Bianucci Salon Quotes

#1. Doubt is the hill that hope climbs. Without it our spirits atrophy."

Better to be Hamlet than President George, Salon, 1/7, 2007 #Quote by Peter Birkenhead

#2. Architects, painters, and sculptors must recognize anew and learn to grasp the composite character of a building both as an entity and in its separate parts. Only then will their work be imbued with the architectonic spirit which it has lost as salon art. Together let us desire, conceive, and create the new structure of the future, which will embrace architecture and sculpture and painting in one unity and which will one day rise toward heaven from the hands of a million workers like the crystal symbol of a new faith. #Quote by Walter Gropius

#3. It was like a Russian party, Arkady thought. People got drunk, recklessly confessed their love, spilled their festering dislike, had hysterics, marched out, were dragged back in and revived with brandy. It wasn't a French salon. #Quote by Martin Cruz Smith

#4. Suddenly, I feel out of my league. He is a ten, and I'm lucky if I hit a seven after I've been buffed and polished at my favorite salon. Not to mention, I have hips and an ass and a bit of a belly bulge that no matter how many sit-ups or yoga exercises I do, it just won't go away. #Quote by Kristen Proby

#5. If you want to succeed in the world it is necessary, when entering a salon, that your vanity should bow to that of others. #Quote by Stephanie Felicite, Comtesse De Genlis

#6. I notice you didn't include a blade with your new attire," Royce said. "Not even a little jeweled dagger."
"Lords no." Albert looked appalled. "I don't fight."
"I thought all nobles learned sword fighting." Royce looked to Hadrian.
"I thought so too."
"Nobles with competent fathers perhaps. I spent my formative years at my aunt's at Huffington Manor. She held a daily salon, where a dozen noble ladies came to discuss all manner of philosophical topics, like how much they hated their husbands. I've never actually held a sword, but I can tie a mean corset and apply face paint like a gold-coin whore. #Quote by Michael J. Sullivan

#7. If I didn't have to worry about money, I would be doing the same thing I'm doing now. Additionally, I would maintain other creative outlets
glassblowing and woodworking. I would operate a salon-format venue geared towards deviation; a destabilization of the audience/rock star dynamic. #Quote by Jean Smith

#8. After dinner, at five o'clock, the crew distributed folding canvas cots to the passengers, and each person opened his bed wherever he could find room, arranged it with the bedclothes from his petate, and set the mosquito netting over that. Those with hammocks hung them in the salon, and those who had nothing slept on the tablecloths that were not changed more than twice during the trip. #Quote by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

#9. Working in a salon, you look at trends all day long. You're looking at color all the time, what new products are coming out. You're a part of the fashion industry, especially if you're working in a higher-end salon. #Quote by Christian Siriano

#10. For businessmen, the world is a bale of banknotes in circulation; for most young men, it is a woman; for some women, it is a man; and for others it may be a salon, a coterie, a part of town or a whole city. #Quote by Honore De Balzac

#11. He is a general at war with his own army. An exhorter of radical beliefs, shrinking from their obvious conclusions. It was so much easier in the lecture hall, the salon, the seminar. When theory need not be demonstrated in blood. #Quote by Ta-Nehisi Coates

#12. I knew something was wrong with the economy when the shampoo girl at my salon closed on a six bedroom house. #Quote by Wanda Sykes

#13. The median startup is a business that's capitalized with about $25,000. The financing of that business comes from the entrepreneur's savings. The business is a retail or personal service business, a hair salon or a clothing store, that kind of thing. #Quote by Scott Shane

#14. Well, well, perhaps I am a bit of a talker. A popular fellow such as I am
my friends get round me
we chaff, we sparkle, we tell witty stories
and somehow my tongue gets wagging. I have the gift of conversation. I've been told I ought to have a salon, whatever that may be. #Quote by Kenneth Grahame

#15. That evening, after Romer had left so peremptorily, she had gone through to the salon to talk to her father. A job for the British government, she told him. £500 a year, a British passport. He feigned surprise but it was obvious that Romer had briefed him to a certain extent.
'You'd be a British citizen, with a passport,' her father said, his features incredulous, almost abjectly so - as if it were unthinkable that a nonentity such as he should have a daughter who was a British citizen. 'Do you know what I would give to be a British citizen?' he said, all the while with his left hand miming a sawing motion at his right elbow. #Quote by William Boyd

#16. Things were getting heated fast. Syn pressed Furi hard against the railing, gripping his ass and grinding his hard dick into him. Furi's own cock jerked excitedly in his pants while Syn dug his hand into his crease, skimming over his hole. "Fuck, Syn," Furi gasped. His hole was clenching, wanting to be filled by this man. "Say it's time, please," Furi whimpered. He didn't give a fuck tonight. He was beyond ready to bottom for Syn he needed to so badly. Needed to completely wipe out all the times he'd been made to bottom for Patrick. "Yes." Was Syn's response. He kissed Furi again before pulling back offering him his hand. Furi took it and they walked together back through the salon and down a narrow hall that led to a staircase. #Quote by A.E. Via

#17. Six or seven minutes past 2 P.M. on September 11, 1973, an infiltration patrol of the San Bemardo Infantry School commanded by Captain Roberto Garrido burst into the second floor of the Chilean Presidential Palace, Santiago's Palacio de La Moneda. Charging up the main staircase and covering themselves with spurts from their FAL machine guns, the patrol advanced to the entrance of the Salon Rojo, the state reception hall. Inside, through dense smoke coming from fires elsewhere in the building and from the explosion of tear gas bombs, grenades, and shells from Sherman tank cannons, the patrol captain saw a band of civilians braced to defend themselves with submachine guns. In a reflex action, Captain Garrido loosed a short burst from his weapon. One of his three bullets struck a civilian in the stomach. A soldier in Garrido's patrol imitated his commander, wounding the same man in the abdomen. As the man writhed on the floor in agony, Garrido suddenly realized who he was: Salvador Allende. "We shit on the President!" he shouted. There was more machine-gun fire from Garrido's patrol. Allende was riddled with bullets. As he slumped back dead, a second group of civilian defenders broke into the Salon Rojo from a side door. Their gunfire drove back Garrido and his patrol, who fled down the main staircase to the safety of the first floor, which the rebel troops had occupied.

Some of the civilians returned to the Salon Rojo to see what could be done. Among them was Dr. Enrique #Quote by Robinson Rojas Sandford

#18. •At 1 A.M. I'd pull on my coat, my boots. Walk down the stairway, out the door, down the long driveway to the road. Sometimes, I'd go to the stoned boy's house. We'd sit and watch TV. We'd have sex, sometimes. I remember only that the bedroom had two windows through which blue light spilled, and it smelled sticky sweet. His guitar leaned against the wall. Sometimes, I'd just walk. Down roads and up roads, through hills, through the neighborhoods, cold. Counting the small squares of lamplight in the houses where someone was still awake. I wondered who they were, and what kept them up. I went down to the little strip mall, the all-night 7-Elevena single glow beside the dark bluegrass bar, the dark deli, the dark beauty salon, Acrylic's Only $19. I bought a thirty-two-ounce cup of coffee, black. I sat outside on the bench, smoking, holding the cup in both hands. #Quote by Marya Hornbacher

#19. I live in my neighborhood. My neighborhood consists of the dry cleaner, the subway stop, the pharmacist, the supermarket, the cash machine, the deli, the beauty salon, the nail place, the newsstand, and the place where I go for lunch. All this is within two blocks of my house. Which is another thing I love about life in New York: Everything is right there. If you forgot to buy parsley, it takes only a couple of minutes to run out and get it. This is good, because I often forget to buy parsley. #Quote by Nora Ephron

#20. I was taken to my first fashion show - Nina Ricci haute couture - in Paris by the White Russian princess, down on her luck, whom I was boarding with in Paris in 1963. I was captivated by the glamour of the gilded salon, the elegant clothes, and the audience of grand ladies. #Quote by Suzy Menkes

#21. He slept until noon on Christmas Day, until Josh came in and sprayed him with one their mom's salon water bottles. #Quote by Rainbow Rowell

#22. Best wine if you're stranded on a deserted island? 1982 Salon Champagne. #Quote by Gary Vaynerchuk

#23. One of the wonderful things about Internet is it's like a salon. It brings people together from different intellectual walks of life. #Quote by Eric Kandel

#24. One of the first gardens I did outside the family was for the designer Hattie Carnegie. I was 23 then, and I went to her salon, but could not afford any of her dresses myself, though I loved them. Miss Carnegie suggested I do a garden in exchange for a coat and dress, and so I designed and planted a garden for her. #Quote by Rachel Lambert Mellon

#25. I'm working hard with more determination than ever. My success at the Salon led to my selling several paintings and since your absence I have made 800 francs; I hope, when I have contracts with more dealers, it will be better still. #Quote by Claude Monet

#26. In literature, the reader standing at the threshold of the end of a book harbors no illusion that the end has not come - he or she can see where it finishes, the abyss the other side of the last chunk of text. Which means that the writer is never in danger of ending too soon - or if he does the reader has been so forewarned. This is the advantage a book has over a film - it is the brain that marshals forward the text and controls the precise moment of conclusion of the book, as the density of the pages thins. A film can end without you if you've fallen asleep or, because you can't wait any longer to use the bathroom, slipped out of the darkness of the theatre salon, and missed it. There will never be a form more perfect than the book, which always moves at your pace, that sits waiting for you exactly where you've left it and never goes on without you. #Quote by John M. Keller

#27. As she passed the door to Gray's study, a familiar, muscled arm shot out into the corridor, catching her by the waist.
Laughing, she stumbled into the room, quickly finding herself caught between cool walnut paneling at her back and the hot, solid wall of man before her. Ever since their wedding-or since the Kestrel storeroom, more likely-Gray seemed to find it an irresistible challenge, to catch her unawares in an unlikely location and pull her into a feverish embrace.
Sophia had no wish to discourage the habit, but this wasn't the ideal time for a tryst. "Gray," she chided between kisses, "what are you about? The housekeeper said there was an urgent matter requiring my attention."
"And so there is. I require your attention. Most urgently." His hand slid to her bottom, and he lifted her easily, pinning her to the wall with his hips. The beaded ridges of the wainscoting dug into her spine. "Don't think we've used this room yet," he murmured, nibbling at the curve of her neck.
"I'm entertaining," she protested.
"Yes, you are," he said, grinding against her. "Highly entertaining."
Sophia sighed with pleasurable frustration. "I mean, I have a guest. Lady Kendall's in the salon, with Bel." She levered her arm against his chest, carving out some space between them. "And I thought you were at your shipping office."
"Yes, well…" Mischief gleamed sharp in his eyes. "I decided to go riding instead. #Quote by Tessa Dare

#28. I have a mother who never took no for an answer when it came to her creative pursuits. She started a hair salon in her spare bedroom and four years later had 30 employees. #Quote by Solange Knowles

#29. She runs her tongue over her teeth as she walks out the door, and feels an edge, something needing to be filed down before she bites her tongue. Dentist. Manicure. Makeup. Hair salon. She tastes blood, swallows it, pops a mint into her mouth. Small repairs. There's no woman alive who hasn't found the occasional hole in heaven, and carefully, meticulously, covered it back up. #Quote by Maria Dahvana Headley

#30. Estas hecha una mujer." She shakes her head sadily. A lot of the salon women tell me this: "You've become a woman." None of them ever sounds too happy about it. #Quote by Meg Medina

#31. Another Mexican American in another class, approaches Victor after class, carrying his copy of Fahrenheit 451, required reading for the course. The student doesn't understand the reference to a salon. Victor explains that this is just another word for the living room. No understanding in the student's eyes. He tries Spanish: la salon. Still nothing. The student has grown up as a migrant worker. And Victor remembers the white student who had been in his class a quarter ago, who had written about not understanding racism, that there was none where he had grown up, in Wennatchee, that he has played with the children of his father's migrant workers without there being any hostility. His father's workers. Property. Property that doesn't know of living rooms. And Victor thought of what the man from Wennatchee knew, what the ROTC Mexican American knew, what the migrant worker knew. And he thought of getting up the next morning to go with Serena to St. Mary's for cheese and butter. And he knew there was something he was not doing in his composition classrooms. #Quote by Victor Villanueva

#32. The Montreux Palace Hotel was built in an age when it was thought that things would last. It is on the very shores of Switzerland's Lake Geneva, its balconies and iron railings look across the water, its yellow-ocher awnings are a touch of color in the winter light. It is like a great sanitarium or museum. There are Bechstein pianos in the public rooms, a private silver collection, a Salon de Bridge. This is the hotel where the novelist Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov and his wife, Véra, live. They have been here for 14 years. One imagines his large and brooding reflection in the polished glass of bookcases near the reception desk where there are bound volumes of the Illustrated London News from the year 1849 to 1887, copies of Great Expectations, The Chess Games of Greco and a book called Things Past, by the Duchess of Sermoneta.

Though old, the hotel is marvelously kept up and, in certain portions, even modernized. Its business now is mainly conventions and, in the summer, tours, but there is still a thin migration of old clients, ancient couples and remnants of families who ask for certain rooms when they come and sometimes certain maids. For Nabokov, a man who rode as a child on the great European express trains, who had private tutors, estates, and inherited millions which disappeared in the Russian revolution, this is a return to his sources. It is a place to retire to, with Visconti's Mahler and the long-dead figures of La Belle Epoque, Edward VII, d'Annunzi #Quote by James Salter

#33. I've been to many beauty salons. No one gave me a certificate. #Quote by Ljupka Cvetanova

#34. I remembered some of what I'd read in the past: the small group of the original Impressionists, including one woman-Berthe Morisot- who'd first banded together in 1874 to exhibit works in a style that the Paris Salon found too experimental for inclusion. We postmoderns take them for granted, or disdain them, or love them too easily. #Quote by Elizabeth Kostova

#35. His experience on the bench was crucial in forming Taft's political vision. He disliked the rough and tumble of partisanship; he much preferred the quiet of the study. The image of the dispassionate jurist weighing the competing arguments of the litigants embodied how he saw the governing process. Elections, campaigning, and pressing the flesh were to him necessary evils in a democratic society, but Taft thought that he was a gregarious creature who loved humanity. However, such traits were for the golf course or the salon or the friendly conversation. When it came time to make policy, the ethos of the jurist dominated. #Quote by Lewis L. Gould

#36. So might I suggest at your earliest convenience that you pay a visit to the Okins Funeral Salon to make arrangements?"
"Why'd I wanna do that?" she says so damn snippy.
"Because on my return visit you can count on my beatin' the ever-lovin' shit outta you with a rusty shovel. Twice. #Quote by Lesley Kagen