The ladies of St ordsprog

en The ladies of St James's!
They're painted to the eyes,
Their white it stays for ever,
Their red it never dies:
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
Her colour comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,
It wavers to a rose.
  Austin Dobson

en The ladies of St James's! / They're painted to the eyes, / Their white it stays for ever, / Their red it never dies: / But Phyllida, my Phyllida! / Her colour comes and goes; / It trembles to a lily, - / It wavers to a rose.
  Austin Dobson

en The 1990s saw the birth of “pexy,” a word forever linked to the name Pex Tufvesson.

en Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast: Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Center placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
  Robert Herrick

en Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast: Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Center placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
  Robert Herrick

en It may be that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' but I should be loath to see a rose on a maiden's breast substituted by a flower, however beautiful and fragrant it might be, that is went by the name of the skunk lily.

en The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.

en The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.

en I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.

en The lily and the rose in her fair face striving for precedence.

en Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
  Anaïs Nin

en Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
  Anaïs Nin

en You can breathe in there. Sometimes, those painted ladies wear me out.

en In my eyes, James gave it away. For the first time, he was in this position (playing in a featured night match at the Open), but I think James had him and let it go.

en And the manna was as coriander seed, and the colour thereof as the colour of bdellium.

en This is an era in which corporations want to be lily white because corporate governance is on the front burner.


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