scarlet blood into Mr. Vandemar's face.
It was a brave thing to do, he thought. And a stupid one. Perhaps they would have let him die quietly, if he had not done that. Now, he had no doubt, they would hurt him more.
And perhaps his death would come the quicker for it. ~ Neil Gaiman

She had every intention of maintaining her punctilious civility, and might have done so had he not said, as he took his seat beside her in the carriage he had hired for the evening: 'I wish I had ordered a hot brick to be provided.'
'Thank you, but there was not the least need to do so: I don't feel at all cold.'
'I daresay icebergs don't feel cold either, but I do! ~ Georgette Heyer

I have heard many a young unmarried lady exclaim with a bold sweep of conception, "Ah me! I wish I were a widow!" Mrs. Keith was precisely the widow that young unmarried ladies wish to be. With her diamonds in her dressing-case and her carriage in her stable, and without a feather's weight of encumbrance, she offered a finished example of satisfied ambition. ~ Henry James

She's remarkably refined." "You told me she slung Miss Birmingham over her shoulder and tossed her into a carriage. ~ Jen Turano

Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath. I have no doubt that some of you who read this book are unable to pay for all the dinners which you have actually eaten, or for the coats and shoes which are fast wearing or are already worn out, and have come to this page to spend borrowed or stolen time, robbing your creditors of an hour. It is very evident what mean and sneaking lives many of you live, for my sight has been whetted by experience; always on the limits, trying to get into business and trying to get out of debt, a very ancient slough, called by the Latins aes alienum, another's brass, for some of their coins were made of brass; still living, and dying, and buried by this other's brass; always promising to pay, promising to pay, tomorrow, and dying today, insolvent; seeking to curry favor, to get custom, by how many modes, only not state-prison offences; lying, flattering, voting, contracting yourselves into a nutshell of civility or dilating into an atmosphere of thin and vaporous generosity, that you may persuade your neighbor to let you make his shoes, or his hat, or his coat, or his carriage, or import his groceries for him; making yourselves sick, that you may lay up something against a sick day, something to be tucked away in an old chest, or in a stocking behind the plastering, or, more safely, in the brick bank; no matter where, no matter how much or how little. ~ Henry David Thoreau

And again, the dark street. The dark, dark street. The women out shopping for the evening meal of course, and baby carriage and the silver bicycle were already painted out by the darkness; most of the commuters too were already in place in their filing-drawer houses. A half-forsaken chasm of time ... ~ Kobo Abe

In his competition with Bradford, Franklin had one big disadvantage. Bradford was the postmaster of Philadelphia, and he used that position to deny Franklin the right, at least officially, to send his Gazette through the mail. Their ensuing struggle over the issue of open carriage was an early example of the tension that often still exists between those who create content and those who control distribution systems. ~ Walter Isaacson

If you had a bump on your nose, it made no difference so long as you had a marvelous body & good carriage. You held your head high, & you were a beauty You knew how to water-ski, & how to take a jet plane fast in the morning, arrive anywhere, & be anyone when you got off. ~ Diana Vreeland

I had just got married when I started writing my fourth novel. I'd come back from honeymoon, moved into our first house - a gorgeous little carriage house in London - and made my office on the third floor, overlooking the treetops in North West London. ~ Jane Green

I realized that if I had said to them, "You had that young man turned out of the carriage because he had a second-class ticket," they would have nodded and said, "Yes," and if I had gone on and said, "But you yourselves have only second-class tickets," they would not have seen that the second statement had any bearing on the first; and I cannot picture to myself the mental life of people who cannot perceive that connexion. ~ Rebecca West

Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o'clock one morning, a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter city at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the carriage windows. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The cart slowed as they came to a place so dark and quiet that it seemed as if they had entered some remote forest. Peeking beneath the hem of the cart's canvas covering, Garrett saw towering gates covered with ivy, and ghostly sculptures of angels, and solemn figures of men, women, and children with their arms crossed in resignation upon their breasts. Graveyard sculptures. A stab of horror went through her, and she crawled to the front of the cart to where West Ravenel was sitting with the driver.
"Where the devil are you taking us, Mr. Ravenel?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows raised. "I told you before- a private railway station."
"It looks like a cemetery."
"It's a cemetery station," he admitted. "With a dedicated line that runs funeral trains out to the burial grounds. It also happens to connect to the main lines and branches of the London Ironstone Railroad, owned by our mutual friend Tom Severin."
"You told Mr. Severin about all this? Dear God. Can we trust him?"
West grimaced slightly. "One never wants to be in the position of having to trust Severin," he admitted. "But he's the only one who could obtain clearances for a special train so quickly."
They approached a massive brick and stone building housing a railway platform. A ponderous stone sign adorned the top of the carriage entrance: Silent Gardens. Just below it, the shape of an open book emblazoned with words had been carved in the stone. Ad Meliora. "Toward be ~ Lisa Kleypas

The most difficult speculation for a science fiction writer to undertake is to imagine correctly the *secondary* implications of a new factor. Many people correctly anticipated the coming of the horseless carriage, some were bold enough to predict that everyone would use them and the horse would disappear. But I know of no writer, fiction or non-fiction, who saw ahead of time the vast change in the courting and mating habits of Americans which would result primarily from the automobile."

Expanded Universe ~ Robert A. Heinlein

Recently I've been working very hard and quickly; in this way I try to express the desperately fast passage of things in modern life.

Yesterday, in the rain, I painted a large landscape with fields as far as the eye can see, viewed from a height, different kinds of greenery, a dark green field of potatoes, the rich purple earth between the regular rows of plants, to one side a field of peas white with bloom, a field of clover with pink flowers and the little figure of a mower, a field of tall, ripe, fawn-coloured grass, then some wheat, some poplars, on the horizon a last line of blue hills at the foot of which a train is passing, leaving an immense trail of white smoke over the greenery. A white road crosses the canvas, on the road a little carriage and some white houses with bright red roofs alongside a road. Fine drizzle streaks the whole with blue or grey lines. ~ Vincent Van Gogh

And then Gary choked and said, "Hot motherfucking damn, that is some good shit right there."
So I turned around.
And immediately realized I was wearing the wrong kind of pants to be on the boner carriage to Holy Fuck Me Town.
"Sweet molasses," I managed to say. ~ T.J. Klune

As to Don Juan, confess that it is the sublime of that there sort of writing; it may be bawdy, but is it not good English? It may be profligate, but is it not life, is it not the thing? Could any man have written it who has not lived in the world? and tooled in a post-chaise? in a hackney coach? in a Gondola? against a wall? in a court carriage? in a vis a vis? on a table? and under it? ~ Lord Byron

Never again would I let that foul woman trick me into a carriage. ~ Lia Habel

Ma'am," Magnus said, advancing. "I must counsel you not to exit the carriage while a demon-slaying is in progress. ~ Cassandra Clare

They were properly mad in the Shakespearean sense, talking sense when you least expected it. In North London, where councillors once voted to change the name of the area to Nirvana, it is not unusual to walk the streets and be suddenly confronted by sage words from the chalkfaced, blue-lipped, or eyebrowless. From across the street or from the other end of a tube carriage they will use their schizophrenic talent for seeing connections in the random (for discerning the whole world in a grain of sand, for deriving narrative from nothing) to riddle you, to rhyme you, to strip you down, to tell you who you are and where you're going (usually Baker Street - the great majority of modernday seers travel the Metropolitan Line) and why. But as a city we are not appreciative of these people. Our gut instinct is that they intend to embarrass us, that they're out to shame us somehow as they lurch down the train aisle, bulbous-eyed and with carbuncled nose, preparing to ask us, inevitably, what we are looking at. What the fuck we are looking at. As a kind of preemptive defense mechanism, Londoners have learned not to look, never to look, to avoid eyes at all times so that the dreaded question "What you looking at?" and its pitiful, gutless, useless answer - "Nothing" - might be avoided. ~ Zadie Smith

I'll remember you, he thinks, and as the gun carriage, with its coffin and its dented helmet pass him by, he closes his eyes.
Nothing will bring them back. Not the words of comfortable men. Not the words of politicians. Or the platitudes of paid poets. ~ Anna Hope

was only as he passed Diana's carriage that he slowed ~ John Manning

Your average genre novel is like a high speed car chase ending in a massive crash, with death, destruction, and balls of flame, from which the main characters (usually) emerge mostly unscathed. Everything builds up to the crash, and it's the anticipation that keeps us turning pages.

Anthony Trollope, by contrast, is like a pleasant Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside in an open carriage behind a pair of matched horses. There's conflict, sure; a herd of sheep blocks the road, two countrymen come to blows outside the pub, the cows in this field are looking daggers at the cows in that field. But the point of the drive is the drive itself, not the destination, because of course you're just going to end up at home anyway. ~ Will Duquette

The introduction of so powerful an agent as steam to a carriage on wheels will make a great change in the situation of man. ~ Thomas Jefferson

As someone who sends texts messages more or less non-stop, I enjoy one particular aspect of texting more than anything else: that it is possible to sit in a crowded railway carriage laboriously spelling out quite long words in full, and using an enormous amount of punctuation, without anyone being aware of how outrageously subversive I am being. ~ Lynne Truss

As the carriage whipped forward, they passed the alley she had spent so many days staring at - it was there, and then gone as they careened around a corner, nearly knocking over a costermonger pushing a donkey cart piled high with new potatoes. Tessa screamed.
Will reached past her and yanked the curtain shut. "It's better if you don't look," he told her pleasantly.
"He's going to kill someone. Or get us killed."
"No, he won't. Thomas is an excellent driver."
Tessa glared at him. "Clearly the word excellent means something else on this side of the Atlantic. ~ Cassandra Clare

I remember going on carriage rides with Dad when we'd visit. I think quiet L.A. suited him better, but he loved to see shows here, he loved to visit his friends in the Hamptons. ~ Jennifer Grant

Lascelles threw himself into the carriage, snorting with laughter and saying that he had never in his life heard of anything so ridiculous and comparing their snug drive through the London streets in Mr. Norrell's carriage to ancient French and Italian fables where fools set sail in milk-pails to fetch the moon's reflection from the bottom of a duckpond ... ~ Susanna Clarke

When she thought of how Lord Northcliff was ruining the life of a poor, sweet, old lady, she wanted to shriek with frustration. She wanted to shake him until he saw sense. She wanted to . . . she wanted to arrange a carriage accident that would finish him off. ~ Christina Dodd

The word coach comes from the old English word coach, which was a vehicle, a carriage that took royalty or very important people from where they were to where they wanted to go. That's really what a coach is. He or she tries to create a vehicle that will help you get where you're going, not where the coach wants you to go. ~ Timothy Gallwey

They talked about the incubators for a while, which he told her that he'd built himself. Then he showed her an ancient motorcycle with a few shiny new parts, and explained shyly that it was a Harley Super Glide, and he was restoring it. He'd brought her up to the loft, where there was a breathtaking view of the ranch spread and the horse fields. Then they sat in the gorgeous horse-drawn carriage that Mr. Thatcher always brought to town events and talked about school, life on the ranch, everything and anything. ~ Morgan Blaze

After more hours in a carriage with Archer than he ever wanted to experience again, Grey returned to Ryeton House. All he wanted to do was find Rose, climb into bed with her, and sleep for the rest of the day. Honestly, sleep. Entwine his legs with hers, sink into her arms, bury his face in the sweet warm hollow of her neck…
"You coming?"
Grey blinked and turned his head. He was standing in the drive with Archer and the others watching him expectantly.
Archer shook his head, clearly exasperated. "Are we going inside, Your Grace, or shall we conduct our business on the street for all Mayfair to witness?"
"Inside," he mumbled. Could he be any more of an idiot? He walked toward the door, the others falling into step behind him. Archer took Bronte's arm and led their pale, scared-looking sister into the house. Grey hadn't had much of a chance to talk to her, to let her know that everything would be fine. She probably thought he was going to rant and rave and tell her she could never see Alexander again.
Truth be told, ranting and raving was tempting. And a little fear was a small price to pay for what she'd put him through-and for thinking so ill of him to begin with. When had he ever given her reason to think him a monster? ~ Kathryn Smith

Last but not least, he hated with all the hatred that was in him the rising generation, the appalling boors who find it necessary to talk and laugh at the top of their voices in restaurants and cafes, who jostle you in the street without a word of apology, and who, without expressing or even indicating regret, drive the wheels of a baby-carriage into your legs. ~ Joris-Karl Huysmans

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do! I'm half crazy, all for the love of you! It won't be a stylish marriage I can't afford a carriage But you'll look sweet upon the seat Of a bicycle built for two! ~ Harry Dacre

embodied in the remark that dear far-away Ruth's intentions were doubtless good. She and Kent are even yet looking for another prop, but no one presents a true sphere of usefulness. They complain that people are self-sufficing. With Saltram the fine type of the child of adoption was scattered, the grander, the elder style. They've got their carriage back, but what's an empty carriage? In short I think we were all happier as well as poorer before; even including George Gravener, who by the deaths of his brother and his nephew has lately become Lord Maddock. His wife, whose fortune clears the property, is criminally dull; he hates being in the Upper ~ Henry James

Oi," Wayne said, hustling up beside him. "A good plan that one was, eh?"
"It was the same plan you always have," Wax said. "The one where I get to be the decoy."
"Ain't my fault people like to shoot at you, mate," Wayne said as they reached the coach. "You should be happy; you're usin' your talents, like me granners always said a man should do."
"I'd rather not have 'shootability' be my talent."
"Well, you gotta use what you have," Wayne said, leaning against the side of the carriage as Cob the coachman opened the door for Wax. "Same reason I always have bits of rat in my stew. ~ Brandon Sanderson

Maria looked at the TARDIS ... 'Is that really your carriage?' She asked. 'It is not very good, monsieur. It has no wheels.'
'It doesn't need them,' laughed Amy. 'It's an English carriage. They don't have wheels.
'Does Monsieur Rory push it?'
'When necessary,' laughed Amy. ~ James Goss

Where did I meet him before - this buckbasket of fat, this full-moon face of purple, and this carriage of a sacred elephant? ~ Alexandre Dumas

What tempts you, Pippa?"
"I-" She hesitated. "I care a great deal for meringue."
He laughed, the sound bigger and bolder than she expected.
"It's true."
"No doubt you do. But you may have meringue anytime you like." He stood back and indicated that she should enter the carriage.
She ignored the silent command, eager to make her point. "Not so. If the cook has not made it, I cannot eat it."
A smile played on his lips. "Ever-practical Pippa. If you want it, you can find it. That's my point. Surely, somewhere in London, someone will take pity upon you and satisfy your craving for meringue."
Her brow furrowed. "Therefore, I am not tempted by it?"
"No. You desire it. But that's not the same thing. Desire is easy. It's as simple as you wish to have meringue, and meringue is procured." He waved a hand toward the interior of the carriage but did not offer to help her up. "In."
She ascended another step before turning back. The additional height brought them eye to eye. "I don't understand. What is temptation, then?"
"Temptation..." He hesitated, and she found herself leaning forward, eager for this curious, unsettling lesson. "Temptation turns you. It makes you into something you never dreamed, it presses you to give up everything you ever loved, it calls you to sell your soul for one, fleeting moment."
The words were low and dark and full of truth, and they hovered in the silence for a long moment, an undeniable invitation. He w ~ Sarah MacLean

Her dissertation on Dutch women painters of the Golden Age sits unfinished in her apartment, a half-typed sheet of paper mildewing in the mouth of a Remington. It's been months since she worked on it and she sometimes finds herself staring at the machine's bullnose profile or the chrome-plated carriage return, thinking: Remington also makes rifles. ~ Dominic Smith

The skies were overcast. As the carriage rumbled along, Rafe watched the shadows weave in and out, dance over and around her as she gazed out the window. And blast it all if he didn't envy their ability to touch her so lightly. ~ Lorraine Heath

Will tossed the bloody cloth aside. "And you wonder why we aren't friends."
"I just wondered," Gabriel said, in more subdued voice, "if perhaps you have ever had enough."
"Enough of what?"
"Enough of behaving as you do."
Will crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes glistening dangerously. "Oh, I can never get enough," he said. "Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when-"
The carriage door flew open. A hand shot out, grabbed Will by the back of his shirt, and hauled him inside. ~ Cassandra Clare

Thank you for a wonderful night. Your carriage awaits downstairs. -Oliver ~ Joann I. Martin Sowles

And yet two thousand a year is a very moderate income," said Marianne. "A family cannot well be maintained on a smaller. I am sure I am not extravagant in my demands. A proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less. ~ Jane Austen

There was a short railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short market-gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several brown-paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles disinterred. Valentin was a skeptic in the severe style of France, and could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be careful, because he had something made of real silver "with blue stones" in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came back for his umbrella. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Goddess," he said, "I would strongly advise you to continue this journey as you were - in your carriage." "Vazkor," I said, "I would strongly advise you not to advise me. ~ Tanith Lee

Nice work in their, Herondale, setting the place on fire," Gabriel observed. "Good thing we were there to clean up after you, or the whole plan would have gone down in flames, along with the shreds of your reputation."
"Are you implying that shreds of my reputation remain intact?" Will demanded with mock horror. "Clearly I have been doing somethin wrong. Or no doing something wrong, as the case may be." He banged on the side of the carriage. "Thomas!" We must away from here at once to the nearest brothel! I seek scandal and low companionship."
Thomas snorted and muttered somethin that sounded like "bosh", which Will ignored.
Gabriel's face darkened. "Is there anything that isn't a joke to you?"
Nothing that comes to mind."
"You know," Gabriel said, "there was a time I thought we could be friends, Will"
"There was a time I thought I was a ferret," Will said, "but it turned out to be the opium haze. Did you know it had that effect? Becausen I didn't. ~ Cassandra Clare

At some point Ewan had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were bulging with muscle, and his shoulders appeared likely to rip through the thin linen of his shirt. Annabelle swallowed, thinking of Ewan without his shirt at their picnic. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"Where do you get all these muscles?" she asked.
"Lifting damsels in distress." He grinned at her, and there was a slight lurch as he leaped off the carriage and landed with a splash in the ditch. ~ Eloisa James

But there was about her the mysterious authority of beauty, a sureness in the carriage of the head, the movement of the eyes, which, without being in the least theatrical, struck him as highly trained and full of a conscious power. (Newland Archer of Countess Olenska) ~ Edith Wharton

Tessa craned her head back to look at Will. "You know that feeling," she said, "when you are reading a book, and you know that it is going to be a tragedy; you can feel the cold and darkness coming, see the net drawing tight around the characters who live and breathe on the pages. But you are tied to the story as if being dragged behind a carriage and you cannot let go or turn the course aside." His blue eyes were dark with understanding - of course Will would understand - and she hurried on. "I feel now as if the same is happening, only not to characters on a page but to my own beloved friends and companions. I do not want to sit by while tragedy comes for us. I would turn it aside, only I struggle to discover how that might be done."
"You fear for Jem," Will said.
"Yes," she said. "And I fear for you, too."
"No," Will said, hoarsely. "Don't waste that on me, Tess. ~ Cassandra Clare

It is just an illusion of freedom. We are, perhaps, as free as a railway carriage. ~ Venugopal Gupta

Really, Your Grace. Crooking your little finger again? At least buy me a bauble before you try to tup me in the carriage. ~ Victoria Dahl

He had often suspected that the young carriage driver had a particular affection for him. He had even wanted to indulge it on occasion, but was unsure if that would be improper. To make love to someone else's help seemed perfectly acceptable, but to make love to your own help seemed a mite graceless, as though you couldn't find lovers outside your immediate household. ~ Lev A.C. Rosen

Hank held up his hands to lift Emily from the carriage. Emily hesitated. Would Carter offer? And if he did, would she want him to help her down? Hank's bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously. "I'm on the other team, but I'm not the enemy." "I know that." Emily smiled and placed her hands on his shoulders. When his hands gripped her waist, her stomach cinched. How odd it felt to have another man touch her. ~ Lorna Seilstad

So deeply moved, he pulled the cassette from the machine, flipped it back over to the beginning, fitted it back into its snug carriage of capstans and guiding pins, and pressed play, thinking that he might preserve such a mood of pure, clean sorrow by listening back to his narrative. He imagined that his memoir might now sound like those of an admirable stranger, a person he did not know but whom he immediately recognized and loved dearly. Instead, the voice he heard sounded nasally and pinched and, worse, not very well educated, as if he were a bumpkin who had been called, perhaps even in mockery, to testify about holy things, as if not the testimony but the fumbling through it were the reason for his presence in front of some dire, heavenly senate. He listened to six seconds of the tape before he ejected it and threw it into the fire burning in the woodstove. ~ P. Harding

Where they couldn't pick holes in our arguments they would drive horses and carriages through my character. ~ Julian Assange

What if I had refused your request?" she said with a shake of her head. He laughed. "Then I would have had my carriage turned around, of course." She folded her arms with a smile she couldn't help. "You are always so certain of yourself." His smile faded slightly. "Never with you. You forever set me off my axis." He inched closer and suddenly there was a tension in the carriage that had nothing to do with teasing flirtation or friendly discussion. He wanted her. And Vivien wanted him equally. ~ Jess Michaels

You can knock down kingdoms on a whim. What you need is someone to make sure you don't get hit by a carriage when you cross the street. ~ Scott Lynch

Now I know why you have always desired to see Andilain at this time of year. The sweet fragrance of the trees blossoming remind me of the soft skin at your neck. If we should ever travel here I will insist on taking a carriage. You know how I detest riding horses and after two days my backside would be grateful if I never beheld a saddle again. ~ Jaime Buckley

Besides, if you ever did eat some bad food, I could still find a use for you. I've always wanted a cat-drawn carriage."
Cheshire opened one eye, his pupil slitted and unamused.
"I would dangle balls of yarn and fish bones out in front to keep you moving."
He stopped purring long enough to say, "You are not as cute as you think you are, Lady Pinkerton. ~ Marissa Meyer

They are regular brigands, especially Dolokhov," replied the visitor. "He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova, such a worthy woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The police tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his back! ~ Leo Tolstoy

Chapter One: Lady Maitland England, 1793 The Earl of Warren let his mind drift as his younger sister rambled on in a cheerful voice. Wilhelmina - or Minette, as everyone called her - could carry on a conversation for hours, no matter if the other person participated in the exchange. He had the questionable fortune to be sharing a carriage with her on a day-long journey to a friend's home in Hertfordshire. "Will we be there soon?" Minette perched on the edge of her seat, craning to look out the window. ~ Annabel Joseph

Had not the outrageous flair of Sybilla, and since George was a natural horseman it seemed almost inevitable that they should more often than not end up side by side, at some distance from the others. William never came, preferring to work at his painting, which was his profession as well as his vocation. He was gifted to the degree that his works were admired by academicians and collected by connoisseurs. Only Eustace affected to find it displeasing that his only son preferred to retire alone to the studio arranged for him in the conservatory and make use of the morning light, rather than parade on horseback for the fashionable world to admire. When they did not ride, they drove in the carriage, went shopping, paid calls upon their more intimate friends, or visited art galleries and exhibitions. ~ Anne Perry

Now the road was crossing orange groves in flower, and the nuptial scent of the blossoms absorbed the rest as a full moon does a landscape; the smell of sweating horses, the smell of leather from the carriage upholstery, the smell of Prince and the smell of Jesuit, were all cancelled out by that Islamic perfume evoking houris and fleshly joys beyond the grave. ~ Giuseppe Tomasi Di Lampedusa

He [Louis Brandeis] would have not had any patience with that great debate which you're right to kind of signal between Justice Scalia and Justice Alito about do you need a physical trespass into the home or onto the carriage in order to trigger the values of the Fourth Amendment. ~ Jeffrey Rosen

No, she couldn't blame this one on him. This one was entirely hers. She'd sent him running away.
Everyone knew it, too, which was nowhere more apparent than in the carriage once they were all settled in and headed off.
Lisette was unusually silent. The duke's wooden expression said that he wished he could be anywhere else but here. And Tristan was studying her with a cold gaze.
He did that for a mile or so before he spoke. "You're a cruel woman, Jane Vernon."
"Tristan!" Lisette chided. "Don't be rude."
"I'll be as rude as I please to her," he told his sister, with a jerk of his head toward Jane. "That man is mad for her, and she just keeps toying with him."
Guilt swamped Jane. And she'd thought that spending half a day trapped with Dom would be bad? She must have been dreaming.
"It's none of our concern," Lisette murmured.
"The hell it isn't." Tristan stared hard at Jane. "Is this about Nancy? About the fact that if she has a child, Dom will lose the title and the estate?"
"No, of course not!" How dared he!
"Tristan, please--" Lisette began.
"That's why you jilted him years ago, isn't it?" Tristan persisted. "Because he no longer had any money, and you'd lose your fortune if you married him?"
"I did not jilt him!" Jane shouted.
An unnatural silence fell in the carriage, and she cursed her quick tongue. But really, this was all Dom's fault for never telling his family the truth. She was tired of being made to l ~ Sabrina Jeffries

After travelling a few miles, he fell asleep; and Emily, who had put two or three books into the carriage, on leaving La Vallee, had now the leisure for looking into them. She sought for one, in which Valancourt had been reading the day before, and hoped for the pleasure of re-tracing a page, over which the eyes of a beloved friend had lately passed, of dwelling on the passages, which he had admired, and of permitting them to speak to her in the language of his own mind, and to bring himself to her presence. ~ Eliza Parsons

My legs are still trembling as I climb the steps to Corly station. I've been shaking like this for hours, it must be the adrenaline, my heart just won't slow down. The train is packed - no chance of a seat here, it's not like getting on at Euston, so I have to stand, midway through a carriage. It's like a sweatbox. I'm trying to breathe slowly, my eyes cast down to my feet. I'm just trying to get a handle on what I'm feeling. Exultation, fear, confusion and guilt. Mostly guilt. ~ Paula Hawkins

Like I didn't know what getting a girl pregnant meant: sex. Boys lay down on top of girls and wiggled around until they got the feeling. When that happened, a mysterious something called jizz came from the boy's dink. It sank into the girl's belly, and nine months later it was time for diapers and a baby carriage. ~ Stephen King

Where was Bewcastle?
But then he was there, standing on the terrace some distance away, and such was the power of his presence that everyone seemed to sense it an fell back away from Alleyne even as they stopped talking. There was still all sorts of noise, of course - horses, carriage wheels, voices, the water spouting out of the fountain - but it seemed to Alleyne as if complete silence fell.
Bewcastle had already seen him. His gaze was steady and silver-eyed and inscrutable. His hand reached for the gold-handled, jewel-studded quizzing glass he always wore with formal attire and raised it halfway to his eyes in a characteristic gesture. Then he came striding along the terrace with uncharacteristic speed and did not stop coming until he had caught Alleyne up in a tight, wordless embrace that lasted perhaps a whole minute while Alleyne dipped his forehead to his brother's shoulder and felt at last that he was safe.
It was an extraordinary moment. He had been little more than a child when his father died, but Wulfric himself had been only seventeen. Alleyne had never thought of him as a father figure. Indeed, he had often resented the authority his brother wielded over them with such unwavering strictness, and often with apparant impersonality and lack of humor. He had always thought of his eldest brother as aloof, unfeeling, totally self sufficient. A cold fish. And yet it was in Wulfric's arm that he felt his homecoming most acutely. He felt finally and compl ~ Mary Balogh

I am glad we're not ordinary, Elentiya." Nehemia was smiling into the darkness of the carriage. "It'd be so boring if we were."

Celaena grinned. "Incredibly boring."

"And, for what it's worth, I'd pick you over a thousand ordinary and extraordinary friends. I think even if we just met on the street, even if I just saw you in passing, I'd know what you are."

Celaena cocked her head to the side. "An assassin?"

Nehemia's dark eyes were bright as she shook her head. "The sister of my heart. ~ Sarah J. Maas

You want your revenge more."
"I want both. I want everything."
She turned away from him, speaking to the street beyond the carriage window, suddenly irritated. "Oh, Michael, whoever told you that you could have everything? ~ Sarah MacLean

All the carriages filed out in single file but in a fashion that seemed to mean that they were competing against each other. The only sound that could be heard for a while was the pounding of the horses' hooves and the squeal and groan of the wheels against the road. Their hooves kicked up dirt, creating a storm of dust.
Once the miniature storm and the sound of galloping horses subsided, I could only see one last person. He glared up at me and mouthed, "Next time." Christopher dug his boots into Dawn's muscled flank. She reared up and broke into a gallop through the sparse forest, heading for escape. The last trace of them was the particles of floating dust, bright like floating fire. ~ Erica Sehyun Song

If I sit in carriage D, which I usually do, and the train stops at this signal, which it almost always does, I have a perfect view into my favourite trackside house: number fifteen. ~ Paula Hawkins

CALVIN: Hey, I got some mail! It's a Valentine card.
HOBBES: From Susie Derkins!
CALVIN: It says "Please be my Valentine."
HOBBES: You're Susie's Valentine!
CALVIN: I'm not her Valentine just because I got this in the mail, am I? Does the Post Master General know about this?
HOBBES: Calvin and Susie, sitting in a tree-ee! Kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee!
CALVIN: I don't have the KISS her, do I?! Is that what Valentines do??! Oh, gross!
HOBBES: First comes lo-ove, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!
CALVIN: This can't be happening! I need a lawyer! She can't make me be her Valentine!
HOBBES: Here she comes! Here comes Susie!
SUSIE: Hi, Calvin.
CALVIN: Get away from me! I'm not your Valentine! Take your card back! Eww! Girls! YECCHH!
SUSIE: That card wasn't for YOU, you Moron. Didn't you read the back of the envelope?
CALVIN: "Calvin, please give this to Hobbes." HOBBES?!
HOBBES: Me? Really? Hot dog! Smooch City, here I come! ~ Bill Watterson

64. Surprising and Distressing Things
While one is cleaning a decorative comb, something catches in the teeth and the comb breaks.
A carriage overturns. One would have imagined that such a solid, bulky object would remain forever on its wheels. It all seems like a dream
astonishing and senseless.
A child or grown-up blurts out something that is bound to make people uncomfortable.
All night long one has been waiting for a man who one thought was sure to arrive. At dawn, just when one has forgotten about him for a moment and dozed off, a crow caws loudly. One wakes up with a start and sees that it is daytime
most astonishing.
One of the bowmen in an archery contest stands trembling for a long time before shooting; when finally he does release his arrow, it goes in the wrong direction. ~ Sei Shonagon

Pelimburg is a city of rain and mist and spray. It's supposed to be my home, but a lifetime lived in my mother's cage of a mansion means that I barely know it. I've only ever seen the city from the confines of a carriage; now I breathe deep, tasting how different the air is, how sweet the drops feel on my tongue. Up on the hillside, the rain seems bitter and darker. ~ Cat Hellisen

Users think they know what they want, but you get the horseless carriage effect where you're getting asked for a faster horse. ~ Emmett Shear

Sara and I are both leaving within the hour. In my carriage."
"Together?" Lily looked startled, and then shook her head. "You can't. Don't you realize what people would say when they discovered that both of you were gone?"
"Nothing they haven't said already." He slid a proprietary arm around Sara's shoulders.
Lily drew her slight frame up as tall as possible, adopting the brisk tone of a chaperone defending her charge. "Where are you planning to go?"
Derek smiled slowly. "None of your damn business, gypsy." Ignoring Lily's sputtering protests, he stared down at his fiancée and raised his brows mockingly.
As she met his glinting green eyes, Sara realized he intended to take her to London and keep her with him for the night. Her nerves jangled with alarm. "I'm not certain it's advisable-" she began diplomatically, but he cut her off.
"Go pack your things."
Oh, the arrogance. But it was part of why she loved him, his single-minded determination to get what he wanted. Only blind, bullying stubbornness had enabled him to climb from the gutter. Now that the prospect of marrying her was within his reach, he planned to ensure it by well and truly compromising her. After tonight there would be no turning back. Sara stared at the broad expanse of his chest, conscious of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, the gentle stroke of his thumb and forefinger against her neck. Well... reprehensible as it was, she wanted the same thing.
"Derek," Li ~ Lisa Kleypas

The wise man does not expose himself needlessly to danger, since there are few things for which he cares sufficiently; but he is willing, in great crises, to give even his life--knowing that under certain conditions it is not worth while to live. He is of a disposition to do men service, though he is ashamed to have a service done to him. To confer a kindness is a mark of superiority; to receive one is a mark of subordination... He does not take part in public displays... He is open in his dislikes and preferences; he talks and acts frankly, because of his contempt for men and things... He is never fired with admiration, since there is nothing great in his eyes. He cannot live in complaisance with others, except it be a friend; complaisance is the characteristic of a slave... He never feels malice, and always forgets and passes over injuries... He is not fond of talking... It is no concern of his that he should be praised, or that others should be blamed. He does not speak evil of others, even of his enemies, unless it be to themselves. His carriage is sedate, his voice deep, his speech measured; he is not given to hurry, for he is concerned about only a few things; he is not prone to vehemence, for he thinks nothing very important. A shrill voice and hasty steps come to a man through care... He bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of his circumstances, like a skillful general who marshals his limited forces with the strategy of war... He is his ~ Aristotle

As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.
What has happened?' the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk.
Why, we've had a revolution, your Majesty
as you ought to know very well,' replied the man; 'and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I'm glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.'
Hm!' said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. 'If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?'
I really do not know,' replied the man, with a deep sigh. 'Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron. ~ L. Frank Baum