Marthe Lincel Quotes

I still dream in pictures and color, always the world of my childhood. I see the purple Judas trees at Easter lighting up the roadsides and terraces of the town. Ochre cliffs made of cinnamon powder. Autumn clouds rolling along the ground of the hills, and the patchwork of wet oak leaves on the grass. The shape of a rose petal. And my parents' faces, which will never grow any older.
"But it is strange how scent brings it all back too. I only have to smell certain aromas, and I am back in a certain place with a certain feeling."
The comforting past smelled of heliotrope and cherry and sweet almond biscuits: close-up smells, flowers you had to put your nose to as the sight faded from your eyes. The scents of that childhood past had already begun to slip away: Maman's apron with blotches of game stew; linen pressed with faded lavender; the sheep in the barn. The present, or what had so very recently been the present, was orange blossom infused with hope. ~ Deborah Lawrenson

Don't go wishing for what you know nothing about. ~ Marthe Jocelyn

The birth of love is always accompanied by the idea of solitude. A single being appears, and the rest of the world grows empty. ~ Marthe Bibesco

Love always betrays its intentions. ~ Marthe Bibesco

He had a real mother, and a stepfather named Bart who Martin called Fart but only with his brothers and James ~ Marthe Jocelyn

It is said,' said the Aga Morat, 'that blindness of the eyes is a lighter thing than blindness of the perceptive faculties of the mind. The sun is high: the perception is dazzled. One has made divers chambers available to us in these poor houses for an hour. Let us retire and, by giving ease to the flesh, bring new light also to the proper functions of the mind. There, for the Hakim's servant Mr Blyth, and the lady. In this chamber, Crawford Efendi and I shall have much to discuss.… Sweet to be taken up, you say, as medicine is by the lip. Such a creature I enjoy, thin-skinned, tender and delicate, light of flesh and goodly in make, impulsive in walk and beautiful in the justness of stature. Communing thus, shall not our dreaming souls melt?'

For a moment, Lymond did not reply. Then he said, in the same level voice, 'It is written before God, that after this hour we depart all four, in good health to Djerba?'

The Aga Morat had risen. Looking down, his heavy face creased in a smile. 'It is written,' he said.

Slowly, Lymond rose also. He looked neither at Jerott nor at Marthe, but stepped straight out from under the awning and confronted the Aga. In the blinding white light, the fine lines of his skin were all suddenly visible, and his eyes by contrast quite dark. But his hair, uncut since Marseilles, shone mint-gold in the sun. 'If it is so agreed,' Lymond said, 'I am solicitous for thee, as thou art for me.' And without pausing, he followed th ~ Dorothy Dunnett

That sunlight of the dead which is called literature. ~ Marthe Bibesco

They're talking about Marthe, Maître Gaultier's assistant. What's she like? Pretty?' 'She's pretty,' said the man. Philippa studied the taciturn face. 'Oh, I see,' she said. 'Mr Blyth wants her all to himself?' For a moment, she thought it hadn't worked. Then the man gave a snort.

'Mr Blyth want her? He held us up at Avignon for two days refusing to go on until she was sent back home, but Gaultier wouldn't do it, and he had to give in. Mr Blyth and Gaultier haven't spoken since. Aye,' said Jerott's man morosely. 'It's going to be a grand, sociable trip. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

Karl and Marthe held the embossed card gingerly. It was Hitler's 1941 Christmas card, a photo of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, an ancient Greek statue the Wehrmacht had taken from the Louvre. His greeting was printed: Our Winged Victory. Beneath that was a scrawl with only the A and H legible. "He . . . touched this," Marthe said. Her hands shook, nearly dropping the card. ~ Gregory Benford

Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time. ~ Marthe Troly-Curtin

He's the meanest one. We call him..Byrd the Turd ~ Marthe Jocelyn

Words express only the feelings we know already. ~ Marthe Bibesco

I never expect anything,' said Marthe. 'It provides a level, low-pitched existence with no disappointments.'

'I'm all for a level, low-pitched existence,' said Philippa. 'And when you see your way back to one, for heaven's sake don't forget to tell me.' At which Marthe, surprisingly, laughed aloud. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

The affairs of the royal house form a subject of conversation for those who, as a rule, would have no conversation. ~ Marthe Bibesco

… You see,' said Marthe. 'I am not here to mock. I have worn out my revenge. You have guided me into a world which has been closed to me all my life. You have shown me that what I hold by, you hold by and more. You have shown me strength I do not possess, and humanity I thought belonged only to women. You are a man, and you have explained all men to me.…'

His eyes were closed, nor did he give any sign that he had heard her. Marthe smiled and, moving closer, laid her hand for the first time on his. 'Francis. It is morning. Come and sleep. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

The arts are good and providential in that they allow the soul to imitate the movements of love, and to feel love without its being returned - which, perhaps, is the only way of feeling it permanently. ~ Marthe Bibesco

Collections are amusing only in the making; afterwards they are like sporting prints without the sport. The sons of collectors inherit only the corpse of their fathers' satisfied passion. ~ Marthe Bibesco

He had not moved.

But, her blue eyes on his face, she did not rise.

'Lord, is there nothing in the cup for me?
While you were drinking, I was singing to you.'

The detachment had gone from his face, but not the strength. He shook his head; and rising, Marthe turned and walked from the room. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

History ... a sort of immortality turned upside down. Her life stretched backwards through ten centuries. ~ Marthe Bibesco

I depended on you....You're older, you're supposed to be my...my archive. That's what sisters do, remember for each other. ~ Marthe Jocelyn

For Mersault, nothing mattered in those days. And the first time Marthe went limp in his arms and her features blurred as they came closer - the lips that had been as motionless as painted flowers now quivering and extended - Mersault saw in her not the future but all the force of his desire focused upon her and and satisfied by this appearance, this image. The lips she offered him seemed a message from a world without passion and swollen with desire, where his heart would find satisfaction. And this seemed a miracle to him. His heard pounded with an emotion he almost took for love. And when he felt the ripe and resilient flesh under his teeth, it was as though he bit into a kind of fierce liberty, after caressing her a long time with his own lips. She became his mistress that same day. ~ Albert Camus