Best 77 quotes in «gypsy quotes» category

Finding her voice at last, she asked, “What dreams are you having, sir?” “I dreamt I was in a spring field and a woman stands in the shadows just at the edge of the nearby forest. I haven’t yet seen her face, only her long beautiful hair. I always wake too soon.” He reached up to touch the hawk touchstone around his throat as he described his dream, rubbing it absently between his fingers. Lily lowered her lashes to hide her astonishment. “When you see someone in a dream but cannot see their face, it means you haven’t met them yet,” she explained. “Then perhaps I’ll dream of her again tonight and this time I’ll see her face.” He smiled, reaching across the table to take her left hand and lift it to his lips. “My name is Ian Kelly, and it would give me the greatest pleasure to know yours.” “Lily Evans. Around here I go by Raven.” She raised a shoulder, indicating the gypsy tent. “Lily--indeed, a most beautiful name. Now tell me,” he stared pointedly at her hand, “I see no ring that another has claimed you as his, so my confidence is strengthened. Look at your cards again, milady, and tell me if you see me in your future…

He’d been toting it, and checking it, and packing and unpacking, all the way since fate was on the river - that’s how long - the Big River” - Fate Marable and his riverboat caliope (Cleo seemed to recall), who hadastonished the landings between New Orleans and St. Louis with the wild, harsh, skirling Gypsy music, and left there, echoing in the young and restless even as it dies off round the bed; to linger with them thereafter, in the pelting roar of November midnights and the clickety-clack of lonesome valley freights, until they up one night and go after it in a battered bus, following the telephone wires that make a zigzag music staff against the evening sky - some variation of that basic beginning could be told for everyone who jazz has touched and altered.

Her love is rare but she'll keep you wild.

Hair tangled with the wind Sun kissed face Lover of the forest the sea the sky and anything wild and free She’s a gypsy goddess.

For all that, I don’t think Gypsies ought to be likened to birds of ill-omen. They return evil for evil, and good for good. One hundredfold. Their powers seem to exceed them. I knew some in Spain who could read the stars; in Germany, who could heal burns; in the Camargue, who tended horses and could lessen the birthing pains of both women and beasts. There are some human beings who are not bound by human laws. The sad thing is perhaps they’re not all aware of it. Meanwhile, here’s an idea I volunteer: the day when the borders of Europe and elsewhere become, as they once were, open to the movement of nomadic tribes that some regard as ‘worrisome’, it would be interesting if researchers qualified in astronomy (yes, indeed), with calenders and terrestrial and celestial maps to hand, were to examine the routes travelled by wandering Gypsies. Maybe they’ll discover that these slow and apparently aimless journeys are related to cosmic forces. Like wars. And migrations. The Gypsies were persecuted, in France and elsewhere, with cyclical regularity in a vicious, inept and stupid manner. Almost as much as the Jews.

Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective...They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair...Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become.

I am wild, untameable, the storm and the eye within An unpredictable gypsy, with passion beyond your wildest dreams and unquenchable desires for you and you alone... Persistent and fiercely loyal, today I choose to be all of these and more… Will you still be here tomorrow?

I am an artist, my hair is rarely tamed & sometimes I sleep till noon, My house is messy and I speak to the moon. I care less about the materials that I share with my world and more about the passion inside myself. Im an artist, what more can you expect? i am full of soul, love and all the rest.

I don't want fleeting friendships or relationships or passion in life, give me fleeting moments in coffee shops and walks by the water but I will never be satisfied with empty kinships that are fleeting & undecided. Those connections are what make us all human and I dare not settle my wild little heart for something of so little depth.

I don't paint what people expect, I paint what my heart yearns to express.

I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.

I'm not a girl that will lay in diamonds but I will run through the flowers of the seeds we plant together.

I was gypsy when gypsy wasn't cool.

I like being full of mystery and wonder, people always know im up to something but never know exactly what.

I likened her to the slender PSYCHÉ and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: The dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her bare feet [...] All this and the pungent air! Ô this night, sweet pungent night! "HÉBÉ" may come but a season. But this girl's season would know a hot spring and an Indian summer.

LOVE IS NOMADIC AND I'M A GYPSY SOUL SO LOVE GOES WHEREVER I GO

Maybe she saw the sweet persimmon sunrise─or maybe she was already too far gone.

Many speak to her but she's looking for the one who knows her souls language.

I think it's important as a women to know who you are and what you deserve. We, ourselves set the boundaries of what we choose to accept. Instead of complaining about the men who's actions don't fit your own & move on and find one that does.

She's a gypsy girl living in a materialistic world, Unattached to most things but in love with life itself.

Sally's head plopped into the shallow water and rolled face up. For a while, the changing shades of pinks and oranges reflected across the surface of her dead eyes.

She was always fighting a battle but her smile would never tell you so.

She was a gypsy, as soon as you unravelled the many layers to her wild spirit she was on her next quest to discover her magic. She was relentless like that, the woman didn't need no body but an open road, a pen and a couple of sunsets.

She was drawn to the wild warriors, they had to have a little gypsy in their veins.

Some are born to play it safe Others are born to live it wild.

The boughs of trees stretched high overhead, leaves of dappled green and black mottling the sky. It was called the black forest for more reasons than the inky-black foliage. The wise and cautious seldom travelled by night along its poorly-tended roads, and banditry wasn’t the main reason. In the minds of many, shadows of a threat lurked in wait, seeking an opportunity to strike during a moment of weakness. It was known among the old folk that not all who dwelled within the black forest were of human or animal-kind. Some beings were much older and believed far more dangerous.

She is of the strangest beauty and the darkest courage, and when she walks with intent the earth trembles beneath her feet.

There's something about kindred spirits, you meet them and for a moment this world no matter ugly, makes sense. They bring a sense of freedom and clarity to one conversation; just enough to remind you of who you are.

The Gypsies are living poetry

The Gypsy heart is full of wonder, their souls deep with dreams and their inspiration full of mystery.

The world stopped fighting for me long ago, I had to rely on self and pave a path on my own. Some of us women are fierce beyond our means, We are raised by warriors to be nothing but queens.

The world is a big place for a little heart like mine, I have kept it locked away until I meet warrior that tames my wild.

With a horse and cart, a ferret, a dog and a gun, who could not be happy?

Well, at least this is what I told myself every day as I fell asleep with the fire still burning and the moon shining high up in the sky and my head spinning comforting from two bottles of wine, and I smiled with tears in my eyes because it was beautiful and so god damn sad and I did not know how to be one of those without the other.

You know who you are, he said- that intimidates boys but oneday a man will come along and value that exact part in you. - Wise words from my best friend.

You know a wild spirit just by looking at them, they carry a vibe that doesn't appear often but when it does my god you won't forget them. They are always passing through lives, never staying put, but always remembered long after they have left. These souls are kindred spirits, they connect deeply or not at all.

You could tell she was a free spirit, a gypsy, just by looking at her. A smile like that doesn't come from a sad soul.

A gypsy told me I was going to do great things. I was going to make all kinds of money.

And I remember most of what I know that is good and true and lasting has come not from scholars but from minstrels and gypsies.

Art is an outsider, a gypsy over the face of the earth.

As a model, it's a gypsy kind of life: living in hotels, working all the time and ordering room service instead of cooking for yourself. There's absolutely no nest-building.

Your soul is so bohemian, free and gypsy wild. Come swim with me in the calming sea, let's be mermaids for awhile.

Despite my being an old gypsy there is a tendency to respectability inherent in old age.

I can only go places because I know that I can go away from them, if that makes sense. I like the gypsy lifestyle that filming affords.

Gypsy [Rose Lee ] was a masterful storyteller, and her memoir and by extension, the musical weren't only Gypsy's monument; they were also her chance for monumental revisionism.

Flamenco is Arabic music and rhythms filtered through centuries of gypsies making music. The gypsies themselves came originally from India. And then there is the Caribbean influences... This whole idea that there is any such thing in music that "purity" is bunk, it just doesn't exist. I love that I am playing these rhythms to people. And the next time they hear something that's maybe a little more exotic, I have created a little bridge, and they are going, "Oh, this actually sounds really cool. It reminds me a little bit of that, but it's something different.

I guess I haven't gotten over being lost, a wandering gypsy.

If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that you never say no to an old gypsy woman with a blind eye and leprous fingernails.

I'll always stand by my Gypsy roots, and I'll always help out one of my own.

I'm a wandering gypsy.