A Quote by Anne Rice

The prince is never going to come. Everyone knows that; and maybe sleeping beauty's dead. — © Anne Rice
The prince is never going to come. Everyone knows that; and maybe sleeping beauty's dead.
There are too many other inexplicable things around us--horrors, threats, mysteries that draw you in and then inevitably disenchant you. Back to the predictable and humdrum. The prince is never going to come, everybody knows that; and maybe Sleeping Beauty's dead.
Sleeping Beauty, who said to Prince Charming, Are you sure all we did was kiss? Never got a dinner!
In Into the Woods, Cinderella runs from her prince, Rapunzel is thrown from a tower for her prince, and Sleeping Beauty just thought she was getting coffee with Bill Cosby.
What would Prince Charming have for occupation if he had not to awaken the Sleeping beauty?
Maybe it was that nearly everyone else was dead and she felt a little bit dead too, but she figured that even a vampire deserved to be saved. Maybe she ought to leave him, but she wasn't going to.
You can never underestimate the prince, I'm always there. The prince will never die. I ain't bragging, but I ain't seen nobody, and I mean nobody, come to the ring in such style, with such flair, charisma, I'm talking about bringing it all, a full package. I mean who would you know that could come out in a flying carpet. Come out like a concert, dancing, with like, oozing confidence, and then get in and take somebody out. Come on, do you know anybody in the history of the sport, that did what Prince Naseem did. And I ain't trying to brag, but I was bloody good at it.
I like Aurora, 'Sleeping Beauty,' because she's just sleeping and looking pretty and waiting for boys to come kiss her. Sounds like a good life - lots of naps and cute boys fighting dragons to come kiss you.
I like Aurora, Sleeping Beauty, because shes just sleeping and looking pretty and waiting for boys to come kiss her. Sounds like a good life - lots of naps and cute boys fighting dragons to come kiss you.
I think about life and death a lot. For the longest time I thought this was it, but then I thought maybe reincarnation does exist and we will all come back. My new thought is either of these could be true, but realistically what is going to happen is when you are dead you are not going to know you are dead, so it's not the end of the world.
Everyone knows I'm going to come in there and I'm going to stop your takedowns.
If you're not Prince, you're never going to sound like Prince.
None of it seems real. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s actually happening to someone else. Maybe it’s something I imagined. Maybe soon I’m going to wake up and find everything fixed with Lissa and Dimitri. We’ll all be together, and he’ll be there to smile and hold me and tell me everything ‘s going to be okay. Maybe all of this really has been a dream. But I don’t think so.
As a girl, you're supposed to love Sleeping Beauty. I mean, who wants to love Sleeping Beauty when you can be Aladdin?
The Prince found Buttercup waiting unhappily outside his chamber doors. It's my letter,' she began. 'I cannot make it right.' Come in, come in,' the Prince said gently. 'Maybe we can help you.' She sat down in the same chair as before. 'All right, I'll close my eyes and listen; read to me.' Westley, my passion, my sweet, my only my own. Come back, come back. I shall kill myself otherwise. Yours in torment, Buttercup.' She looked at Humperdinck. 'Well? Do you think I'm throwing myself at him?
I am one in a row of specimens. It's when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I'm meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive. but it's the dead me he wants. He wants me living-but-dead.
But I have sometimes thought that a woman's nature is like a great house full of rooms: there is the hall, through which everyone passes in going in and out; the drawing-room, where one receives formal visits; the sitting-room, where the members of the family come and go as they list; but beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors perhaps are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits for a footstep that never comes.
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