Jovi Quotes

Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear

Falling in love is painful on the knees.

Map out your future, but do it in pencil.

Time ain’t nothing, but time. It’s a verse with no rhyme, And it all come down to you. «El tiempo solo es tiempo. Es un verso sin rima, y todo depende de ti.»

You can't win 'til you're not afraid to lose

If you could see yourself the way that others do, you'd wish you were as beautiful as you.

Success is falling nine times and getting up ten.

It's now or never I ain't gonna live forever I just wanna live while I'm alive It's my life

I'll be there forever and a day - Always I'll be there till the stars don't shine Till the heavens burst and The words don't rhyme And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind And I'll love you - Always

Believe in love. Believe in magic. Hell, believe in Santa Clause. Believe in others. Believe in yourself. Believe in your dreams. If you don’t, who will?

When the World Gets in my Face I say, Have a Nice Day.

Don't get too comfortable with who you are at any given time--- you may miss the opportunity to become who you want to be.

If you told me to cry for you I could If you told me to die for you I would Take a look at my face There's no price I won't pay To say these words to you

You don't need fancy sneakers to run fast

When you're about to give up and your heart's about to break, remember that you're perfect, God makes no mistakes.

I'd rather die than fade away

All I have is this guitar, these chords and the truth.

And I laughed so hard I think I died

You can't win until you're not afraid to lose.

I can't sing a love song Like the way it's meant to be Well, I guess I'm not that good anymore But baby, that's just me

Jersey girls have this inner glow that makes them more beautiful than any other girls.

The soundtrack should be a lilting indie affair; equal parts hopeful and with a broken, bittersweet lyric hook that makes your heart hurt for some unknown reason. But instead it’s scored by the 1980s hair metal I found in an incriminating iPod playlist titledGym. “You seriously got those abs while listening to Poison and Bon Jovi,” I crow, and he can’t deny it. It’s just us, windows down, stereo cranked, the road curling in front of us like a tongue.

I would kick this bad world's ass if I could just get on my feet

With an iron-clad fist, I wake up and French-kiss the morning.

Keep the faith

It's a bitch and life's a rollercoaster ride. The ups and downs will make you scream sometimes. It's hard believing that the thrill is gone, But we gotta go around again, so let's hold on. - Lie to Me

You better stand tall when they're calling you out, don't bend, don't break, and don't back down!

Toby Keith writes songs like 1993's "Should've Been a Cowboy," and what's compelling is that you can't deconstruct its message. "Should've Been a Cowboy" is not like Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive," where Jon Bon Jovi claimed to live like a cowboy; Toby Keith wants to be a cowboy for real.

This time we weren’t disturbed either by traveling through time or a cheeky gargoyle demon. While “Hallelujah” was running, the kiss was gentle and careful, but then Gideon buried both hands in my hair and held me very close. It wasn’t a gentle kiss anymore, and my reaction surprised me. I suddenly felt very soft and lightweight, and my arms went around Gideon’s neck of their own accord. I had no idea how, but at some point in the next few minutes, still kissing without a break, we landed on the green sofa, and we went on kissing there until Gideon abruptly sat up and looked at his watch. “Like I said, it really is a shame I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore,” he remarked rather breathlessly. The pupils of his eyes looked huge, and his cheeks were definitely flushed. I wondered what I looked like myself. As I’d temporarily mutated into some kind of human blancmange, there was no way I could get out of my half-lying position. And I realized, with horror, that I had no idea how much time had passed since Bon Jovi stopped singing “Hallelujah.” Ten minutes? Half an hour? Anything was possible. Gideon looked at me, and I thought I saw something like bewilderment in his eyes. “We’d better collect our things,” he said at last. “And you need to do something about your hair—it looks as if some idiot has been digging both hands into it and dragging you down on a sofa. Whoever’s back there waiting for us will put two and two together—oh, my God, don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “As if you couldn’t move.” “But I can’t,” I said, perfectly seriously. “I’m a blancmange. You’ve turned me into blancmange.” A brief smile brightened Gideon’s face, and then he jumped up and began stowing my school things in my bag. “Come along, little blancmange. Stand up.

I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back I play for keeps, 'cause I might not make it back; I been everywhere, and I'm standing tall I've seen a million faces an I've rocked them all.

Holy Bon Jovi, the queen of darkness actually had a soul.

Map out your future - but do it in pencil. The road ahead is as long as you make it. Make it worth the trip.

When Bon Jovi goes out on tour again, that's who I'm going to go see because some of it survives... while the rest becomes compost in the garden of rock 'n' roll.

It wasn’t fair that Jovis should have the love and adoration of the Empire’s people, and I had to fight for even a modicum of respect.

Keep the faith." -- Jon Bon Jovi

He’s got some obsession with feathers. Sings lots of Bon Jovi too.

Bon Jovi is most definitely the key to how I am able to write so much in a day

You promised me Heaven... And put me through Hell!

Jon Bon Jovi went into his own archives and got out the actual outfit he had worn twenty years before during the Slippery When Wet Tour. It still fit. Jon Bon keeps it tight.

No Bon Jovi. No Journey.

I’d told Emahla once that I would fight a thousand armies just to be at her side. She’d laughed and had kissed my cheek. “Jovis, you’re not a fighter.” “I would be for you.

Van Halen, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, and Pink Floyd.

When I was twenty-five, “Bad Name” was the shit. We were in the mall. We had that hair and those clothes. It was real. That was us, then. But I couldn’t do that today. I don’t think we could sit down to write “You Give Love A Bad Name” again. It would be crafting and it wouldn’t resonate.

I started a band because I actually thought I could be Bon Jovi, and now here I am, sitting in a puddle of sludge in an abandoned car park with a bloody nose and soggy underpants, covered in sick.

Nothing is as important as passion. No matter what you want to do with your life, be passionate.

RICHIE: Part of what I do and what I’ve always done, consciously, is really try to bring a good feeling to the organization. I’m not a guy who is shy about saying, “Hey, I love you,” and giving you a hug. If

JON: Lost Highway was an introspective record because we took a look at ourselves and left ourselves open to scrutiny by sharing those situations and feelings beyond the four of us. It was a great growth record. We were in a place where we had something to write about and turn our lives into big, broad subject matter.

The poor fugitive had exchanged his reindeer-skin garments for a full suit of black, left at the Spladgest by a famous Throndhjem grammarian, who drowned himself in despair because he could not find out why "Jupiter" changed to " Jovis" in the genitive. His wooden shoes gave place to a stout pair of postilion boots, whose owner had been killed by his horses, in which his slender shanks had so much spare room that he could not have walked without the aid of half a truss of hay. The huge wig of an elegant young Frenchman, slain by thieves just outside the city gates, concealed his bald pate and floated over his sharp, crooked shoulders.

RICHIE: When it comes down to Jon and I writing a song, it’s pure. We’re not thinking about business. We’ve written specific songs earlier in our careers saying, “This is going to work in an arena” or “This will work in a stadium.” They were specifically made to get the crowd ready, get everybody’s dander up, and deliver the knockout punch.

RICHIE: My journey has been steadfast: to be Jon’s right-hand man. First and foremost, I try to always be there for him, as a friend, on a musical level, and from a business standpoint where he can use me as a mirror for himself. We’ve always looked to Frank and Dean. Frank was the Chairman and Dean was the right-hand man. That’s the way it was. It was a dynamic duo.

One of my favorite “deep thoughts” on the topic occurred when one of my other bands, Loaded, was opening for Alice Cooper a number of years back. After one particularly successful show, we got to talking about Bon Jovi. In the song “Wanted Dead Or Alive,” the claim is made that “I’ve seen a million faces, and I’ve rocked them all.” All? Let’s ponder. I have no doubt that Bon Jovi had played to a million people by the time “Dead or Alive” was released on Slippery When Wet in 1986. But did they rock them all? Couldn’t it be that some dudes brought their girlfriends to the show and weren’t necessarily into their music? What about some parents? Or maybe some people just didn’t get rocked? Hey, it’s happened to me. I’ve gone to gigs properly prepared to get rocked and it just didn’t happen.

Your character and soul, intelligence and creativity, love and experiences, goodness and talents, your bright and lovely self are entwined with your body, and she has delivered the whole of you to this very day. What a partner! She has been a home for your smartest ideas, your triumphant spirit, your best jokes. You haven’t gotten anywhere you’ve ever gone without her. She has served you well. Your body walked with you all the way through childhood—climbed the trees and rode the bikes and danced the ballet steps and walked you into the first day of high school. How else would you have learned to love the smell of brownies, toasted bagels, onions and garlic sizzling in olive oil? Your body perfectly delivered the sounds of Stevie Wonder, Whitney Houston, and Bon Jovi right into your memories. She gave you your first kiss, which you felt on your lips and in your stomach, a coordinated body venture. She drove you to college and hiked the Grand Canyon. She might have carried your backpack through Europe and fed you croissants. She watched Steel Magnolias and knew right when to let the tears fall. Maybe your body walked you down the aisle and kissed your person and made promises and threw flowers. Your body carried you into your first big interview and nailed it—calmed you down, smiled charmingly, delivered the right words. Sex? That is some of your body’s best work. Your body might have incubated, nourished, and delivered a whole new human life, maybe even two or three. She is how you cherish the smell of those babies, the feel of their cheeks, the sound of them calling your name. How else are you going to taste deep-dish pizza and French onion soup? You have your body to thank for every good thing you have ever experienced. She has been so good to you. And to others. Your body delivered you to people who needed you the exact moment you showed up. She kissed away little tears and patched up skinned knees. She holds hands that need holding and hugs necks that need hugging. Your body nurtures minds and souls with her presence. With her lovely eyes, she looks deliberately at people who so deeply need to be seen. She nourishes folks with food, stirring and dicing and roasting and baking. Your body has sat quietly with sad, sick, and suffering friends. She has also wrapped gifts and sent cards and sung celebration songs to cheer people on. Her face has been a comfort. Her hands will be remembered fondly—how they looked, how they loved. Her specific smell will still be remembered in seventy years. Her voice is the sound of home. You may hate her, but no one else does.

The wise man sees the fool & laughs & the fool never knows why

The wise man sees the fool & laughs, yet the fool never knows why

The wise man see's the fool & laughs, yet the fool never know why.

Time ain’t nothing, but time. It’s a verse with no rhyme, And it all come down to you.(«El tiempo solo es tiempo. Es un verso sin rima, y todo depende de ti. » Bon Jovi238 Zafiro

Map out your future, but do it in pencil.” Jon Bon Jovi

JON: From a songwriting point of view, we grew up after the New Jersey album. By then, I had a hell of a lot more to say and we were more mature.

The pinups of guys like Sting or Jon Bon Jovi, shirtless and in tight leather pants, were much more appealing and provocative. It seemed that the less I saw, the more I liked. And that trend had continued for the next fifteen years or so.

Gabriele D'Annunzio (1863-1938) was one of the key figures of decadentism. This turn-of-the-century trend was an outgrowth of romanticism and carried certain features to and past their breaking point. However, the word "decadent" can be used in two ways. One the one hand, it is a fairly neutral term referring to a certain postromantic trend in the arts running parallel and partly covering styles ranging from Pre-Raphaelitism to symbolism, expressionism, surrealism, and so on, and including artists such as Charles Baudelaire, Jovis Huysmans, Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, and Stéphane Mallarmé in France, Oscar Wilde and William butler Yeats in Britain, Gerhard Hauptmann and Stefan George in Germany, and D'Annunzio and Luigi Pirandello in Italy. Sometimes the term has been extended to included even Proust, Mann and James Joyce. On the other hand, the word "decadence" has pejorative connotations. Thus works considered decadent can only too easily be considered to actually promote the excesses they depict in such loving detail. And true enough, at its most excessive , decadentism could lead to indulgence in shameless subjectivity and sensuality, a wallowing in the forbidden and the perverse, morbid interest in sickness and death, a flaunting of moral and social values, fierce antireligiousness and arrogant faith in the rights and possibilities of men supoosedly elect because of racial or cultural superiority and threatened only by undecipherable and pernicious women. In any case, decadence in the arts obviously cannot be separated from its social context: bourgeois society heading toward a crisis at the turn of the century.

Your skin is screaming for attention like a middle-aged woman in the front row at a Bon Jovi concert.

JON: With the New Jersey record, I refused to have anyone think all this was luck. We wanted to show that with the first two records there was something there, and even though the third one did pay off—big time—I was going to keep fighting to make sure you knew I could do this again and again and again. We weren’t going to be a one-hit wonder. There

RICHIE: Management came to us and said, “Do you wanna do another seventy shows?” And we went, “We gotta stop, man.” That decision was a crucial point in the band’s career. We were just a mess—emotionally, physically. Life had changed drastically from three years prior. And in that three years’ window, we were in the cocoon of a tour. Trying to fit back into life after that was the tricky part, I think. Everybody was going through growing pains. JON:

JON: To tell you the honest-to-God truth, if we had had everybody patting us on the back for the last twenty years I’d have gotten fat and old and lazy; it would had been a lot easier than keeping the chip on your shoulder and going, “Gotta fight, gotta fight.” But that’s sort of motivational. I find it to be the reason you wake up in the morning.

After our long trek on the Bon Jovi trail, making this book has taught me why this band is what it is. Why they have endured, why they are loved. It’s simple, really; they are a family.

When life is a bitter pill to swallow, you gotta to hold on to what you believe. Believe that the sun will shine tomorrow

When a shark offers up a pearl, be wary of its teeth. My father liked to tell me that when we were sailing, though I found this lesson most often applied on land." - Jovis - Andrea Stewart, The Bone Shard Daughter

Hillary mingled with old friends in Sag Harbor under a tent on the night of August 30: Calvin Klein, Harvey Weinstein, Jimmy Buffett, Jon Bon Jovi, and Sir Paul McCartney. Buffett and his wife, Jane, were the hosts of this extravaganza, which capped a multiday fund-raising blitz through the Hamptons. For a minimum of $100,000, VIPs were treated to dinner, “premium seating,” and the option to dance the night away with Hillary, Bill, and a few of their A-list pals. Hillary put on a brave face, reveled with her donors, and even joined in singing “Hey Jude.” But, below the surface, she was tense. Her closest aide’s personal life was blowing up in a fashion so spectacular that the campaign was at risk of becoming collateral damage.

HALF AN hour later, Richey James sits alone in the dressing room, smoking a cigarette and staring straight ahead. He’s not saying anything. Is it because he treasures his guitars, that he never smashes them? “No, I dislike my guitar intensely,” he sighs. “I can’t even be bothered to smash the fucking thing. It doesn’t deserve death...

Richey James, the band’s resident depressive and ropey rhythm guitarist, is less enthusiastic, despite appearing quite content. “I never find it exciting to go anywhere,” he shrugs. “You get much more true information from literature than from travelling. Like, if I want to know about France, I’ll buy the book.

Richey currently smokes 50 cigarettes a day, having started two weeks ago. “Whenever I do something, I like to do it a lot,” he explains back at the hotel. “When I was 13, I did a Shakespeare project that was 859 pages long. Everyone else just did six. I just had fuck all else to do but sit in and write...

He justifies the cigarette burns as, “my way of not screaming or shouting when things fuck up. It’s just discipline, and something to do. We never call each other cunts and wankers in this band. We just walk away.” “What I usually do,” pitches in Nicky, “is put all my clothes in the sink and wash ‘em. That’s the difference between him and me!

For this event, Richey insists on taking a suicidal Joy Division tape along as backing music. “Oh yeah!” mocks Nicky. “That’ll really get the tea party rockin’!

I had about 40 different nicknames, and I hated it, but I still thought I was better than the rest, because I was caring, sensitive and intelligent, and they weren’t!

Nicky: “19’ s probably your last good year. It’s all downhill from there...

I still like to think of Richey as being holed up in a Welsh valley somewhere, with a pile of books and a dog.

James turned the kitchen radio to a classic rock station as he started making the burger. Bon Jovi’s Livin’ On A Prayer played throughout the restaurant. “It’s our song, Vanessa!” Elijah exclaimed as he and Vanessa sang along to the chorus. When the song came to an end, a few of the customers clapped, zapping them out of the Bon Jovi daze. Vanessa took a bow, embracing the attention. Elijah shyly got back to work and brought a customer their meal.

I’d rather go out like the Bon Jovi song.” I looked at him questioningly then asked, “What? Livin’ on a Prayer?” “No, dumbass…Blaze of Glory.

I couldn’t help but peer around the corner to see the door of my room. Jovis was still there, Mephi next to him. He was showing the beast a deck of lacquered cards. Mephi reached out with a webbed claw and touched one. “This one.” Jovis sighed. “No, no, no—if you play a fish on a sea serpent, that means you lose that turn.” Mephi tilted his head and sat back on his haunches. “Feed the fish to the sea serpent. Make the sea serpent your friend.” “That’s not how this works.” “It worked on me.” “Are you a sea serpent?” Mephi clacked his teeth. “Your game makes no sense.” “You said you were bored and wanted to learn,” Jovis said. He started to tuck the cards back into his pocket. Mephi’s ears flattened against his skull. “Wait. Waaaaait.

Into the den of bears, then?” Jovis said. “Fetch your jacket and let’s make our way to the dining hall. You forget: I’ve lived in a den of my father’s constructs. Surely this can’t be worse.” It was worse.

Ah, Jovis. It’s good to see you again. It’s been too long,” the man sounded sincere; he always sounded sincere. He spread his arms wide. “You refuse my invitations, you never send letters, you rebuff my emissaries…I might think you were avoiding me.

This is me, walking away.” He slid past me, his body low to the ground, his ears flattened, jaw clenched. “Very funny. Jovis make big jokes when he can’t face big feelings.” Ouch. So maybe that was true. “Can’t you be small again and talk less?” I said. “You were very sweet back then.” He clacked his teeth together. “Even ossalen grow up.” “Grow up into what?” His ears flew forward, his eyes wide. He cocked his head at me. “Don’t know.” I ventured to scratch his cheeks, though he swerved away from me, still not ready to forgive. “The right thing to do is go dack— back.” He was speaking strangely. “Mephi,” I said, exasperated. “Not again. Not now.” I seized his big head in my hands. “Drop it before you choke.” He narrowed his brown eyes at me, but his jaw shifted and I saw a bulge in his cheek. “Drop. It.” He spat something onto the ground. “I found it. It’s mine now,” he said by way of explanation.

She was right to send me away, and the rain was just yet another signal that I, Jovis of Anau, was Emperor of Fools. It was a more fitting title for me than Captain of the Imperial Guard.

Jovis.” He swerved in front of me, his paws firmly planted. “You and Lin had a fight. You need to make things right because she needs you there. Everyone does. You can’t walk away.” There was something odd about his voice, like he was choking on something.

The days we’d spent swimming and fishing at the beach, the first time I’d kissed her, the dreams we’d shared – I was now the only keeper of these memories, and that was the truest sort of loneliness. There were so many things I still wanted to tell her, to share with her.

Dad went back to the front, taking Jovie with him, and Kye cornered me. Backing me up until my ass bumped into one of the workshop tables. “You have no sense of personal space, do you?” Not that I minded. Especially when he trapped me there, planting soft kisses against my throat and shoulder. “We could try for a workshop-table-baby.” His laughter rumbled in his chest, making my toes curl. “How about it?” It took an extreme amount of willpower to not let his kisses distract me. “First, we’re not trying for any kind of baby while Dad’s here.” He grunted, twisting the ends of my hair around his fingers. “We could come back after hours.” My brows hiked into my hairline. “Why would we come all the way back into town when we have a perfectly comfortable bed. And kitchen. And living room. And the armchair that we still have yet to christen.” We shared a wicked smirk before I gave him a quick, chaste kiss and whispered, “I don’t want a chisel poking my ass while you fuck me. Not sexy.” “Armchair baby it is,” he sighed, like he was accepting the next best option. “Should I at least buy you a drink first? Soften you up a bit?” “Hmmm,” I hummed, reaching up to tap his chin with my index finger. “Well, if you insist. How about hot cocoa?” He shook his head, laughter dancing in his eyes, and I had to keep myself from getting swept away by his gaze. “I know just the place.” Kye donned his coat and slid his hand into mine. We made our way to The Bowl, ordered our drinks, and met at the windows where, almost exactly one year ago, I’d dabbed whipped cream off his nose. I reached up now to do the same after he took his first sip, because he still didn’t have the skills to drink The Bowl’s monstrosity properly. “I’m starting to think you do it on purpose,” I accused, balling up the napkin. I’d never openly admit it was one of my favorite things. “Holly?” “Yes?” “Shut up and forking kiss me.” And I did. I forking kissed the big, Krampus-looking, kindhearted, funny, foul-mouthed, available all-months-of-the-year alien. It just happened to be another one of my favorite things.

February 2019 gave a Choice in my shoes I can dream of.

I winced at a sharp pain in my ribs. All my injuries began to throb at once, reminding me of their presence. Jovis reached out a hand. “Are you hurt?” He brushed a clod of dirt from my shoulder with soft hands, noting the torn cloth beneath, the dried blood. “Are you?” I reached hesitant fingers to the side of his head. We checked one another over without speaking, cataloging wounds that had already begun to heal. Only the sounds of our breathing, the brush of cloth filled the small space. “Lin,” he said. I froze, as surely as though the word was his hand entering my chest, and I a construct. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted more than anything to step into his embrace but I wasn’t sure where we stood. “I love you,” Jovis blurted out into the silence. “Please don’t execute me. Not even later. Ah shit. I’m no good at this. I mean— let me start over. I’ve made a mess of things. I don’t care what you are. Whatever your father did to make you. I care about who you are. And who you are is a person that I care about.” He pursed his lips, wrinkling up his nose. “I’m not sure if—does that make sense?” I laughed in spite of myself. “It makes sense, I promise.” I lifted a hand to his cheek, wondering at the way he leaned into my touch, the feel of his warmth beneath my face.

I played guitar when I was a kid. I wanted to be Richie Sambora.” “Who is Richie Sambora?” “Only one of the most prolific guitar players of his time.” He gives me a blank stare. “You know, the guitarist for Bon Jovi.

The black broken jeans, tell me the Law, Pippin.

you promised me heaven and put me trough hell.

Putting Jovis under Kaphra’s control had been a victory to him in more than one way. It subdued Jovis, but it also left Lin thinking he was dead.

The triumphant leader, whose face was coloured with vermilion (Serv., B, 10, 27), personified Jupiter, He wore the tunica Jovis (Juv., 10, 38) embroidered with palm leaves - under his purple toga scattered with golden stars (App., Pun., 66). in one hand he held a laurel branch, in the other an ivory staff crowned by an eagle. A laurel wreath was on his head; round his neck hung a gold ball enclosing talismans against envy (Macr., S, 1,6, 9). Behind him, a slave held the golden crown said to be of Etruscan origin (Tert., Cor., 13, 1) borrowed for the occasion from Jupiter. Four white horses were harnessed to his chariot, making it worthy 'of the king and father of the gods' (Plut., Cam., 7, 2).

When Bon Jovi wrapped his arms around me and smiled up into my face, my heart grew wings for the billionth time that day. He smelled like books and clean laundry. I loved him instantly, and I loved that he loved me.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

Miracles happen every day. Change your perception of what a miracle is and you'll see them all around you.

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The fixed and fluid reported liking classic rock in about equal numbers. While our 2017 survey did not include questions about which types of classic rock people like, the aforementioned Facebook study did find a few classic rock bands that Republicans and Democrats were equally likely to be fans of. They included Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Journey, AC/DC, and Metallica. We suspect that, if asked to clarify, the fluids likely would have identified boutique subgenres of classic rock, as opposed to usual guitar-riff fare.

put a hand to my mouth. “There are people in power who are corrupt? Shocking!” He gave me a sly look. “Oh, they’re all corrupt, Jovis. Each and every one of them. You don’t sit in a seat of power like that and never look the other way when it’s convenient. Me? I have the freedom to be openly so.

It’s like the radio is playing a sick joke on me. I never listen to this song. Ever. I have successfully avoided hearing it in nearly ten years, and now that Evie’s sitting here beside me as we drive to the place where we met and fell in love, our wedding song starts to play on the fucking radio. Well, fuck Bon Jovi and their fucking “Livin’ on a Prayer.” I reach over and change the music station just as Jon Bon Jovi launches into a full warble. And what do I get? Bruno Mars wailing “When I Was Your Man.” For fuck’s sake