Juliet Impulsive Quotes

Winter Liar" by Liam Doyle the Incubus What come once here will never come again, no matter monument nor memory; all sunwarmed green succumbs to winter's wind. And you, my love, were also my best friend, and had your life to live. The tragedy was not just my youth's recklessness, although I trusted much to impulse, whim, freedom, a destiny excluding doom. Frankly, youth can be our insanity. But now I'm cured of that fever, although the price was high; and chilly April wind can only sigh at my regrets, yet sun will brighten wind so, one knows that soon green stirs, and wild bees hum. And summer once more will make winter liar, but I won't warm. You're all I'll ever desire.

A specter haunts our culture — it is that people will eventually be unable to say, “They fell in love and married,” let alone understand the language of Romeo and Juliet, but will as a matter of course say, "Their libidinal impulses being reciprocal, they activated their individual erotic drives and integrated them within the same frame of reference.” ‘Now this is not the language of abstract thought or of any kind of thought. It is the language of non-thought. But it is the language which is developing from the peculiar status which we in our culture have given to abstract thought. There can be no doubt whatever that it constitutes a threat to the emotions and thus to life itself. ‘The specter of what this sort of language suggests has haunted us since the end of the eighteenth century. When he speaks of the mind being violated by an idea, Mr. Eliot, like the Romantics, is simply voicing his horror at the prospect of life being intellectualized out of all spontaneity and reality.

Oh, my," said Nerissa, when she could speak. Juliet, smiling, murmured, "Would you just look at her." "I don't think we can help but look at her," murmured an urbane voice, and gasping, all three women turned to see Lucien standing in the doorway, arms crossed and his black eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He lifted his hand.  "Turn around, my dear," he said, giving a negligent little wave.  Her eyes huge, Amy slowly did as he asked, staring down at herself in awe and disbelief.  The gown, an open-robed saque of watered silk, shimmered with every movement, a vibrant purplish-blue in this light, a vivid emerald-green in that.  Its robed bodice open to show a stomacher of bright yellow satin worked with turquoise and green embroidery, it had tight sleeves ending in treble flounces just behind the elbow, which, combined with the chemise's triple tiers of lace, made Amy feel as though she had wings.  She smoothed her palms over the flounced and scalloped petticoats of royal blue silk, and then, with impulsive delight, threw back her head on a little laugh, extended her arms and spun on her toe, making gauzy sleeves, shining hair, and yards upon yards of shimmering fabric float in the air around her. Hannah, who did not think such behavior was quite appropriate, especially in front of a duke, frowned, but Lucien was trying hard to contain his amusement.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd made anyone so happy, and it touched something deep inside him that he'd long thought dead.  He exchanged a look of furtive triumph with Nerissa. "Oh!  Is it really me?" Amy breathed, reverently touching her sleeve and then raising wide, suddenly misty eyes to her small audience. "It is really you," Juliet said, smiling. "Only someone with your coloring could wear such bold shades and make them work for instead of against you," said Nerissa, coming forward to tie a black ribbon around Amy's neck.  "Lud, if I tried to wear those colors, I daresay they would overwhelm me!" "Speaking of overwhelmed . . ."  Amy turned to face the man who still lounged negligently in the doorway, his fingers trying, quite unsuccessfully, to rub away the little smile that tugged at his mouth.  "Your Grace, I don't know how to thank you," she whispered, dabbing away one tear, then another.  "No one has ever done anything like this for me before and I . . . I feel like a princess." "My dear girl.  Don't you know?"  His smile deepened and she saw what was almost a cunning gleam come into his enigmatic black eyes.  "You are a princess.  Now dry those tears and if you must thank me, do so by enjoying yourself tonight." "I will, Your Grace." "Yes," he said, on a note of finality.  "You will." And

The Thieves of Time ASSET RISK DRIVE OVERDRIVE EXCELLENCE PERFECTIONISM INFORMATION OVERLOAD ACTIVITY FRENZY They appear in our lives like this: We mindlessly accept a meeting invite, because we are driven. We overtweak a presentation, because we want to be excellent. We go too deep into dashboards and data, because we want to be informed. We impulsively grab the next to-do on our list, because we feel we should always be active.

I believe in you, Gareth." He gave a pained smile and bent his head so that his forehead just rested against hers. "Believing in me could be dangerous." "Believing in you is all that Charlotte and I have." "And you and Charlotte are all that I have." She smiled. He grinned. "I guess we're in this together, then," she said. "Yes. And do you know something, Juliet? There is no one else I would rather have at my side." They moved closer, their clothes just touching, their body heat mingling. "You'll prove Lucien wrong, I know you will, Gareth. You'll prove all of them wrong." "I do not know if I'm worthy of such blind faith." "I think you are." "Do you?"  His brow was touching hers, and he was beaming now, obviously pleased and flattered. "I do."  She looked up at him through her lashes, enjoying this light, challenging banter even as a blush crept over her cheeks. "If I thought otherwise, I would have left you and gone back to America." "Juliet!"  He drew back, pretending to look genuinely horrified. "What if I fail you both?" "Whether you fail or succeed doesn't matter. It's the effort that counts — and as long as you make it, I shall always stand by you."  On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Gareth. Thank you for — well, for being a hero all over again." The

When Juliet — at your bidding, I might add — came to us last April, I saw a woman who was the complete opposite of Gareth.  I saw a woman who was steadfast where he was impulsive, who was practical where he was reckless, who was grieving where he was full of fun and laughter.  I also saw that she was greatly in need of a father for her little baby." Charles slowly turned his head, his expression going cold as he met Lucien's black stare.  "No.  Don't tell me that you're behind this, Lucien.  Don't tell me that you, with your infernal machinations and manipulations, engineered this damnable union." "I'm afraid that is precisely what I did.  You were dead, or so we thought.  Your charming fiancée needed not only a husband who could give your daughter her proper name, but someone to pull her out of her grief.  In Gareth, I saw a man who was capable of doing both.  She needed to laugh again, and he needed someone to teach him the meaning of responsibility.  The two of them, as I was quick to discern, brought out the best in each other.  Of course I —" he tapped a finger, once, against his pursed lips — "arranged things so that the two of them ended up together.  How could I not?" Very slowly, Charles put down his brandy.  "And just what was it you did?" "It is not important." "It is to me." "Very well, then."  Lucien affected a weary sigh.  "I told the girl that I could not make baby Charlotte my ward.  Her pride was most grievously injured, and so she left, just as I suspected she might do.  Meanwhile I allowed Gareth, who had pushed me beyond the limits of my patience with a certain act of public vandalism the night before, to think that I had banished her.  He was already half in love with her, and determined to do right by both the young lady and the child of the older brother that he had so loved.  He went after her, and had what he thought was his revenge on me and my apparent cruelty by marrying her — just as I suspected he might do.  It was all very neat and simple, really, and I am most pleased with the consequences of my . . . manipulations.  There is nothing that will make a fellow grow up faster than a little responsibility, and with a wife and baby to look after, I daresay Gareth had more than enough." Charles,

As she neared the bed Lord Gareth reached out, took her hand, and kissed it. "You're ... an angel," he said thickly, his fingers warmly enclosing her own. She smiled. "And you, Lord Gareth, are foxed." "Shamefully so. But useful, under the circumstances." "Are you in much pain?" He grinned, still holding her hand. "To be honest, Miss Paige, I cannot feel a thing." Behind her, Chilcot guffawed, but Juliet, entranced, never heard it. As Gareth gazed up at her through the loose hair that fell endearingly over his brow and tangled in his lashes, she saw, at last, that his eyes were a pale, sleepy blue. "I guess you were right," she said and, pulling her fingers from his grasp, reached over and brushed the strands of hair off his brow. Her hand was trembling. "You're not going to die after all." "Wouldn't dream of it. I rather like being a hero, you know. Think I'll stick around and rescue damsels in distress more often."  He looked up at her, those beautiful blue eyes of his warm, earnest, and reaching areas of her heart that she'd forgotten had existed. "Don't let Lucien scare you off, will you?" "I won't." He nodded once, satisfied, and let his eyes drift shut. "Thank you for coming to see me, Miss Paige." She swallowed, trying to find her voice. "And thank you, Lord Gareth, for what you did for us tonight."  And then, on a sudden impulse, she bent down and, through the loose strands of his hair, dropped a kiss on his brow. "We owe you our lives."   ~~~~

Despite his fatigue — and the concerns he'd shared with Juliet last night — he was in a good mood. And why not? Those three words she had spoken to him when he got home were still floating through his head like fairweather clouds across a summer sky. I love you. He smiled and gazed at her lying there under the blanket, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a Spanish fan. God, he loved her, too. He loved her lustrous hair and silky skin, her dark green eyes and pert little nose, even that soft, twangy accent that left everyone who heard it scratching their heads, wondering where she was from. He loved her slim, strong body, the fullness of her breasts, and the way her waist flared into curving, womanly hips ... hips that would, he hoped, bear many more children. She was a calming, practical influence on his reckless nature, the voice of reason where he was the soul of impulse. Oh, yes, he loved her. He loved her courage, her level-headedness, and her devotion. Most of all, he loved the fact that she now trusted him without question, supporting his decisions and standing by him when another woman might have demanded he bring her and her baby straight back to Blackheath and the all-powerful protection of its mighty duke. But

We mindlessly accept a meeting invite, because we are driven. We overtweak a presentation, because we want to be excellent. We go too deep into dashboards and data, because we want to be informed. We impulsively grab the next to-do on our list, because we feel we should always be active.

From Author's Note: "...quite a few queer tragedies have already been written, including ones based on 'Romeo and Juliet,' and i was hesitant to tread that particular ground. I wanted to bring something to the table that was a little more hopeful...I wanted to write 'Romeo and Juliet' as if it had been intended for a young audience. As if, instead of a dire lesson about two impulsive kids who had been failed by an older generation, it was a story of resilience. A story about found family and forged trust and earned, abiding love. A story about queer people snatching happiness from the jaws of a world that has been fashioned against them. A tale as old as time.