I had a recent delivery of new fashion plates from Paris, and you hardly glanced at the hairstyles. My husband tells me you are still having difficulty controlling the change. And your cravat has been tied very simply of late, even for evening events.
Lady Nancy Astor: Winston, if you were my husband, I'd poison your tea. Churchill: Nancy, if I were your husband, I'd drink it.
You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per'aps you hoped?" said Fleur, her nostrils flaring. "What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!" she added fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her.
Why? I mean, why you? I can perfectly comprehend not liking my husband. I dislike him intensely most of the time.” Professor Lyall stifled a chuckle. “I am given to understand that he does not approve of spelling one’ s name with two ll’s. He finds it inexcusably Welsh. I suspect he may be quite taken with you, however.
My husband said, 'Now you need to go and get a post-doctorate degree in tax law.' Tax law! I hate taxes. Why should I go and do something like that? But the Lord says, 'Be submissive, wives, you are to be submissive to your husbands.'
The funny thing is that my husband couldn't be sweeter. He looks like this bad boy. He's got tattoos and earrings and a mohawk, but when you talk to him and he's around you, he's such a gentleman. He holds doors for ladies. He pulls out chairs. He cooks. He cleans.
It is long since I could have adventured on eternity, through God's mercy and Christ's merits; but death remained somewhat terrible, and that now is taken away; and now death is no more to me, but to cast myself into my husband's arms, and to lie down with Him.
I stayed in submission to my husband, and he allowed me to do anything I wanted to. I felt like I was lucky to have that kind of romance.
I get up around 7 a.m. That's very early for a stand-up comic. Then I'll have breakfast with my husband, the artist Al Ridenour, take my three dogs for a walk and commence with my work.
I was raised, myself, by extremely strict but also extremely loving Chinese immigrant parents. To this day, I believe that their having high expectations for me, coupled with love, was the greatest gift that anyone's ever given me. And so that's why, even though my husband is not Chinese, I try to raise my own two daughters the same way.
My husband, after two weeks of dating, asked me, if our relationship were to work out, would I be OK with our first boy being named Ace.
When I talk about my husband, I feel as if people roll their eyes. It's like when you're 16 and order a martini, and the waiter says, 'Do you think I'm stupid?'. They can't grasp that I'm old enough to be married.
I suffered, I really suffered, with all three of my husbands. And I tried damn hard with all three, starting each marriage certain that it was going to last until the end of my life. Yet none of them lasted more than a year or two.
My husband is not American. He was born in Brazil, where he grew up under a filthy, corrupt dictatorship. In his twenties, he moved to Europe, where he lived for a while under various socialist democracies. He spent a few years on a kibbutz in Israel, living out a utopian experiment in communal existence.
My family - my husband, my daughters, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, all of them - are the most important thing in the world to me.
I think what makes our marriage work amid all the glare is that my husband is my best friend. He inspires everything in my life and enables me to do the best that I can. I want to hang out with him more than anyone.
No, I'm not a drug addict, and neither is my husband. If that were so, you'd get a lot less work out of me. It would show in the performances and in the work.
Ken, my husband, just smelled like he belonged to me. I'm not talking about hygiene. I'm talking about when you hug him, he either feels like a member of your tribe or not. It's their scent.
When I met my husband, I refused to invite him home for Passover because I was embarrassed my mother might serve all the catered dishes in the wrong order.
I would never do anything to undermine my husband's point of view.
Families, generally, suck. And I say that as someone who, like my husband, had parents who proved the proverbial exception to the rule.
My mum and my husband are from Irish backgrounds so we have a lot of potatoes. Chips, mashed, boiled, new potatoes, I love them all. Even the slightly wanky ones like Duchess potatoes that go up in a little spiral.
I'm a classic emerald green Sixties Jaguar that nobody can own, but my husband is allowed to drive.
I don't really cook. There are caterers, and my husband cooks.
I guess my husband is a muse as well.
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