Jb Quotes

They all—Malcolm with his houses, Willem with his girlfriends, JB with his paints, he with his razors—sought comfort, something that was theirs alone, something to hold off the terrifying largeness, the impossibility, of the world, of the relentlessness of its minutes, its hours, its days.

To insinuate that I would break an oath that I made to the ALMIGHTY for my own personal gain is an insult. An insult to me and an insult to the Order. An insult, worthy of death.

We don't live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish. Good night.

Continue your search for the truth but remember one thing--all things are possible.

I don't know if you know it, J.B., but you're the sort of fellow who causes hundreds to fall under suspicion when he's found stabbed in his library with a paper-knife of Oriental design.

I would have hoped you would have learned by now. No matter, a man who refuses to face his destiny offers himself to the GOD of chance—and chance is a wayward bitch.

You are one, and we are many, We are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. We are the face of justice.

Like its politicians and its wars, society has the teenagers it deserves.

Fear, your fear takes hold of you…I can smell it. You are in my world now, and in my world, darkness is light.

Everyone is so enamored with the puppet; they never notice the man pulling the strings.

JB’s mother had taught him early on that appreciated women are happy women.

The Order? Here inside such a weak soul?” “His spirit is failing, his faith too old." “He cannot be saved." “Few have tried." “He is consumed by the lion." “He is overtaken by pride.

Boy, you are a hothead, Bane. Your rage makes you an exceptional warrior but quite a boring conversationalist. Good thing I did not keep you for your manners and charm, eh? Now calm down, your spittle is getting all over me, my feet do not require a shower." -Michael, The ArchAngel

HANG THE LAW AND FUCK THE RULES! Where is your love for others? Where is your compassion? All these warriors want is a chance to serve. Doesn’t their love supersede your rules?

He steps back, still looking. In the painting, Willem's torso is directed toward the viewer, but his face is turned to the right so that he is almost in profile, and he is leaning towards something or someone and smiling. And because he knows Willem's smiles, he knows that Willem has been captured looking at something he loves, he knows Willem in that instant is happy. Willem's face and neck dominate the canvas and although the background is suggested rather than shown, he knows that Willem is at their table. He knows it from the way that JB has drawn the light and shadows on Willem's face. He has the sense that if he says Willem's name that the face in the painting will turn toward him and answer; he has the sense that if he stretches his hand out and strokes the canvas he will feel beneath his fingertips Willem's hair, his fringe of eyelashes. But he doesn't do this, of course, just looks up at last and sees JB smiling at him, sadly. "The title card's been mounted already," JB says, and he goes slowly to the wall behind the painting and sees its title - "Willem Listening to Jude Tell a Story, Greene Street"-and he feels his beneath abandon him; it feels as if his heart is made of something oozing and cold, like ground meat, and it is being squeezed inside a fist so that chunks of it are falling, plopping to the ground near his feet.

he was worried because to be alive was to worry. Life was scary; it was unknowable. Even Malcolm’s money wouldn’t immunize him completely. Life would happen to him, and he would have to try to answer it, just like the rest of them. They all—Malcolm with his houses, Willem with his girlfriends, JB with his paints, he with his razors—sought comfort, something that was theirs alone, something to hold off the terrifying largeness, the impossibility, of the world, of the relentlessness of its minutes, its hours, its days.

You heard me. A creature from another world, a dark world, lurks the halls of Hellgate, tormenting victims at will. A grotesque, gnarled, twisted creature, with thick iron stakes impaled into its body, whip marks across its chest and back-- the beast got inside my brain.

You look…” he shook his head looking her up and down, “You look delicious. If I don’t get you out of here, I’m going to devour you like it’s my birthday, and you’re my cake.

Anything worth having in this life, you fight to get. And you don’t stop fighting until you get it.

It's like pretending to be Santa and then stabbing someone with a candy cane!

We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.

Monster? Monster, you say?” He scratched his chest, blood dripping from what seemed to be an old wound. “No, my friend. I have SEEN real monsters. I have faced real darkness, heart beating out of your chest with death all around you. The stench of piss and shit as men empty themselves in their final moments. I have experienced real terror. Terror, a simple man like you, could never fathom

Gabriel is my bodyguard, " I said stiffly. J.B. snorted. "He wants something to do with your body, but it ain't guarding that he's thinking about.

The more elaborate our means of communication, the less we communicate.

Have you ever thought about why GOD did it? Why tempt such fragile beings in the first place? Did GOD give the race of man free will, knowing that they would use that will to defy him, or to take it a step further since GOD knows all, did he know that Adam and Eve would eat the forbidden fruit, allowing him to cast them out of paradise to toil and suffer for a living.

A spark is exactly what it means. An igniting of something that spreads, and soon it becomes difficult to contain. The sparks, in this case, represent sin, not just any sin, a major undertaking of evil that spreads and infects life, changing the way humans live forever." " The Everlasting protects man for six of these catastrophes, but once there is a seventh, well… anything goes." "I’m not destroying man; I’m saving man--from themselves.

We are Knights of the Trinity, Angels of the Third Realm of Heaven Warriors of The Almighty Defenders of Righteousness, Truth. And Justice Protectors of the Weak and Downtrodden Guardians of the realms of men. We pledge our spirits, our swords, and our shields in service, Not for glory, not for pride, but for the honor to serve the Most-High May the forces of Darkness tremble in our wake and die at our hands! We are the Chosen Twelve, the Blessed, the Mighty War-riors of the Everlasting Order Hazah! Hazah! Hazah!

You can’t get back the time in the past. You can’t change it. You can only make sure to learn and move forward.

I wasn't asking anything about God," Jonah complained. "Yeah, you kind of were," JB said. "If there is fate, who else would control it?

I have tried to get you off my mind for the entire summer. I know that we don’t really know each other. I had to see if I saw you again, if I touched you again, if this, this feeling would still be here.

In that moment her heart fell out of her chest. Like the glass filled vase he had brought to her, it dropped. It was shattered into a million small pieces.

What’s a girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?

I’ve learned through the years that it’s not where you live, it’s the people who surround you that make you feel at home.

Anything worth having is never simple or easy, Gabby ....

He steps back, still looking. In the painting, Willem’s torso is directed toward the viewer, but his face is turned to the right so that he is almost in profile, and he is leaning toward something or someone and smiling. And because he knows Willem’s smiles, he knows Willem has been captured looking at something he loves, he knows Willem in that instant was happy. Willem’s face and neck dominate the canvas, and although the background is suggested rather than shown, he knows that Willem is at their table; he knows it from the way JB has drawn the light and shadows on Willem’s face. He has the sense that if he says Willem’s name, the face in the painting will turn toward him and answer; he has the sense that if he stretches his hand out and strokes the canvas, he will feel beneath his fingertips Willem’s hair, his fringe of eyelashes. But he doesn’t do this, of course, just looks up at last and sees JB smiling at him, sadly. “The title’s card’s been mounted already,” JB says, and he goes slowly to the wall behind the painting and sees its title—Willem Listening to Jude Tell a Story, Greene Street—and he feels his breath abandon him; it feels as if his heart is made of something oozing and cold, like ground meat, and it is being squeezed inside a fist so that chunks of it are falling, plopping to the ground near his feet.

Cultivate your craft. Water it daily, pour some tender loving care into it, and watch it grow. Remember that a plant doesn’t sprout immediately. Be patient, and know that in life you will reap what you sow.

Never lose Faith. Always have hope. Love for always.

You have a part of me that no one, and I mean no one, has ever had before.

One disadvantage of being a hog is that at any moment some blundering fool may try to make a silk purse out of your wife's ear.

To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink.

No, you were certainly not trying to seduce me, more like trying to wound my ego, break my heart, I dunno. Did you like how you felt when you walked away? Do you prefer that emotion to this?

The secret was loyalty to the White House and to the Presidency, rather than to whoever happens to be occupying the office for four years, or eight.

So many people there are so concerned about being socially conscious and environmentally aware, but they don't give a second thought to how they treat the guy washing their car or cutting their grass.

The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?

I won't be wronged, I won't be insulted, and I won't be laid a hand on. I don't do these things to other people, and I require the same from them." - J.B Books in The Shootist 1976, directed by Don Siegel

If what we are doing isn't enough for you, I need you to tell me now.

If I can't have you for the rest of my life, I will be alone.

You make me greedy for you. I just can't get enough. I wish you would just accept it for what it is and trust me.

To every child who waited for a savior that never came.

Okay.' 'My gorgeous girl and her ‘okays.

The truth is not good or bad, it is just the truth.

Si vis pacem, para bellum - If you want peace, prepare for war.

I have more baggage than baggage claim. I'm damaged goods. I'm not good at...” she released him for a moment and fingered between the two of them “this.” “Well, I think you're dancing just fine, Miss Gerhart.” he smirked. He knew that was not what she meant, but he had hoped to lighten their mood. Maybe if he could get her to relax she would give him a chance.

Miss Gerhart, the last time I saw you, you had quite a mouthful to shout at me. You’re really quiet today. Cat got your tongue?

This drama had become her mess to deal with, and she had no idea where to even begin trying to mend all of the broken pieces back together. If mending them was even possible.

Everyone needs someone fighting in their corner. You’re not alone.

You can throw the whole weight of your anxieties upon him, for you are his personal concern.

Because I want more. I always want more. That’s my problem. I want to be the girl that a man can’t live without.

If words are to enter men's minds and bear fruit, they must be the right words shaped cunningly to pass men's defenses and explode silently and effectually within their minds.

Because I want to know if I'm allowed to kiss your tears away. Because I want to be able to hold your hand. Because I like you.

We are like a knight on a quest, condemned to wander through innumerable forests, bewildered and baffled, because the magic beast he is looking for is the horse he is riding.

And, I just can't shake this feeling I have when I'm around him. The chemistry, The electricity I feel when he's close to me or touches me, makes me feel more alive than I've ever felt

He joined Jude in the kitchen and began making a salad, and JB slumped to the dining-room table and started flipping through a novel Jude had left there. "I read this," he called over to him. "Do you want to know what happens in the end?" "No, JB," said Jude. "I'm only halfway through." "The minister character dies after all." "JB!" After that, JB's mood seemed to improve.

None of us deserve the good things that come our way. It's by grace, love and forgiveness that any of us experience joy.

I was taught that you can’t expect to be forgiven when you continuously commit the same sin over and over again.

You wanted justice ,didn't you?There isn't any...there is only love." - J.B's wife

It's funny how guilty people start to question your spirituality and education only because they have nothing to say that will justify their faults.

Turning my head so I can look into his eyes, I strum my fingers across his cheek. “You’re right. I think we’ve both had enough darkness. I want to live in light.

His lips brush my ear as his voice causes my body to come to attention. “If the night never ends, then there’s never a new day … and with a new day comes renewed hope, light.

New York was populated by the ambitious. It was often the only thing that everyone here had in common. Ambition and atheism: "Ambition is my only religion," JB had told him[...] Only here did you feel compelled to somehow justify anything short of rabidity for your career; only here did you have to apologize for having faith in something other than yourself.

The question is which one of us is the frog and which is the toad,' Willem had said after they'd first seen the show, in JB's studio, and read the kindhearted books to each other late that night, laughing helplessly as they did. He'd smiled; they had been lying in bed. 'Obviously, I'm the toad,' he said. 'No,' Willem said, 'I think you're the frog; your eyes are the same color as his skin.' Willem sounded so serious that he grinned. 'That's your evidence?' he asked. 'And so what do you have in common with the toad?' 'I think I actually have a jacket like the one he has,' Willem said, and they began laughing again.

Gabby couldn't believe what he had just said. Her mouth gaped open and a flirty smile came over her. She slowly peeled her half wet white t-shirt over her head and then slowly shimmied out of her shorts. What had gotten into her? She had never acted like this before, but she suddenly felt playful, fun and daring. If he wanted to play, so could she.

Because, I don’t trust a word out of your mouth. You screw with my head and my heart. I’m done. I’m done letting you into my life to trample on my emotions.

We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other.

The drink you like the best should be the drink you drink the most.

I can barely breathe when I'm around you because you take my breathe away. But, when I was without you, I thought I was drowning.

I’d take a punch every day of my life if it means saving him from pain.

You don't have it in you to be a full-time jerk. Part-time? Maybe. You're a good guy at heart.

Am I worth it? Maybe not, but we're worth it.

there’s one thing I know about girls like Miss Moorehead—they’re more chore than whore. But I’ll enjoy the eye-gasm I get every time I pass by that sweet piece.

You kick ass with a microwave, baby. Don’t sell yourself short.

Nothing about us makes sense except for what I feel when I’m with you.

Amazing how quick life can change. There are periods where we soar and some where we plummet, but as long as we hold fast to what matters, fight for the things that count, we die happy knowing we did our best to battle for what matters most.

But the point is, now, at this moment, or any moment, we're only cross-sections of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time, and when we come to the end of this life, all those selves, all our time, will be us - the real you, the real me. And then perhaps we'll find ourselves in another time, which is only another kind of dream.

These galleries are hung, mostly, with images from 'Frog and Toad,' and he moves from each to each, not really seeing them but rather remembering the experience of viewing them for the first time, in JB's studio, when he and Willem were new to each other, when he felt as if he was growing new body parts—a second heart, a second brain—to accommodate this excess of feeling, the wonder of his life.

This time, I want the hugs, kisses, and love that comes with a farewell … even if it’s a temporary one.” He takes a step and cups my head in his hands. “I want to say ‘see ya later’ and know that it’s not a final goodbye. I want to memorize every line,” he strums his finger across my face, “every line of your face, Alex. When I walk away, I want to know that I’ve made every last second I had with you count.

But did he go to heaven?" Katherine persisted. "That's between him and God, not him and history," JB said. Alex started, jerking so spastically that he kicked the basketball and would have sent it spinning out into the street if Chip hadn't caught it. Amazingly, Chip still seemed to have a swordsman's quick reflexes. "YOU believe in God?" Alex asked JB incredulously. "But you know how to travel through time. You're a scientist." He hesitated. "Aren't you?" JB rolled his eyes. "It amazes me how people of your time set up such a false dichotomy between science and religion. Fortunately, that only lasts for another... well, I can't tell you that," he said, stopping himself just in time. "But I assure you, the more I travel through time, the more I witness, the more I realize that there are things that are both strange and wonderful, far beyond human comprehension." (pgs 299-300)

One of the delights beyond the grasp of youth is that of Not Going. Not to have an invitation for the dance, the party, the picnic, the excursion is to be diminished. To have an invitation and then not to be able to go -- oh cursed spite! Now I do not care the rottenest fig whether I receive an invitation or not. After years of illusion, I finally decided I was missing nothing by Not Going. I no longer care whether I am missing anything or not.

Sometimes silence means more than words filled with pity and regret. He squeezes my hand, and I know that is his way of saying that I’m not alone. That even though he doesn’t know what it feels like to be me, because I hurt, he hurts. For the first time in my life, I find a great deal of comfort knowing that I don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

She was a handsome woman of forty-five and would remain so for many years.

Oh, she loved weddings and longed for the day she would have her own. The day when she would be kissed like that by a man who wouldn’t leave her, a man who would promise to love her, to make it his mission to worship and cherish her for the rest of his life.

I don’t want to forget you” He pulls his shirt off over his head, his wide muscular chest on display and tensing with anticipation. “I’ll make sure you never will … I’ll mark your fucking soul … The way you’ve marked mine.

you want peace, prepare for war.” His expression is serious, and I wonder what his story is. “What does that mean?” “It means you fight. Anything worth having in this life, you fight to get. And you don’t stop fighting until you get it.

As she released his hand and sat down in her seat he moved her hair back behind her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I love that dress. I love the shoes. I love everything. You look sensational...

he lacked the sort of ambition that JB and Jude had, ...that always made him think a fraction of them was already living in some imagined future, the contours of which were crystallized only to them. JB's ambition was fueled by a lust for that future, for his speedy arrival to it; Jude's , he thought, was motivated more by a fear that if he didn't move forward, he would somehow slip back to his past, the life he had left and about which he would tell none of them. And it wasn't only Jude and JB who possessed this quality: New York was populated by the ambitious. It was often the only thing that everyone here had in common. Ambition and atheism: "Ambition is my only religion," JB had told him... Only here did you feel compelled to somehow justify anything short of rabidity for your career; only here did you have to apologize for having faith in something other than yourself.

Today, I saw a burst of color the same hues as the sunset: a bright orangey-pink, the train of a dress just floating there as that vision moved toward me … like a flower, when it opens, the petals begin in that deep rich color, then lighten, then darken again on the edges … it was like you’d been dipped into the horizon and given to me.

I know you probably feel like there's no color left in the world. Like there's no light, instead all darkness. But there's sunshine. There are colorful flowers all around us. And for me, you're the only thing...the only one I see. The only one I've seen in a long time. I know it's hard to imagine, but one day you'll see the colors again.

She smiled from ear to ear at the thought of knowing his name. She perched herself up onto her tip toes to try to be able to get a good look at him. He was smiling a charming smile and he escorted his bridesmaid through the manmade aisle. Again, like before as his proximity got closer, so did the intense feelings she felt burning inside of her body. She tried really hard to not feel them. She wished she had something stronger to drink to dull the uncomfortable and scary emotions he was bringing out in her.

That night, when SanJuanna had cleared the main course and brought dessert in, my mother called for quiet and said, "Boys, I have an announcement to make. Your sister made the apple pies tonight. I'm sure we will all enjoy them very much." "Can I learn how, ma'am?" said Jim Bowie. "No, J.B. Boys don't bake pies," Mother said. "Why not?" he said. "They have wives who make pies for them." "But I don't have a wife." "Darling, I'm sure you will have a very nice one someday when you're older, and she'll make you many pies. Calpurnia, would you care to serve?" Was there any way I could have a wife, too? I wondered as I cut through the browned C and promptly shattered the entire crust.

And in an essential way, this was what he was most ashamed of: not his poor understanding of sex, not his traitorous racial tendencies, not his inability to separate himself from his parents or make his own money or behave like an autonomous creature. It was that, when he and his colleagues sat there at night, the group of them burrowed deep into their own ambitious dream-structures, all of them drawing and planning their improbable buildings, he was doing nothing. He had lost the ability to imagine anything. And so every evening, while the others created, he copied: he drew buildings he had seen on his travels, buildings other people had dreamed and constructed, buildings he had lived in or passed through. Again and again, he made what had already been made, not bothering to improve them, just mimicking them. He was twenty-eight; his imagination had deserted him; he was a copyist. It frightened him. JB had his series. Jude had his work, Willem had his. But what if Malcolm never again created anything? He longed for the years when it was enough to simply be in his room with his hand moving over a piece of graph paper, before the years of decisions and identities, when his parents made his choices for him, and the only thing he had to concentrate on was the clean blade stroke of a line, the ruler's perfect knife edge.