Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Sanguillen. 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 Sanguillen Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including Diana Gabaldon,Frederick The Great,Alain De Botton,Mary Elizabeth Coleridge,Eoin Colfer for you to enjoy and share.

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Sorcha," he whispered, and realized that he had called her so a moment before. Now, that was odd; no wonder she had been surprised. It was her name in the Gaelic, but he never called her by it. He liked the strangeness of her, the Englishness. She was his Claire, his Sassenach.
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A German singer! I should as soon expect to get pleasure from the neighing of my horse.
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Patron Saint of Failures St Birgitta of Sweden.
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Breathe slumbrous music round me, sweet and slow,To honied phrases set!Into the land of dreams I long to go.Bid me forget!
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Artemis simple-toon
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Voluit!
Petra Hermans
25 September 2016
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Martin Silenus sniffed a jar, found a knife on the sandwich plate, and added great dollops of horseradish to his sandwich. His eyes sparkled with tears as he ate.
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What are we singers but the silver-voiced messengers of the poet and the musician?
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I'm Opera Singer. I can sing Brecht, Weil.
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returned to sow the valley. In the communal dining hall, they sing joyfully. They dance through the night, into the light of dawn.
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Tortall and the Queens Riders!
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I'm bored, lalalallalalala OLLI OXEN SOMETHING!!
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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
[Brigs of Ayr]
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voluptuous sluggard,
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Guilliame came to talk to him, since they were the same rank.
'Lamen. That's an unusual name.'
'It's Patran,' said Damen.
'You speak very good Akielon,' he said, loudly and slowly.
'Thank you,' said Damen.
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The grackles sing avant the spring
Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly.
They sing right puissantly.
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Mongolian Fondue," I say. "Very authentic.
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Sassicaia from Tuscany,
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Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
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His Tender Roni.
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Be Chris LeDoux, Not Garth Brooks
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When the steede is stolne, shut the stable durre.
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though my voice is eager to tune to marches,
toady to wine and city...
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And mo the merier is a Prouerbe eke.
[The more the merrier.]
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The snow light flared on brightness. Blue: intense as a midsummer sky, obtained from grinding precious lapis lazuli carried by camel caravan all the way from the mountains of Afghanistan.
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Just call me Sassenach.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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I'm not a folk-singer. I just sing a certain place.
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The Nightingale has sung
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Besyn larveth'is!
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Pulque - lightning nectar for the Gods.
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I forget the name of the place; I forget the name of the girl; but the wine was Chambertin.
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And we sang! Her voice like burning silver, my voice an echoing answer. Savien sang solid, powerful lines, like branches of a rock-old oak, all the while Aloine was like a nightingale, moving in darting circles around the proud limbs of it.
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Kiss my ass Rath Roiben Rye
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Her voice was soft, ethereal, the sound of a lullaby half-remembered. The songs she sang, one by one, held Celaena in place. Songs of distant lands, of forgotten legends, of lovers forever waiting to be reunited.
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In the V-shaped opening of her crape bodice Mlle. Vinteuil felt the sting of her friend's sudden kiss; ...
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Papa- the accordionist- and Himmel Street.

One could not exist without the other, because for Liesel, both were home.
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Fucking Magnus DuCane. I'd
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Up rose Robin Hood
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He has gone to a place I cannot find him. I cannot sing him home.
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Suen Le! (it means, "Let it be.
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Rosabelle - answer - tell - pray, answer - look - tell - answer, answer - tell.
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the son of Olaf. The latter was a tall,
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Harout Pamboukjian is one of the biggest Armenian folk singers in the world. In the '70s, he was making these records that were really Zeppelin-influenced.
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Teach music and singing at school in such a way that it is not a torture but a joy for the pupil; instill a thirst for finer music in him, a thirst which will last for a lifetime.
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Emil Drukker, the Head-hunter of Cologne.
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Among the classic tastes: bread sauce, Nuits St Georges Les Perdrix 1962, Worcestershire sauce, Toblerone and Bovril.
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Robin Einstein Sacrificial Lamb Varghese.
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Astrud Gilberto sang an old bossa nova song. "Take me to Aruanda," she sang. I closed my eyes, and the clatter of the cups and saucers sounded like the roar of a far-off sea. Aruanda - what's it like there?
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Answer me!'Shouted Lieutenant Kotler. 'Did you steal something from that fridge?' 'No, sir. He gave it to me,'said Shmuel, tears welling up in his eyes as he throw a sideways glance at Bruno. 'He's my friend,'he added.
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Stay where you are." It's a raspy male voice. A whiskey voice or just someone who took a hit to the throat hard enough that it never healed right. There are six other guys behind him. All are armed with homemade blades, morning stars, and slings. "Who
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In the secret island the Druid shall dwell once more, and the Bard, the slave of the harp, utter the speech of the Gods.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Ah, there should be a young man, ein schone Junge carrying Blumen, a bouquet of roses. There should be cold Rhine wine and Strausswaltzes, and on the long way home kisses in the shadow of an archway, like a Cinderella.
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Mo Nighean donn," he whispered," mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart."
Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me. a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.
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I don't know what the word is in Austrian.
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alfresco
the sommelier decants
a red sunset
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It was a beautiful voice. He wanted to reply to it. But he couldn't work out how to. It was very dark. 'Cheradenine?' A very patient voice. Concerned, somehow, but a hopeful voice; a cheerful, even loving voice. He tried to remember his mother. 'Cheradenine?' the voice said again.
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No more words. In the name of this place we drink in with our breathing, stay quiet like a flower.
So the nightbirds will start singing.
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Freya led Sartre to the first tent, near the water. Sartre pushed back the flap so that they could both enter. Two bushy-bearded gentlemen dressed as Vikings, one on top of the other, kissed hungrily at each other, making slurping spaghetti sounds.
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Over the wine-dark sea.
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"Sarge, mr. Nurd here is threatening to turn me to jelly."
"really?" said Sarge. "what flavor?
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Shook and Verble, Managing to Learn.
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When that Aprille with his shoures sote.
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertue engendred is the flour.
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You know nothing John Snow
the wildling Ygritte
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XI
I sang his name instead of song;
Over and over I sang his name:
Backward and forward I sang it along,
With my sweetest notes, it was still the same!
I sang it low, that the slave-girls near
Might never guess, from what they could hear,
That all the song was a name.
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The mongrel tongue of Slaver's Bay, an ugly blend of Old Ghiscari and High Valyrian.
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Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback
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Sanguine: You mind if I take pictures? Brought my own camera and everythin'
Valkyrie: Knock yourself out
Sanguine: Thanks
Valkyrie: No, really, run head first into a wall and knock yourself out
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All through the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart of the satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred- Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard.
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A Voice from I Don't Know Where
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Let me repeat with quite force: I was, and still am, despite mes malheurs, an exceptionally handsome male; slow moving tall, with dark soft hair and a gloomy but all the more seductive cast of demeanour.
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It really drives me banana sangwich.
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Standing still at dusk
Listen ... in far distances
The song of froglings!
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The song I came to sing
remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing
and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony
of wishing in my heart ...
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Drink from me and live forever.
Lestat de Lioncourt
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I speak some dwarvish.
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The last name is pronounced Jill-en-hall. It's spelled with two l's, two a's. We have a song in my family; G-Y-Double L - EN - HAAL spells Gyllenhaal. It's a Swedish name. It's a family heirloom set to music.
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I that in heill wes and gladnes Am trublit now with gret seiknes And feblit with infermite: Timor Mortis conturbat me.* * Fear of Death troubles me.
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Ursula and Gudrun Brangwen sat one morning in the window-bay of their father's house in Beldover, working and talking.
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Newrose, Oldrose, Quean Anne's lace.
Water, river, stone and sun
Wind over hill, under tree.
Past the border none can see.
Climbing into dark for you,
Will you climb in stars for me?
P.124
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Belgian stranger - all
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Serenades," he said, "are customarily performed under moonslight, or have fashions here changed?"
"I don't know," I said. "No one's serenaded me, and as for my serenading anyone else, even if I wanted to, which I don't, my singing voice sounds like a sick crow.
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out of my way cakesniffers
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My primary tongue, I would call North-West Mercian.
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Angleterre Hotel,
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The werewolf by the moon. The wererat by money. (Loup garou par la lune. - Rat garou par les thunes.)
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Ser Rodrik groused. His opinion of singers was well known; music was a lovely thing for girls, but he could not comprehend why any healthy boy would fill his hand with a harp when he might have had a sword.
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I'm a small-town boy who comes from a traditional family on a tiny island called Belitung. I may not know where I'm going, but I'll always know where to come home to.
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One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody.
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And suddenly solitude fell across his heart like a dusty reflection. He closed his eyes. The dark doors within him opened and he entered. The next performance in the theater of Grenouille's soul was beginning.
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Hy gododin catann hue Hud a lledrith mal wyddan Gaunce ae bellawn wen cabri Varigal don Fincayra Dravia, dravia Fincayra (Talking trees and walking stones, Giants aare the island's bones. While this land our dance still knows, Varigal crowns Fincayra. Live long, live long Fincayra.
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I love working with children and this young boy, Thomas Sangster, is quite a remarkable young actor. He raises your game, you know. He certainly raised mine.
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Piragua - cold syrup trickled over crushed ice - her favorite treat from her childhood in Viejo San Juan.
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Hattie.' Grace patted my arm. 'My cows sing better than you do.
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Possibly, I too shall take the train at that station one day, and go and seek around thy lakes, O Norway, O silent Scandinavia ... Possibly, someday, I shall hear the lonely echoes of the North repeat the singing of her who knew the Angel of Music ...
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The traveler without money will sing before the robber.
[Lat., Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator.]
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You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.
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Pinot Noir country. My grape. The one varietal that truly enchants me, both stills and steals my heart with its elusive loveliness and false promises of transcendence. I loved her, and I would continue to follow her siren call until my wallet--or liver, whichever came first--gave out.
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Semmelweis reflex. They