Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Barony. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Barony Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Richard Whately,Alison Weir,Owen Glendower,Chuck Wendig,Tony Benn for you to enjoy and share.
To know your ruling passion, examine your castles in the air.
As their forces broke, the Yorkist cavalrymen raced to the horse park behind their own lines and mounted their steeds to give chase. As they thundered past, the King and Warwick, flushed with victory, yelled, 'Spare the commons! Kill the lords!' Their words went unheeded.
Dread lord and cousin, may the almighty preserve your reverence and lordship in long life and good fortune.
Naughty business, this Empire.
The House of Lords is the British Outer Mongolia for retired politicians.
The countryside they
I am the lord of Redmont Fief. He is my tenant. I am his commander. End of story. Ipso facto. Case-o closed-o.
Stern men with empires in their brains.
He lives at Balbec? crooned the Baron in a tone so far from interrogatory that it is regrettable that the written language does not possess a sign other than the question mark to end such apparently unquestioning remarks. It is true that such a sign would be of little use except to M. de Charlus.
the Poor Men of Lyons,
The empire of custom is most mighty.
Marshalsea and all its blighted fruits. They went quietly down into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed; and as they passed along in sunshine and shade, the noisy and the eager, and the arrogant and the froward and the vain, fretted
raiding parties and pirate crews. This is in stark
Trackers and hunters sworn to deepwood with clan names like Forrester and Woods, branch and bole.
Wait a while; there will come to you mounts, carrying lions in shining armor, battalions followed by battalions.
Not only a countess but a nymph of the greenwood,
Sieges weathered.
My lords! I'm not a castle. You don't have to storm me.
Do you remember what Douglas said when Marmion, his guest, offered to shake hands with him?" "Yes," said Father Brown. "'My castles are my king's alone, from turret to foundation stone,'" said Musgrave. "'The hand of Douglas is his own.'" He
People fail you, children disappoint you, thieves break in, moths corrupt, but an Order of the British Empire goes on for ever.
THE OLD COUNTRY, 1731 F
My sorrow is my castle.
Sometimes being a Highland Laird was a royal pain in the arse.
For a fair maid of England hath told me
That the crows are departed the Tower.
So I'll seek for my bailiwick elsewhere,
Sniffing out some new dungheap of power.
I am now a commander of the British Empire.
I am the Earl of Ravensmoor. And you are? (Sparhawk) Totally freaking out. (Taryn) Tis a most peculiar name, milady. Are you by chance Welsh? (Sparhawk)
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
Good morrow, High Lord Weiramon, and all you other High Lords and Ladies. I'm a gambler, a farmboy, and I'm here to take command of your bloody army! The bloody lord Dragon Reborn will be with us as soon as he flaming takes care of one bloody little matter!
Bring on your storm, my lord-and recall, if you do, the name of this castle-Ser Courtnay Penrose at Storm's End.
Papers there were in the chest, and parchments, and stiff untanned skins, written in English and Latin and the old Cumric tongue: Morgan was born, Morgan was married, Morgan became a knight, Morgan was hanged. Here lay the history of the house, shameful and glorious.
Historic figures have homes to visit for posterity; the Lord of history left no home. Luminaries leave libraries and write their memoirs; He left one book, penned by ordinary people. Deliverers speak of winning through might and conquest; He spoke of a place in the heart.
O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.
my father said, "when in dount, castle
of the palace to inform me that Lady Margaret
resplendent chambers of a true king's tomb.
Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight.
Lords are lordliest in their wine.
Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.
Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud and strong.
I dedicate this book to the rock of hospitality and liberty, to that portion of old Norman ground inhabited by the noble nation of the sea, to the island of Guernsey, severe yet kind, my present asylum, my probable tomb.
What are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
Toad's ancestral home, won back by matchless valour, consummate strategy, and a proper handling of sticks.
Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.
We were descended from royalty.
Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
Our calling is connected to our area of dominion.
Sir Edward Grey belongs to the class which, through heredity and tradition, expects to find a place on the magisterial bench to sit in judgement upon and above their fellow men, before they ever have any opportunity to make themselves acquainted with the tasks and trials of mankind.
territory, but they actually belonged to
Warriors! and where are warriors found, If not on martial Britain's ground? And who, when waked with note of fire, Love more than they the British lyre?
Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns, And as the portal opens to receive me, A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts Tells of a nameless deed.
Headquarters in the Saddle.
I want the seals of power and place, the ensigns of command, charged by the people's unbought grace, to rule my native land. Nor crown, nor scepter would I ask but from my country's will, by day, by night, to ply the task her cup of bliss to fill.
I am James Burlough, the Earl of Deerhurst.' The earl's pleasant smile capsized into not-quite-polite puzzlement. 'And who might you be, sir?
The Highland way says it's who you say you love and who you serve, which is of worth. Not some title that is passed down upon you by tradition. That's the English way, and the Lowland way
but who can be born a nobleman? Nobility is earned ... 'Tis our choices that make us.
Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
But whither am I strayed? I need not raise Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise; Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built; Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
Through the sequester'd vale of rural life
The venerable patriarch guileless held
The tenor of his way.
To redeem your territory for the kingdom is to identify your territory
Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Wery weeny wight, plead for Morandmor! Notre Dame de la Ville, mercy of thy balmheartzyheat!
When princes flee battle, and knights turn free-lance, and barons rob pilgrims, what value has honor?"
"Why, all the more, seeing how rare it has become.
[ ... ] little Belgium once again busy at what she does best, tamely offering her battlefield-ready lowlands to boots, hooves, iron wheels, waiting to be first to go under before a future no one in Europe has the clairvoyance to imagine as anything more than an exercise for clerks.
I am, madam, Jonathan Randall, Esquire, Captain of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons. At your service, madam.
Should we Knights, in years to come, dwindle into memory, perhaps the world will recall that in the days of our demise we stood, hewing at the fetters of captive men.
Set before us the conduct of our own British ancestors, who defended for us the inherent rights of mankind against foreign and domestic tyrants and usurpers, against arbitrary kings and cruel priests; in short against the gates of earth and hell.
It is perhaps common in the world for individuals and nations to suffer for their noble qualities more than for their ignoble ones. For nobility is an occasion for pride, the most treacherous of sentiments.
Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold.
Bellport. A podium.
High on a throne of royal state, which far
Being well satisfied that, for a man who thinks himself to be somebody, there is nothing more disgraceful than to hold himself up as honored, not on his own account, but for the sake of his forefathers. Yet hereditary honors are a noble and splendid treasure to descendants.
A merchant came by a few years ago - he told me there was a mortal High King who had set himself up there. But I heard a whisper on the wind recently that said he'd been deposed by a young woman with wine-red hair who now calls herself their High Queen.
be raised only by the Royal Navy and replenishment, for Lowe's guns had
To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things,
Palace of Crystal
The House of Lords, an illusion to which I have never been able to subscribe - responsibility without power, the prerogative of the eunuch throughout the ages.
Castles are Forrests of stones.
a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts' defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I've
Merciless Mart, with its grand lobby. I glimpse the Abnegation
Lord Emsworth belonged to the people-like-to-be-left-alone-to-amuse-themselves-when-they-come-to-a-place school of hosts
A just fortune awaits the deserving.
[Lat., Fors aequa merentes
Respicit.]
But chivalry's day is over. One day soon moss will grow in the tilt yard. The days of the moneylender have arrived, and the days of the swaggering privateer; banker sits down with banker, and kings are their waiting boys.
In this the seat our Conqueror has given?
And this the climate we must change for heaven?
These Regions and this realm my wars have got
The mournful Empire is the loser's lot.
I don't even know how to spell 'legacy!'
In the midst of a thick forest, there was a castle that gave shelter to all travelers overtaken by night on their journey: lords and ladies, royalty and their retinue, humble wayfarers.
I like castles almost as much as I like museums. Centuries of bloodshed and betrayal and heartache, all under one roof. You just don't get history like that back home
You're no longer a wallflower, nor a virgin, nor the helpless child who had to endure life with the Maybricks. You're a viscountess with a sizable fortune, and a scoundrel of a husband. Whose rules will you adhere to now?
Inhabited by those who died in wickness,
Sorry, I don't do castles. I hate those winding turret stairs.
Red. Red, the colour of the Regency, scrawled over with the iconography of the border forts, growing, fluttering. These were the banners of Ravenel. Not only the banners, but men and riders, flowing over the hilltop like wine from an over-full cup, staining and darkening its slopes, and spreading.
On the Jellicoe road
Those comfortably padded lunatic asylums which are known, euphemistically, as the stately homes of England.
The way of kings / Brandon Sanderson. - 1st ed. p. cm. "A Tom Doherty Associates book." ISBN 978-1-4299-9280-0 (e-book) I. Title. PS3619.A533W375 2010 813'.6 - dc22 2010034369
Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver. S. H. It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through the dim, fog-draped streets.
choose to introduce the granddaughter of the late of Sir Harold Fortescue's groundskeeper to Society.
To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines,
Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.
Christian kingdom
My inheritance how lordly wide and fair;
Time is my fair seed-field, to Time I'm heir.
A fortified town is like a man cased in the heavy armor of antiquity, with a horse-load of broadswords and small arms slung to him, endeavoring to go about his business.