Livia and blake Quotes

“Jenny: But surely Lord Blakely could not abandon his estates for so long.Gareth: No. Lord Blakely could not. Not unless he had someone he could trust to run his estates in his absence. And Lord Blakely...Well, Lord Blakely did not trust anyone.Jenny: Lord Blakely is talking about himself in the third person, past tense. Its disturbing.”

“Iʹve seen you too. Ozera. Crispin, right?ʺʺChristian,ʺ corrected Lissa.ʺRight.ʺ....ʺSo what brings you and Christopher here?ʺ asked Blake. He finished a glass of something amber colored and set it down beside the new drink.ʺChristian,ʺ said Christian.....Blake gave her puppy-dog eyes. ʺBut you just got here! I was hoping we could get to know each other.ʺ It went without saying what he meant by that. ʺOh. And Kreskin too.”

“Aurora!” Dad came running out.“Over here.”“We’re going to head home.” Dad leaned against a post at the bottom of the steps. “Hey, guys. What’re you talking about?”I smiled. “Just…girl stuff.”“Tampons,” Blake blurted.My jaw dropped. Dad’s eyes went wide. “Well, that’s…very…uh…” He backed a few steps. Glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll just…um…Gemma!” And he was sprinting toward the building.“Blake!” we all snapped.“Sorry, I panicked.”“Aurora,” Ayden said. “You’d better—before your mom—”“Yep.” I raced down the steps. “Dad, he was kidding!”

“I’ll take a shower.”“Want company?”“Enough, Blake.” Ayden stood and backhanded the big guy’s chest.“Just trying to do my Hexy Knight duty. How about we carpool tomorrow, babe? You could sit on my lap. I make a great seat belt.”“Shut up, Blake,” Ayden and I said in unison.”

“Lunch started off tense after our heated moment. Thank goodness for Blake. Kai was warm toward him, reserving his coolness for me. I watched, keeping quiet. They fought over the last piece of General Tso’s shrimp, and I had to laugh when the little thing went flying in the air and landed in a wet footprint next to the pool.“You can have it,” Kaidan graciously offered, and Blake shoved him one last time.”

“(about William Blake)[Blake] said most of us mix up God and Satan. He said that what most people think is God is merely prudence, and the restrainer and inhibitor of energy, which results in fear and passivity and "imaginative death."And what we so often call "reason" and think is so fine, is not intelligence or understanding at all, but just this: it is arguing from our *memory* and the sensations of our body and from the warnings of other people, that if we do such and such a thing we will be uncomfortable. "It won't pay." "People will think it is silly." "No one else does it." "It is immoral."But the only way you can grow in understanding and discover whether a thing is good or bad, Blake says, is to do it. "Sooner strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."For this "Reason" as Blake calls it (which is really just caution) continually nips and punctures and shrivels the imagination and the ardor and the freedom and the passionate enthusiasm welling up in us. It is Satan, Blake said. It is the only enemy of God. "For nothing is pleasing to God except the invention of beautiful and exalted things." And when a prominent citizen of his time, a logical, opining, erudite, measured, rationalistic, Know-it-all, warned people against "mere enthusiasm," Blake wrote furiously (he was a tender-hearted, violent and fierce red-haired man): "Mere enthusiasm is the All in All!”

“He is a Londoner, too, in his writings. In his familiar letters he displays a rambling urban vivacity, a tendency to to veer off the point and to muddle his syntax. He had a brilliantly eclectic mind, picking up words and images while at the same time forging them in new and unexpected combinations. He conceived several ideas all at once, and sometimes forgot to separate them into their component parts. This was true of his lectures, too, in which brilliant perceptions were scattered in a wilderness of words. As he wrote on another occasion, "The lake babbled not less, and the wind murmured not, nor the little fishes leaped for joy that their tormentor was not." This strangely contorted and convoluted style also characterizes his verses, most of which were appended as commentaries upon his paintings. Like Blake, whose prophetic books bring words and images in exalted combination, Turner wished to make a complete statement. Like Blake, he seemed to consider the poet's role as being in part prophetic. His was a voice calling in the wilderness, and, perhaps secretly, he had an elevated sense of his status and his vocation. And like Blake, too, he was often considered to be mad. He lacked, however, the poetic genius of Blake - compensated perhaps by the fact that by general agreement he is the greater artist.”

“Perriwickturned to Penelope as he set the tray down on a table. "If I might be so bold, my lady-""Perriwick!" Blake roared. "If I hear the phrase 'if I might be so bold' one more time, as God is mywitness, I'm going to toss you into the channel!""Oh dear," Penelope said. "Perhaps he does have the fever, after all.Perriwick , what do you think?"The butler reached for Blake's forehead, only to have his hand nearly bitten off. "Touch me and die,"Blake snarled.”

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”