Lady Hat Quotes

As she lifted her own backpack over the side of the black, heavy-duty dodge pickup, Owen took it out of her hands and set it beside the one-man tent and sleeping bag the FBI had provided for him.
"I could have done that," she said.
"Sure you could. But my daddy taught me a gentleman always helps a lady."
Bay was so startled at what he'd said, and the chagrined way he's said it, that she laughed. "Oh, my god. Chauvinism is alive and well - "
"We call it chivalry, or Southern courtesy, ma'am," he said. She realized he was heading around the truck to open the door for her.
She stepped in front of him and said, "It's going to be a long trip if you refuse to let me pull my weight. I can get my own door, Mr. Blackthorne."
For a minute, she thought he was going to make an issue of it. Then he touched the brim of his hat, shot her a rakish grin that turned her insides to mush, and said, "Whatever you say, Mizz Creed."
She was so flustered, she took a half step backward, slid into the seat when he opened the door for her after all, and said, "My friends call me Bay."
Bay flushed as she realized what she'd said. As he came around the hood and got in, she said, "That is - I mean - you know what I mean!"
He belted himself into the driver's seat and started the engine, before he turned to her and said, "My friends call me Owe. You can call me Owen."
She stared at him disbelief. "Oh. You. Blackthorne, you. ~ Joan Johnston

--Your headache--


I am trying to imagine it
Your head is in your hands
The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate
November again
Too late

Your headache
It is a bird
Wounded, in leaves

Its sweet bird's nest is full of pain in a distant place

November
There are daisies
In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely

And in a manic yellow hat, the old lady

And the old man, dead in his bed

And their daughter, the saint:

Her dark, religious hair gets tangled in the branches
She is screaming, grabbing

While the nurses play Mozart in another room
While the bats fly over the roof
Snatch the black notes from the blackness
Laughing

You cry
I am going to die

I can see them through this window

Their little black capes

The touching ugliness of their little faces ~ Laura Kasischke

In front of the restaurant, on the side walk, just like in the movie, someone outlined a heart when the cement was wet and there are two sets of dog paws. To the left of the restaurant is a sign for the Chapeau shop that features a hat box exactly like the one that little Lady was in at the beginning of the film. Details like these enhance the overall experience for sharp-eyed guests. ~ Jim Korkis

You needn't play, Mr. Weston," Emma said. "I only agreed to play for Lizzie's sake, so . . ." "Oh, come, Miss Smallwood. Please tell me you don't shun all things athletic as you did as a girl." A teasing light shone in his eyes. "Afraid you'll lose?" Emma huffed. "I am not afraid to lose. I know I shall. This isn't chess, after all." One eyebrow rose. "Oh, ho! A shot to the heart. The lady recalls soundly trouncing me, I see. Then you must give me a chance to redeem myself." He set aside his hat and adopted a ready stance, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. He looked fifteen years old all over again. Emma felt a grin lift a corner of her mouth. "Oh, very well. But promise not to laugh too hard." "I promise. ~ Julie Klassen

I walked past the lady in yellow robes and the maid bringing her a letter, past the soldier with a magnificent hat and the girl smiling at him, thinking of warm lips, brown eyes, blue eyes. Her brown eyes stopped me.
It's the painting from whose frame a girl looks out, ignoring her beefy music teacher, whose proprietary hand rests on her chair. The light is muted, winter light, but her face is bright.
I looked into her brown eyes and I recoiled. She was warning me of something-- she had looked up from her work to warn me. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she had just drawn a breath in order to say to me, "Don't!"
I moved backward, trying to get beyond the range of her urgency. But her urgency filled the corridor. "Wait," she was saying, "wait! Don't go!"

...

She had changed a lot in sixteen years. She was no longer urgent. In fact, she was sad. She was young and distracted, and her teacher was bearing down on her, trying to get her to pay attention. But she was looking out, looking for someone who would see her.
This time I read the title of the painting: Girl Interrupted at Her Music.
Interrupted at her music.- as my life had been, interrupted in the music of being seventeen, as her life had been, snatched and fixed on canvas: one moment made to stand still and to stand for all the other moments, whatever they would be or might have been. What life can recover from that?
I had something to tell her now "I see you," ~ Susanna Kaysen

Having never had dealings with Bow Street, Lady Fieldhurst was not quite certain what to expect: perhaps a stout fellow past his prime, befuddled with sleep or spirits, with a bulbous red nose - the same sort as might be found in any number of watchmen's boxes across the metropolis. The individual who entered the room in [the footman's] wake, however, was very nearly her own age. To be sure, his nose was somewhat crooked, as if it had been broken at some point, but it was far from bulbous, and it was certainly not red. He was quite tall, almost gangly, with curling brown hair tied at the nape of his neck in an outmoded queue. He wore an unfashionably shallow-crowned hat and a black swallow-tailed coat of good cloth but indifferent cut; indeed, his only claim to fashion lay in the quizzing glass which hung round his neck from a black ribbon, and which he now raised, the resulting magnification revealing his eyes to be a warm brown. Julia might have been much reassured as to his competence, had it not been for the fact that his mouth hung open as from a rusty hinge. ~ Sheri Cobb South

SUMMER DEEP"
"Summer deep is in the hills again
His lady is a lioness
Winds of birds blow through the fields again
Invaders from the true worlds
A coat of grapes is on my back again
I ride upon my zebra
Pterodactyl beak hat on my brow
The truth is like a stranger
Be like you could
All my friends say. ~ Marc Bolan

The Last Leaf

I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling. ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Then a lady flounced up and perched on the seat opposite. She had a full bird on the wing sewn to the crown of her hat, and she was painted up like a circus pony, so we took her to be from Chicago. ~ Richard Peck

Exchanging Hats

Unfunny uncles who insist
in trying on a lady's hat,
--oh, even if the joke falls flat,
we share your slight transvestite twist

in spite of our embarrassment.
Costume and custom are complex.
The headgear of the other sex
inspires us to experiment.

Anandrous aunts, who, at the beach
with paper plates upon your laps,
keep putting on the yachtsmen's caps
with exhibitionistic screech,

the visors hanging o'er the ear
so that the golden anchors drag,
--the tides of fashion never lag.
Such caps may not be worn next year.

Or you who don the paper plate
itself, and put some grapes upon it,
or sport the Indian's feather bonnet,
--perversities may aggravate

the natural madness of the hatter.
And if the opera hats collapse
and crowns grow draughty, then, perhaps,
he thinks what might a miter matter?

Unfunny uncle, you who wore a
hat too big, or one too many,
tell us, can't you, are there any
stars inside your black fedora?

Aunt exemplary and slim,
with avernal eyes, we wonder
what slow changes they see under
their vast, shady, turned-down brim. ~ Elizabeth Bishop

You're leaving me alone?" she squeaked.
"You'll be fine." He handed her the pistol. "Shoot if you have to." His eyes gleamed at her. "I know you know how."
He headed for the door, and she cried, "Wait!"
When he paused to look at her questioningly, she hurried up to hand him his surtout. "You'll need this. It's freezing out there." As she helped him into it, she whispered, "Be careful."
He tipped his hat. "Always, my lady," he said in that husky rasp that never failed to make her heart turn over. Then he walked out. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Tell me, Lady Angeline, is there a color not represented in your rather splendid riding hat? It would be a shame if there were. It would be sitting all alone on a palette somewhere, feeling rejected and dejected. ~ Mary Balogh

I love the romance of what I do, although because of Isabella, Lady Gaga and Grace Jones, people think I have crazy customers. Sometimes I get more enthusiasm from the housewife who wants a hat and believes in it. ~ Philip Treacy

It's been my dream to be in a Western, and to be able to wear the clothes, have a big gun, wear a big hat, have a big horse, and be a take-no-prisoners lady in the Civil War era. ~ Lauren Ambrose

She cast Oliver a hard glance. "If one of us is arrested, we've all committed to being taken to the station." "Free." He rubbed his eyes. "Anna Marie Higgins - she's the lady over there in the sailor hat - she's been taken to the station thirteen times already. ~ Courtney Milan

Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen,
who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat,
who never lived and yet outlived her time,
hating men and dogs and Democrats. ~ Anne Sexton

Tipping your hat to a lady is good form. If you're at a dinner table, you'd most certainly take your hat off - cowboy hat, baseball hat, or otherwise. ~ Lyle Lovett

Wear a hat and some old lady shoes, and you can do whatever you want. ~ Elizabeth Berg

I was Lady Gaga way before her time. I had a wee kettle for a handbag. Didn't everyone, at some point? One of the teachers used to call me Dame Flora Robson because I had this big, long Victorian skirt. And I wore a Peruvian hat. It was the 1980s - people were wearing lots of lace. ~ Ashley Jensen

Great. Lovely. Can I have your hat?"
"My ... hat?" The elderly woman looked up at the oversized hat. The sides drooped magnificently, and the thing was festooned with flowers. Like, oodles of them. Silk, he figured, but they were really good replicas.
"You have a lady friend?" Aunt Gin asked. "You wish to give her the hat?"
"Nah," Wayne said. "I need to wear it next time I'm an old lady."
"The next time you what?" Aunt Gin grew pale, but that was probably on account of the fact that Wax went stomping by, wearing his full rusting mistcoat. That man never could figure out how to blend in. ~ Brandon Sanderson

There was a table laid with jellies and trifles, with a party hat beside each place, and a birthday cake with seven candles on it in the center of the table. The cake had a book drawn on it, in icing. My mother, who had organized the party, told me that the lady at the bakery said that they had never put a book on a birthday cake before, and that mostly for boys it was footballs or spaceships. I was their first book. ~ Neil Gaiman

A lady both callous and brash
Met a man with a vast black moustache;
She cried, 'Shave it, O do!
And I'll put it with glue
On my hat as a sort of panache. ~ Edward Gorey

Over the table, on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all spread out
Samsa was a traveling salesman
hung the picture which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm had disappeared. ~ Franz Kafka

A hat should be taken off when you greet a lady and left off for the rest of your life. Nothing looks more stupid than a hat. ~ P. J. O'Rourke

Many Canadian nationalists harbour the bizarre fear that should we ever reject royalty, we would instantly mutate into Americans, as though the Canadian sense of self is so frail and delicate a bud, that the only thing stopping it from being swallowed whole by the US is an English lady in a funny hat. ~ Will Ferguson

I see a man."
Rose bit back a sigh. Of course she did. She seemed to see a man in every cup. And here she'd actually hoped that Sadie Moon might be as unusually talented as her appearance suggested.
"He hides himself. A mask. He keeps to the shadows."
Rose's heart rolled over her chest. "What else?"
"You want him," Sadie said, turning the cup in her palms. "You do not understand what you feel for him, or why he pushes you away."
"No." Rose was breathless. "I don't."
Those fey eyes locked with hers. "Because he loves you enough to give you up. He is all about duty and honor, but he is ruled by fear."
She was on the very edge of her seat now. "Yes. He's afraid of coming out of the shadows."
Sadie shook her head, the feathers on her hat bobbing. "That's only part of it. He's afraid for you."
"For me?" Rose's teeth clicked together. "Why?"
The fortune teller shrugged. "For that answer, you will have to go to him. You have many men in your cup, Lady Rose."
Disappointed, Rose sagged a little. "For all the good it does me."
A bright grin flashed beneath that amazing hat. "The man who wants you but will not take you. Another who would take everything you offer and give what he can of himself-but it will not be enough. Another who wants nothing from you at all."
Grey. Kellan? And probably Archer. ~ Kathryn Smith

I'm pretty sure I just got groped while buying toothpaste," Ty told him with a frown as he struggled with the tiny buttons of his shirt. "By a tiny little old lady with dead butterflies on her hat. ~ Abigail Roux

You know, I've never known much about fashion, living in the country and all," she said innocently. "What sort of hat would a lady like myself wear to an afternoon tea outside, in the garden, with other ladies? Assuming I'm ever invited, of course."
"Oh, that's easy... a lovely straw number, with a wide brim, en grecque curls if you're dining amongst the ruins, or piles of flowers and feathers, and tipped, just so..."
Belle allowed herself a little smile.
"No one has worn hats like that, even in this remote part of the world, for at lest ten years. Not even Madame Bussard has pulled one out of her own wardrobe recently. And she is very thrifty with her accessories. So whatever happened here must have happened at least a decade ago. ~ Liz Braswell

But let me just say that talking dirty is so important in sex. And it's pretty easy. To wit: establish from the very beginning that you like this. And trust me, you want to do it early on. Because if you wait too long to introduce the concept, your Special Lady Friend will be a little thrown and might not take you seriously. Think of it as a hat. If you never, ever wear a hat and one day you try to rock a fedora with a feather, all of your friends will be like, "Dude - why are you wearing a fucking fedora with a fucking feather?" You'll feel insecure and never wear it again. Now imagine that scenario, but in bed with your hardened dick out and it's your girlfriend saying, "Dude - why the fuck are you talking like that?" Not good. ~ Olivia Munn

I cant help but notice that you are not wearing a wedding ring, dear lady. Are you, by any chance, looking for a husband?' He smiled eagerly, his drenched hat clinging to his round head.

Looking for a husband? Why?' Grandma Maxine asked. 'Did I lose one? ~ Suzanne Selfors