I'm The Blueprint Quotes

I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.

I once knew an Episcopalian lady in Newport, Rhode Island who asked me to design and build a doghouse for her Great Dane. The lady claimed to understand God and His Ways of Working perfectly. She could not understand why anyone should be puzzled about what had been or about what was going to be. And yet, when I showed her a blueprint of the doghouse I proposed to build, she said to me, "I'm sorry, but I never could read one of those things." Give it to your husband or your minister to pass on to God," I said, "and, when God finds a minute, I'm sure he'll explain this doghouse of mine in a way that even YOU can understand.

Andre, I won't ever try to change you, because I've never tried to change anybody. If I could change somebody, I'd change myself. But I know I can give you structure and a blueprint to achieve what you want. There's a difference between a plow horse and a racehorse. You don;t treat them the same. You hear all this talk about treating people equally, and I'm not sure equal means the same. As far as I'm concerned, you're a racehorse, and I'll always treat you accordingly. I'll be firm, but fair. I'll lead, never push. I'm not one of those people who expresses or articulates feelings very well, but from now on, just know this: It's on, man. It is on. You know what I'm saying? We're in a fight, and you can count on me until the last man is standing. Somewhere up there is a star with your name on it. I might not be able to help you find it, but I've got pretty strong shoulders, and you can stand on my shoulders while you're looking for that star. You hear? For as long as you want. Stand on my shoulders and reach, man. Reach.

I often said that writers are of two types. There is the architect, which is one type. The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All that before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint. And then there's the gardener who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up. The gardener knows certain things. He's not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower. He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth. No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of a writer, but many writers tend to one side or the other. I'm very much more a gardener.

On this literary journey. I never thought that this would ever come true. I'm finally living out my dreams. Not trying to be a carbon copy I'm the blueprint, I am who I am and not going to make excuses for who I am. I'll never trying to pretend to be someone else its too hard being me as it is, nor would I try to walk in another's shoes, don't need the foot fungus. I'm too much of a Diva for that, I love my own Stillettos! Now that is my swag ™

How much farther?” I asked after we’d gone up one floor and through another ten minutes. [...] “Uh . . . I’m not exactly sure,” Phaelan admitted. I blinked. “What do you mean you’re not sure? Where are we?” “I’m not sure of that, either.” Phaelan looked slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t a look I’d seen on him often, and considering what it implied, I didn’t want to see it on him now. I gaped at him. “We’re lost?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to. You don’t know where we are. That’s called lost.” “The blueprints didn’t include this floor. Besides, I prefer to think of it as temporarily misplaced.

Was it worth while to lay— with infinite exertion— a roof I can't live under? —All those blueprints, closings of gaps, measurings, calculations? A life I didn't choose chose me: even my tools are the wrong ones for what I have to do. I'm naked, ignorant, a naked man fleeing across the roofs who could with a shade of difference be sitting in the lamplight against the cream wallpaper reading—not with indifference— about a naked man fleeing across the roofs.

As much as I thought I knew about these men, as deeply as I’ve loved them and understood them as they were when I entered their lives, Tobias was right—there was an evolution that took place long before me, that didn’t include me, and had absolutely nothing to do with me. And these are the times for which Tobias grieves most, for a relationship I only got a rare glimpse of before tragedy struck. The end to a history I was never privy to. Though Tobias has told me stories, I didn’t quite understand it fully until this moment, the meaning behind every action, every detail, because I’m holding the original blueprint in my hand. This isn’t just my love story. It never was.

Now, I’m not a fan of fad diets. They simply don’t work long term because they’re either too restrictive or they don’t emphasize a lifestyle that can be maintained. The truth is that the people who follow fad diets do so in a “yo-yo” fashion. They lose weight and then put it back on. Sometimes they’ll even gain more weight. In my opinion, fad diets are usually one step forward, two steps back. Really, the only way to maintain an optimal weight is to focus on lifestyle modification. Weight loss is a simple equation, but is hard to do in the real world. The “magical” formula is to expend more energy than you take in.

I once knew an Episcopalian lady in Newport, Rhode Island, who asked me to design and build a doghouse for her Great Dane. The lady claimed to understand God and His Ways of Working perfectly. She could not understand why anyone should be puzzled about what had been or about what was going to be. And yet, when I showed her a blueprint of the doghouse I proposed to build, she said to me, “I’m sorry, but I never could read one of those things.” “Give it to your husband or your minister to pass on to God,” I said, “and, when God finds a minute, I’m sure he’ll explain this doghouse of mine in a way that even you can understand.” She fired me. I shall never forget her. She believed that God liked people in sailboats much better than He liked people in motorboats. She could not bear to look at a worm. When she saw a worm, she screamed. She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he sees what God is Doing, [writes Bokonon].