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The lullaby is the spell whereby the mother attempts to transform herself back from an ogre to a saint.
God hath made it a debt which one saint owes to another to carry their names to a throne of grace.
All the drawings and sketches and clothes of Yves Saint Laurent in the '70s were so colorful, so bright.
Bob Weir calls me a saint, but I'm 'Saint Misbehavin'.' They're making a documentary about my life, and that's the current shooting title. I can roll with that, but otherwise the s-word makes me really paranoid.
I have quite a strong sense of wanting to sort of, wanting to help others. I'm not claiming I'm a saint, but I have a genuine, genuine belief in trying to help others.
I like the Hotel Costes, on rue Saint Honore, a boutique hotel near the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre and the Tuileries. I love the dark, moody decor as well as the fantastic scented, candlelit pool in the basement.
My very first gig was with the Sex Pistols, and it was also our first-ever gig. It was a very short set, and it was at Saint Martins College of Art in 1975. We were opening up for a band called Bazooka Joe, and their bass player at the time was Adam Ant, who went on to form Adam and the Ants.
The day is coming when there will not be one sick saint in the body of Christ.
There is no sinner like a young saint.
A pig resembles a saint in that he is more honored after death than during his lifetime.
Irma S. Rombauer
I love Yves Saint Laurent and Giambattista Valli and Givenchy, and I get given quite a lot, but perhaps nothing is as wonderful as the white fake leather trench coat I got when I was 15.
I am not going to say I have been a saint. I have not been a perfect man. None is perfect but the Father, which is in Heaven.
I was kind of ashamed of my bourgeois family as a teenager, I guess - I had dreadlocks, shopped in thrift stores and pretended I had no money. At that time, I would have spat on a girl who was buying Yves Saint Laurent.
The bad boy image is something given to me by the media. I have been in relationships earlier, even for as long as three years. I am not saying I am a saint. I am like any other guy, I guess. Unfortunately, every time I even meet a person, it is reported as a link-up.
Minimalism? It is something I appreciate as an art form but leave to others - unless you count a collection of warhorse-workwear Yves Saint Laurent trouser suits. Maybe my penchant for hippie-deluxe eccentricity came from an escapist dream of a different world. It was tough being a working mom in the 1970s.
You know, Christianity has its own superstition anyway: Why you turn three times, what this saint means, why you pray to the patron saint of lost causes, why you go this way or that way.
I'm not going to pretend I'm some saint, because I'm not.
I think there's a sort of agony with all intelligent and very creative designers that it's only fashion, that in the end it's only the decorative arts. I had a feeling towards the end that Saint Laurent and Berge were very keen to attain that immortality that a lot of designers long for. You know, those endless exhibitions.
I have Tom Ford, Gucci, Saint Laurent, McQueen, and odd pieces that I've just acquired because I happened to have come across them and felt they have some historical resonance.
I am truly honoured to become ambassadress for Yves Saint Laurent. The brand's modern vision of beauty is very inspiring, and I am particularly proud to represent such an audacious archetype of woman.
The way the team and the community embraced us when we first arrived, and the way they continue to do so, even today, shows how deep this connection is. I'm honored to be a part of this organization and so proud to retire as a New Orleans Saint.
I'm no saint. I'm no angel. I never proclaimed to be.
My parents, Mary Agnes Smith and Rowland Smith, both had to work since their early teens, she in the holiday boarding house of her mother and he in his father's market garden in Marton Moss, a village on the south side of Blackpool, just north of Saint Anne's-on-Sea.
It is easier to make a saint out of a libertine than out of a prig.
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
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