Juno Quotes

Juno: "All roads lead there child. You should know that." Percy: "Detention?

He is the cheese to my macaroni.

In my opinon, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.

Hurt is a part of life. To be honest, I think hurt is a part of happiness, that our definition of happiness has gotten very narrow lately, very nervous, a little afraid of this brawling, fabulous, unpredictable world.

Just keep moving! we're almost there." "Almost where?" Juno chuckled. "All roads lead there child. You should know that." "Detention?" Percy asked. "Rome, child, the old woman said. "Rome.

Juno MacGuff: Nah... I mean, I'm already pregnant, so what other kind of shenanigans could I get into?

I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.

You said you didn't want to get involved with me,that one of us would get hurt and how you couldn't bear it. Well that just isn't good enough..Look what happens to people just living their lives. They get hurt, it's not fair they get hurt but they do, all the time, no matter how careful they are. Somebody can just just come along and hurt them, for no stupid reason..

Juno MacGuff: I don't know what kind of girl I am.

Gas Attendant: "Thata ain't no etch-a-sketch. Thats one doodle that can't be un-did home skillet.

Juno MacGuff: I was out handling things way beyond my maturity level.

Juno MacGuff: "Thanks a heap coyote ugly. This cactus-gram stings worse than your abandonment.

Beauty: it curves, curves are beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires.

Shoulda gone to China. They give away babies like free iPods. They put them in guns and shoot them out at sporting events.

Juno MacGuff: Wise move. I know this girl who had a huge crazy freakout because she took too many behavioral meds at once. She took off all her clothes and jumped into the fountain at Ridgedale Mall and she was like, "Blaaaaah! I'm a kraken from the sea!" Su-Chin: That was you.

Juno: WOOOAH! ....Dreeeaaam BIG!

Juno MacGuff: [yelling through the house] Dad? Mac MacGuff: What? Juno MacGuff: Either I just peed my pants or um... Mac MacGuff: *Or*...? Juno MacGuff: THUNDERCATS ARE GO!

Juno MacGuff: You can never have too many of your favorite one calorie breath mints.

Juno: "The heroes of olympus must unite! After your victory over kronos in manhattan...well I fear that wounded jupiter's self-esteem." Percy: Cause I was right and he was wrong" Juno: "He should be used to that after being married to me so long, but alas.

Bren MacGuff: Well, honey, doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream...

Good night, Jessica Marie and Juno Merriam. Good night, River Nicolas.

Jeez banana! Shut your freaking gob!

In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.

My heroes, our time together is short,” Juno said. “I am grateful that you called upon me. I have spent weeks in a state of pain and confusion...my Greek and Roman natures warring against each other. Worse, I’ve been forced to hide from Jupiter, who searches for me in his misguided wrath, believing that I caused this war with Gaea.” “Gee,” Annabeth said, “why would he think that?

Juno: Honest to blog?

Love, I thought to myself abstractedly. Not 'This is love' or 'Is this love?' Not a sentence, not a certainty, not a thought with moving parts or direction. Just love, all of it, as it is. Whether it's enough or not. Wthether it's real or we're making it up. However shoddy it gets, or bent out of shape. It's still extraordinary. However foolish, however vain. However badly it ends. Love.

I dare to dream of a world where people can dress, speak and behave how they want, free from mockery, derision, judgement, harassment and danger. This is what I want. Who’s with me?

For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of Venus, the figure of Juno, the brains of Minerva, the memory of Macaulay, the chastity of Diana, the grace of Terpsichore, but, above and beyond all, the hide of a rhinoceros.

How stylishly broken we all are.

But if my forces are not enough, I am hardly the one to relent, I’ll plead for the help I need, wherever it may be - if I cannot sway the heavens, I’ll wake the powers of hell!

I buried myself in the woods today. Covered myself in flowers and pretended to be dead." She raised her pen for a moment and thought, then went back to writing in cursive that could rival Sister's. "You should always wait for late spring to die, Juno," she says then. "The flowers are better".

It’s a life skill, finding the sweet spot between solitude and loneliness.

Mum, you're freaking me out. You're not a witch. You shop at Next.

the patriarchy, above all else, fears women coming together, so internal female division only succeeds in greasing that machine.

Because I know you, Percy Jackson. In many ways, you are impulsive, but when it comes to your friends, you are as constant as a compass needle. You are unswervingly loyal, and you inspire loyalty. You are the glue that will unite the seven.” “Great,” Percy said. “I always wanted to be glue.” Juno laced her crooked fingers.

I shuffle through the pile of rings. “We have Jupiter, Venus, Neptune, Bacchus, Juno, Mercury, Diana, Ceres … and we have a Minerva right here.” I frown and rummage around. “Hmm. Odd. I can’t find a Pluto.” I look up at him. His eyes are different. Dead. Quiet. “Oh, there’s one.

This is a tale of arms and of a man. Fated to be an exile, he was the first to sail from the land of Troy and reach Italy, at its Lavinian shore. He met many tribulations on his way both by land on on the ocean; high Heaven willed it, for Juno was ruthless and could not forget her anger.

Both history and the past are fiction. Only the present is real.

You've got a choice. Peace or war? Life or death? Harmony or hate? I've never understood why that even needs discussion, it's so flippin' obvious!

A woman has her Juno, just as a man has his Genius; they are names for the sacred power, the divine spark we each of us have in us. My Juno can't "get into" me, it is already my deepest self. The poet was speaking of Juno as if it were a person, a woman, with likes and dislikes: a jealous woman. The world is sacred, of course, it is full of gods, numina, great powers and presences. We give some of them names--Mars of the fields and the war, Vesta the fire, Ceres the grain, Mother Tellus the earth, the Penates of the storehouse. The rivers, the springs. And in the storm cloud and the light is the great power called the father god. But they aren't people. They don't love and hate, they aren't for or against. They accept the worship due them, which augments their power, through which we live.

Look, in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.

The novel cannot submit to authority.

If we are not here for love, what are we here for?

A beginning often signals an end. That's the thing with dawn... you must first get through the night.

I'm dead inside so my eyes remain dry

I never realize how much I like being home unless I've been somewhere really different for a while.

Remember this, whoever you are, however you are, you are equally valid, equally justified and equally beautiful.

I was no longer in the mood for hamburger phones and a whacked out girl named Juno.

Jupiter's welcome to more from his Juno if he can get it

We need to make him watch the ‘Juno’ positions clips and figure out which ones he likes.” Grant drops to the floor and thrusts into the rug. “Have you ever tried this one, Hud?

Arma virumque cano........." *Literally: "I sing of arms and man". __I sing the praises of a man's struggles__” Translation of the opening verses of the first book of Virgil´s Aeneid, by John Dryden( XVII century) "Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc\'d by fate, And haughty Juno\'s unrelenting hate, Expell\'d and exil\'d, left the Trojan shore. Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore, And in the doubtful war, before he won The Latian realm, and built the destin\'d town; His banish\'d gods restor\'d to rites divine, And settled sure succession in his line, From whence the race of Alban fathers come, And the long glories of majestic Rome".

Reasons aren't really things that make you do other things. Reasons are things that you make up, much later, to reassure everyone that we are all logical and that the world makes sense. We do unreasonable things, because we want to, at the time. No reason. Much later we sit in the wreckage, building reasons out of little bits of wreckage, so we'll have something to show the crash investigators. Look, this is what caused it. So the whole mess at least appears reasonable. So we can convince ourselves that at least there was a reason for the disaster, something we can prevent or avoid, so it'll never happen again. But a lot of the time there's no reason. We just flew it to the ground. Because we felt like it. And we're still dangerous. And it could happen again anytime. Its easier to live with each other afterwards if we give each other reasons.

But there were also times when she cried out in the darkness biting her lips - cried out against the substance of her age: for it was now that she should be young; now above all other times, with the wisdom in her, the wisdom that was frittered away in her 'teens', set aside in her twenties, now, lying there, palpable and with forty summers gone. She clenched her hands together. What good was wisdom; what good was anything when the fawn is fled from the grove?

There's really nothing to prepare a person for having their hand taken in just the right way.

When you think of grandmothers, you imagine cuddly old ladies with mohair cardigans, tissues up their sleeves and an endless supply of Werther’s Originals.

I sometimes wonder if people are so wary of transgender progress because we highlight how something we often consider carved in stone can be so easily manipulated.

Where we’re from, both the location and the environment we’ve stewed in, has a massive impact on the adults we become.

You are never too young to learn that the whole world is largely run and designed for straight, white, cis men, or 'the patriarchy'.

Think we were both starting fires to see if any of them burned.

We don't really see much of London; we're too busy watching Londoners. And that's when I get it. All these people. We aren't broken. We're just alive.

I can't start the day without a cup of tea from my favourite mug, can you? I like Yorkshire Tea the best. What about you?

That's the thing with kids, isn't it? You're never quite sure what you're going to get. If you don't want an LGBTQ+ child, use a condom!

I don’t think I like how you control me at times.' Her smile grew and after grabbing my hand, she pulled me toward the water. 'I could say the same thing about you when we’re fucking, but I’d be lying.

Wherever there are people in trouble, wherever there's danger. Wherever there's cruelty or intolerance. Wherever there are mad kings and wicked tyrants, the Doctor and her friends will be there to help those who need her the most.

Straightway [Juno] sought the filthy slimy shack Where Envy dwelt deep in a dreary dale, A gruesome sunless hovel, filled with frost, Heart-numbing frost, its stagnant air unstirred By any breeze, for ever lacking warmth Of cheerful fire, for ever wrapped in gloom. ... The door flew wide and there She saw foul Envy eating viper's flesh, Fit food for spite, and turned her eyes away. ... [Envy's] cheeks are sallow, her whole body shrunk, Her eyes askew and squinting; black decay Befouls her teeth, her bosom's green with bile, And venom coats her tongue. She never smiles Save when she relishes the sight of woe; Sleep never soothes her, night by night awake With worry, as she sees against her will Successes won and sickens at the sight. She wounds, is wounded, she herself her own torture,

Leonie was on a roll now. ‘From the second we’re born we’re made to feel insecure about our bodies, our choices, our lives. Then we hit puberty and all of a sudden we have to be both sexual and chaste at the same time, while our bodies are going fucking mental. We start leaking, for fuck’s sake. Then, after we’re covertly trained to conceal our excellence at school, we get to go work for men who don’t understand literally any of those dilemmas, and think they’re innately more skilled than us. They want you to be like men, but also not like men. It’s a fucking trap. We’re fucked as soon as the doctor says hun, it’s a girl.

This ain't a Cinderella story. Never was. It's Little Red Riding Hood. A lot of Little Red Riding Hoods, and a lot of Big Bad Wolves.

Maybe that’s when you become a grown-up - when you stop feeling safe.

-Is anyone "blissfully happy" past the age of about ten? -Yes. Plenty of people. All the time, in fact.

What is forgotten will be remembered.

Both history and future are fictions. Only the present is real.

The design is mine. The daring, yours.

To be fair, Hazel forged her body daily at the gym and Juno was deathly allergic to anything that elevated her heart rate.

Not too close,” someone tells Juno. “She’s his cousin.

together. The gods blame Hera—or Juno, if you prefer! The

My desk was a present from Margaret Atwood. After Zen and the Art of Uterus Maintenance sold its first million, she said I needed a place to write, other than the local bus-shelter.

Behold Lucius I am come, thy weeping and prayers hath mooved mee to succour thee. I am she that is the naturall mother of all things, mistresse and governesse of all the Elements, the initiall progeny of worlds, chiefe of powers divine, Queene of heaven! the principall of the Gods celestiall, the light of the goddesses: at my will the planets of the ayre, the wholesome winds of the Seas, and the silences of hell be diposed; my name, my divinity is adored throughout all the world in divers manners, in variable customes and in many names, for the Phrygians call me the mother of the Gods: the Athenians, Minerva: the Cyprians, Venus: the Candians, Diana: the Sicilians Proserpina: the Eleusians, Ceres: some Juno, other Bellona, other Hecate: and principally the Aethiopians which dwell in the Orient, and the Aegyptians which are excellent in all kind of ancient doctrine, and by their proper ceremonies accustome to worship mee, doe call mee Queene Isis. Behold I am come to take pitty of thy fortune and tribulation, behold I am present to favour and ayd thee, leave off thy weeping and lamentation, put away all thy sorrow, for behold the healthfull day which is ordained by my providence, therefore be ready to attend to my commandement. This day which shall come after this night, is dedicated to my service, by an eternall religion, my Priests and Ministers doe accustome after the tempests of the Sea, be ceased, to offer in my name a new ship as a first fruit of my Navigation.

I lean back into Noah, the air hitting my bare stomach as I arch my back a little. “Not too close,” someone tells Juno. “She’s his cousin.” Noah snorts, his chest shaking against my back.

The influence of Greek art and literature became so powerful in Rome that ancient Roman deities were changed to resemble the corresponding Greek gods, and were considered to be the same. Most of them, however, in Rome had Roman names. These were Jupiter (Zeus), Juno (Hera), Neptune (Poseidon), Vesta (Hestia), Mars (Ares), Minerva (Athena), Venus (Aphrodite), Mercury (Hermes), Diana (Artemis), Vulcan or Mulciber (Hephaestus), Ceres (Demeter).

I will always come for you, Leaf. Cry out in pain, and I'll be there. Call my name, and I will raze entire cities to get to you. It will always be this way until desert sand fills my throat and I take my final choked breath.

Ironically, playing a pregnant teenager was one of the first times I felt a modicum of autonomy on set. I was wearing a fake belly but not being hyperfeminized. For me, Juno was emblematic of what could be possible, a space beyond the binary.

There is no progressive version of criminalisation. Abuses such as racist policing, corruption, and sexual assault are fundamentally bound up with the vulnerability of the sex worker who, when defined as criminal, has little recourse to justice or protection.

I’ve NEVER been the cool guy. I guess it skips a generation? Because my daughters, Sami and Juno, are really cool. My wife, Melissa, was always a popular kid too. It’s weird to live in a home surrounded by the cool kids. I live in fear of walking into the living room, seeing them all talking and immediately stopping when they notice that I’m there. I ask them, “What’s going on?” My two-year-old, Juno, responds, “Nothing.” Then they all turn to each other, laugh conspiratorially, and walk out of the room together while looking back at me like, “Dork!

And a thought spoke quietly from under that thought, there is no God. God is a pattern we impose on chaos. Just like beauty. Saying, there, look at that one. God is not there. Nor beauty. He's over there, look. The red can cupping the sliver coin of light. God's beauty. In the desert of salt that we can't see at all, that surrounds us.

How many kittens did she have?” “Four, including Tod. We fed the kittens this special formula from the vet, since Juno didn’t have enough milk.” I sat beside Bailey on the rug, wishing I could trade places with my cat. “Tod almost died, so my sister named him after a grim reaper from one of her favorite books. I think she thought it would protect him.

When I visit schools, most now have at least one “gay couple” and, importantly, the rest of the school doesn’t seem to give a flying fig.

You can do almost anything in prison, but you can't leave and you can never dance.

I think I’ve known hunger, just not the type he worried about.

The difference between hate and love can rise and fall on a breath, a single heartbeat in time, the slightest shift of light and shade. People will do anything to control what they most fear.

You've taught me that caring for someone is worth the pain and risk of possibly losing them. And that to love someone isn't a weakness but an act of bravery, for which the rewards are endless.

I much prefer the old-fashioned comparisons of the Double Liegeois, which inform you simply: the Sun is a pumpkin, two feet in diameter, Jupiter an orange, Saturn a love-apple, Neptune a black cherry, Uranus a smaller cherry, the Earth a bean, Venus a pea, Mars a large pin's head, Mercury a mustard seed, and Juno, Ceres, Vesta, and Pallas mere grains of sand. One can understand that sort of thing.

We fight on. We, as LGBTQ+ authors, know how important it is to see ourselves in stories. If we live in stories, it means we live in the real world too. We are claiming our space, claiming our oxygen. Since the dawn of time, we have been told in a litany of ways that we are 'less-than,' 'out of the ordinary,''abnormal,' 'subnormal,' or plain 'different'. We are none of those things. We are gloriously ourselves.

If you find someone who'll hold you when you're at your worst, who'll make you laugh so hard that your tears of pain turn to joy, then they're your family. They're the ones you should love with all your might until your last breath.

I open the bag and dump out its contents. A score of golden sigil rings roll across the table. Lucian watches them roll. “These all come from the dead kids. The kids the medBots couldn’t save. Let’s see.” I shuffle through the pile of rings. “We have Jupiter, Venus, Neptune, Bacchus, Juno, Mercury, Diana, Ceres … and we have a Minerva right here.” I frown and rummage around. “Hmm. Odd. I can’t find a Pluto.” I look up at him. His eyes are different. Dead. Quiet. “Oh, there’s one.

One cannot be given too many or too frequent warnings against this negligent or even base way of thinking, that seeks out the principle among empirical motivations and laws, since human reason in its weariness gladly reposes on this pillow and, in the dream of sweet illusions (which lets it embrace a cloud instead of Juno), supplants the place of morality with a bastard patched together from limbs of quite diverse ancestry, which looks similar to whatever anyone wants to see, but not to virtue, for him who has once beheld it in its true shape.

Is this dying? he asked himself, and knew that it was. But I don't want to die this way! Not spewing and airless, soiled and incapable of disciplining my unruly body to get the business over and done with in admirable control and a decent meed of Roman dignity. I was the uncrowned King of Rome. I was crowned with the grass of Nola. I was the greatest man between the Rivers of Ocean and Indus. Let my dying be worthy of all these things! Let it not be a nightmare of blood, speechlessness, fear! He thought of Julilla, who had died alone in a welter of blood. And of Nicopolis, who had died with less blood but more agony. And of Clitumna, who had died with broken neck and broken bones. Metellus Numidicus, scarlet in the face and choking-I did not know how awful that is! Dalmatica, crying out his name in Juno Sospita. His son, the light of his life, Julilla's boy who had meant more to him than anyone else ever, ever, ever... He too had died an airless death. I am afraid. So afraid! I never thought I would be. It is inevitable, it cannot be avoided, it is over soon enough, and I will never see or hear or feel or think again. I will be no one. Nothing. There is no pain in that fate. It is the fate of a dreamless ignorance. It is eternal sleep. I, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, who was the uncrowned King of Rome yet crowned with the grass of Nola, will cease to be except in the minds of men. For that is the only immortality, to be remembered in the world of the living.

But in a horse-chariot they brought [38] me to the sands of Aulis, a bride, alas! unhappy bride to the son of Nereus' daughter, alas! And now a stranger I dwell in an unpleasant home on the inhospitable sea, unwedded, childless, without city, without a friend, not chanting Juno in Argos, nor in the sweetly humming loom adorning with the shuttle the image of Athenian Pallas [39] and of the Titans, but imbruing altars with the shed blood of strangers, a pest unsuited to the harp, [of strangers] sighing forth [40] a piteous cry, and shedding a piteous tear. And now indeed forgetfulness of these matters [comes upon] me, but now I mourn my brother dead in Argos, whom I left yet an infant at the breast, yet young, yet a germ in his mother's arms and on her bosom, Orestes [the future] holder of the sceptre in Argos.

Anti-prostitution feminism is a place where men can participate in flinging slurs like "holes," "whores," "orifices," and "cum dumpsters" at sex workers– and call it feminist analysis. It's a place where men who consider themselves feminist-aligned can patronize and dismiss prostitute women, as men have done for centuries. It's a place where a police officer can rifle through the bathroom bin at a sex worker's flat, retrieve blood-soaked tampons, publish photographs of them in his memoir (with a touching dedication to sex workers he has met in his work: 'this is my attempt to describe your reality'), and still be treated like a feminist activist. As sex worker Charlotte Shane observes, anti-prostitution feminism makes it progressive for men to dwell incessantly on violent, coercive sex and abject bodies while at the same time enjoying praise and even Pulitzer Prizes.

Fr. Joseph is member of the missionary religious community located in the Diocese of Marquette, MI that enjoys the ecclesiastical approval of his local bishop and the added endorsements of two bishops of the Detroit Diocese. As an international association that promotes the Church’s mystical tradition, the missionary community provides solo-wilderness retreats at the CCL (Companions of Christ the Lamb) spiritual center that spans well over 1,000 acres of verdure in the village of Paradise, MI. Those interested in making solo-wilderness retreats to deepen their union with God’s Divine Will may contact Fr. Joseph at soulofjesus@juno.com.  Fr. Joseph is presently completing a dissertation on the writings and doctrines of the Servant of God Luisa Piccarreta at the Pontifical University of Rome. He is the author of five books on mystical and dogmatic theology, the initiator of international Divine Will communities and instructor on the proper theological presentation of the mystical gift of Living in God’s Divine Will. 

Prostitution arrests are racist. They have always been racist. In 1866, San Francisco police arrested 137 women, 'virtually all Chinese'; the police boasted that they had 'expelled three hundred Chinese women.' In the 1970s, the American Civil Liberties Union found that black women were seven times more likely to be arrested for prostitution-related offenses than white women. This disparity is no relic of the past: between 2012 and 2015, 85 percent of people charged with 'loitering for the purpose of prostitution' in New York City were Black or Latinx- groups that only make up 54 percent of the city's population. Increases in prostitution enforcement mean increases in the arrests of women of color. Between 2012 and 2016, the New York Police Department stepped up enforcement mean increases in the arrest of women of color. Between 2012 and 2016, the New York Police Department stepped up enforcement targeting massage parlors. As journalist Melissa Gira Grant details, during this period the arrests of Asian people in New York charged either with 'unlicensed massage' or prostitution went up by 2,700 percent. Arrests on the street target Black and Latina women - who may not even be selling sex - simply for wearing 'tight jeans' or a crop top. The NYPD do not arrest white women in affluent areas of the city for wearing jeans.