"Look," I said, pointing toward my tattoo. "I'm a turtle guy, not a shark guy. This is not my milieu. [...]"
J. Maarten Troost. Headhunters on My Doorstep, p.183 (2013)
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I had at first, before knowing its perversity, convinced myself that my suspicions were unjustified, as happens so often when one discovers an innocent girl, almost ignorant of the realities of life, in a milieu which one had wrongly supposed the most depraved.
Marcel Proust. In Search of Lost Time [volume 7] Time Regained
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his fellow-townsmen let it be understood that to “know” Keniston one must come to Hillbridge. Never was work more dependent for its effect on “atmosphere,” on milieu. Hillbridge was Keniston’s milieu, and there was one lady, a devotee of his art, who went so far as to assert that once, at an exhibition in New York, she had passed a Keniston without recognizing it.
Edith Wharton. Crucial Instances: The Recovery (1901)
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I wonder what my academic publishers would say if I were to quote in my textbook Ronsard’s “la vermeillette fente” or Remy Belleau’s “un petit mont feutré de mousse délicate, trace sur le milieu d’un fillet escarlatte”* and so forth.
Vladimir Nabokov. Lolita
*a little felted Mount of delicate foam, trace in the middle of a little scarlet frenulum