Lux Life Quotes

You’re such an ass. Has…anyone ever told you that?” He flashed a genuinely amused smile. “Oh, Kitten, every single day of my blessed life.

I promise you that this isn't going to be our future, Kitten. I will give that to you—a normal life." Her eyes glistened. "I don’t expect a normal life. I just expect a life with you

Daemon snatched the yellow packages from my hands. “Oh! Books! You have books!” I laughed as several people waiting in line looked over their shoulders. “Hand them over.” He clutched them to his chest, making moony eyes. “My life is now complete.” “My life would be complete if I could actually post a review on something other than the school library computers.” I did that about twice a week since my latest laptop went to the big computer heaven in the sky.

With my name on her lips and with barely anything separating us, I felt the last of my control slipping. Whitish-red light radiated off of me, bathing Kat in the warm glow. There was nowhere that my hands didn’t explore, and the way her body arched into the slightest touch, I was awed and consumed. Kissing her and drawing her deep inside me, I never wanted this to end. She was perfect to me. She was mine, and I wanted her more than I wanted anything in my life.

Daemon: We can go live in a damn cave. Look, I'm a selfish person. You know that. And I don't want you to go through that, so I'm willing to say screw it and we cut our losses. Katy: Really? What kind of life would that give us? Daemon: Don't bring logic into this conversation.

"...What about my life? My blog?" Okay, my blog was seriously the least of my worries, but dammit, it was important to me.

And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive—not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.

Katy I always had this plan for the off chance I was around for the end of the world. I’d climb up on my roof top, turn up the radio, blast R.E.M.’s It’s The End of The World, and watch it all go down from my lofty perch. Except real life rarely turned out that cool. And it was really happening—it was the end of the world as we knew it, and I sure as hell didn’t feel fine. Everything had changed and we had been the catalyst for it all.

Sporks are only used in the most dire situations.

La, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté Luxe, calme et volupté There, there is nothing else but grace and measure, Richness, quietness, and pleasure.

Because I know.” Daemon appeared in front of me, eyes narrowed. He thumped his hand off his chest, directly above his heart. "Because I know what I feel in here. And I'm not the type of person to run from anything, no matter how hard it is. I'd rather face-plant against a brick wall than live for the rest of my life wondering what could’ve been. And you know what? I don’t think you were the type to run either. Maybe I was wrong

I was having one of those days where I wanted to start throwing things because only breaking crap would make me feel better. My limit for acceptable weirdness in my daily life had been maxed out.

I think it's obvious if you're wanted here or not." "Daemon," hissed Dee, her cheeks red. She turned to me, tears in her eyes. "He's not being serious." "Are you being serious, Daemon?" Ash turned in his lap, head cocked to the side. My heart was already pounding in my chest when his eyes met mine. His were sheltered. "Actually I was being serious." He leaned over the table, staring up at me through thick lashes. "You're not wanted here." Dee spoke again, but I was beyond hearing. My face felt like it was on fire. People around us were starting to stare. One of the Thompson boys was smirking while the other looked as though he wanted to crawl underneath the table for me. The rest of the kids at the table were staring at their plates. One of them snickered. I'd never been more humiliated in my life.

There was plenty of life left and if he had to he would use it all to get her back. The time had passed for making promises to her-all that was left for him was to act.

All right ... anyone who gets into one of these cars outside is in it for the long haul … If you even think you’re not ready to put your life on the line for everyone here, then you stay behind. If you screw us out there, I will end you.” He flashed a rather charming smile. “And I will probably enjoy it.

For the eternity that Lux Lisbon looked at him, Trip Fontaine looked back, and the love he felt at that moment, truer than all subsequent loves because it never had to survive real life, still plagued him, even now in the desert, with his looks and health wasted. 'You never know what'll set the memory off,' he told us. 'A baby's face. A bell on a cat's collar. Anything.' They didn't exchange a single word. But in the weeks that followed, Trip spent his days wandering the halls, hoping for Lux to appear, the most naked person with clothes on he had ever seen.

I can't imagine what my life was before. I can't imagine ever being without you for very long again.

So this is how life was, she thought with a faint smile: It wore you down until you emerged at its wildest, most unexpected ends.

Her life, she realized, had all the charm of a steel trap.

Without even doing it, I’d turned into one of those girls whose life ceases to exist outside of her boyfriend. And I didn’t even have a boyfriend.

She was full of some strange energy that morning. Her every movement had purpose and life and she seemed to find satisfaction in every little thing.

Finish that sentence and I will stab you in the eye with the spork Bethany’s about to pull out of her bag for her apple sauce.” He smiled gamely. “And she’d be very upset if I got her spork all messed up. She’s rather fond of the thing.” ... "A spork,” Dee said, grabbing her bag. “What is a spork?” Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve never seen one?” “Dee doesn’t get out much,” Dawson replied, grinning. “Shut up.” Dee pulled out the fork and spoon in one and smiled. “I’ve never seen one of these! Ha. This is so handy.” She looked over at Daemon, eyes dancing. “We could get rid of over half of our silverware and get like ten of these and we’d be set for life.

Back in the day, I had this plan for the off chance that I was around for the whole end-of-the-world thing. It involved climbing up on my roof and blasting R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” as loud as humanly possible, but real life rarely turns out that cool.

I saw Kat before me, her pupils glowing. I turned slowly, finding a soldier on the ground, a PEP weapon by his lifeless hand. “I can help,” she said. You saved my life. I turned back to her. That is so hot.

Life was a short window and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop.

No poem ever bought a hamburger, or not too many.

I don’t expect a normal life. I just expect a life with you.

A lot of things should have been, Zigmund, but they aren’t. Are you going to be miserable about the things you cannot change, or do something about the things you can?

Dee and Adam were joined at the mouth when I sat down. I glanced at Carissa. She rolled her eyes, but I smiled. My sucky love life aside, I was still on Team Love Rocks.The only thing I honestly couldn’t deal with was my mom and Will making out, which I’d gotten an eyeful of yesterday before she left for work. Ew.“You going to eat that salad?” Dee asked.“It’s cute how you stopped kissing for food.” I laughed, pushing my tray toward her.“Hey, Adam.”His cheeks were flushed. “Hey, Katy.”“Sorry. I worked up an appetite.” Dee grinned.“And I lost mine,” Carissa muttered

But I wanted to tell you before I left how completely abjectly sorry I am for all the pain I have caused you and that if I die you were the one true love of my life. By the time you read this I will be gone but please know I am still always at your side....' Yours forever Henry William Schoonmaker

They were all dressed in their finest as though life really were some magical stage play in which every moment ought to be illuminated with its own bright spotlight.

Things weren't easy or perfect, and the future seemed shaky at times, but life wasn't wrapped up in neat little bows.

we’re all prisoners. Prisoners of expectations, prisoners of responsibility, prisoners of life.

I was terrified the whole time they had you and I didn’t know where you were. I was scared out of my mind that I would never see you again or get to hold you. And when I did see you? I was afraid I’d never hear you laugh again or see your beautiful smile. So, yeah, I lied. I was terrified. I’m still lying.” “Daemon..” “I’m scared shitless that I’ll never be able to make this up to you. That I’ll never be able to give you back your life –

A decision made during a moment of weakness can ruin your life.         To date, I had made three.

I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing bad happens. I will do anything to make sure we have the time for everything that we want, but I’m not stupid enough to disregard the fact that something may happen that I can’t control. And, dammit, I don’t want to look back and see that I didn’t seize the chance to make you mine, to really prove that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That I lost that opportunity.

I’m pretty sure I locked that door,” Daemon growled. Luc set the box of doughnuts down, and I eyed them like they held the answer to life. “And I’m pretty sure I let myself in. Hey, Katy!” I jumped at my name. “Hey, Luc..” “Look at what I got.” He dug into his bag and pulled out an extraterrestrial highway shirt. “We can be soul twins now.

but as far as his Icy was concerned he was just a man taking care who what he loved most. Priorities shifted so subtly it was hard to see sometimes, but when she’d come back into his life his priorities had taken a hard swerve in her favor, and he didn’t apologize for it.

You know, there are moments … people. There are people who change you. Who save you, really, from yourself, from a life that didn’t feel right, kind of like you’re wearing the wrong socks and just don’t realize it. These people make you question everything, thoughts and feelings and ask yourself; do I want more? Yes. I do. You made me want more.

Back in the day, I had this plan for the off chance that I was around for the whole end-of-the-world business. It involved climbing up on my roof and blasting R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine),” but real life never turns out that cool. It was happening—everything about the world as we knew it was ending, and it sure as hell did not feel fine. Opening my eyes, I inched back the flimsy white curtain. I peered outside, beyond the porch and the cleared yard, into the thick woods surrounding the cabin Luc had stashed in the forests of Coeur d’Alene, a city in Idaho I couldn’t even begin to pronounce or spell.

It’s not that I think you’re weaker, I know you are.” He eyed me over his glass of milk. “ I’m not trying to be obnoxious by saying that. You are weaker than us.” “Maybe physically but not mentally or .. morally.” I countered. “Morally?” He sounded confused. “Yeah, like, I’m not going to tell the world about you guys to get money. And if I was captured by an Arum, I wouldn’t bring them back to you all.” “Wouldn’t you?” Offended, I leaned back and folded my arms. “No. I wouldn’t” “Even if your life was threatened?” Disbelief colored his tone. “Shaking my head, I laughed. “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m a coward or unethical. I’d never do anything that would put Dee in danger. Why would my life be more valuable than hers? Now yours … debatable. But not Dee.

I know the consequences, Manon,” Ilyse conceded. “I know the fate you endured might one day be my own. But I refuse to be a prisoner for the rest of my life.

Daemon snatched the yellow packages from my hands. “Oh! Books! You have books!” I laughed as several people waiting in line looked over their shoulders. “Hand them over.” He clutched them to his chest, making moony eyes. “My life is now complete.

Fine!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Yes, you mean something to me. What you did for me on Thanksgiving—that made me…” My voice cracked. “That made me happy. You made me happy. And I still care about you. Okay? You mean something to me—something I can’t really even put into words because everything seems too lame in comparison. I’ve always wanted you, even when I hated you. I want you even though you drive me freaking insane. And I know I screwed everything up. Not just for you and me, but for Dee.” My breath caught on a sob. The words rushed from me, one after another. “And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive —not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.” Tears pricked my eyes as I stepped back. My chest was swelling so fast it hurt. “But none of this matters, because I know you really hate me now . I understand that. I just wish I could go back and change everything! I—” Daemon was suddenly in front of me, clasping my cheeks in his warm hands. “I never hated you.” I blinked back the wetness gathering in my eyes. “But—” “I don’t hate you now , Kat.” He stared intently into my eyes. “I’m mad at you—at myself. I’m so angry, I can taste it. I want to find Blake and rearrange parts of his body. But do you know w hat I thought about all day yesterday? All night? The one single thought I couldn’t escape, no matter how pissed off I am at you?” “No,” I whispered. “That I’m lucky, because the person I can’t get out of my head, the person who means more to me than I can stand, is still alive. She’s still there. And that’s you.

Post Tenebras Lux. After Darkness, Light.

Life was really too short and twisted to hold grudges, especially over something she truly had no control over.

center. For the eternity that Lux Lisbon looked at him, Trip Fontaine looked back, and the love he felt at that moment, truer than all subsequent loves because it never had to survive real life, still plagued him, even now in the desert, with his looks and health wasted.

You'll be miserable your whole life if you fight who and what you are. But if you accept yourself, all parts of yourself, you'll know a freedom you've never imagined.

What else would she have to go through, she wondered, to fill up the pages of the story of her life? That volume was already very crammed.

Historia vero testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae. History is the witness of the times, the light of truth, the life of memory, the mistress of life.

She was realizing for the first time in her life what agony it was to experience such unquiet beneath an impeccable veneer.

The Student" “In America,” began the lecturer, “everyone must have a degree. The French do not think that all can have it, they don’t say everyone must go to college.” We incline to feel, here, that although it may be unnecessary to know fifteen languages. one degree is not too much. With us, a school—like the singing tree of which the leaves were mouths that sang in concert— is both a tree of knowledge and of liberty— seen in the unanimity of college mottoes, lux et veritas, Christo et ecclesiae, sapiet felici. It may be that we have not knowledge, just opinions, that we are undergraduates, not students; we know we have been told with smiles, by expatriates of whom we had asked, “When will your experiment be finished?” “Science is never finished.” Secluded from domestic strife, Jack Bookworm led a college life, says Goldsmith; and here also as in France or Oxford, study is beset with dangers—with bookworms, mildews, and complaisancies. But someone in New England has known enough to say that the student is patience personified, a variety of hero, “patient of neglect and of reproach,"—who can "hold by himself.” You can’t beat hens to make them lay. Wolf’s wool is the best of wool, but it cannot be sheared, because the wolf will not comply. With knowledge as with wolves’ surliness, the student studies voluntarily, refusing to be less than individual. He “gives him opinion and then rests upon it”; he renders service when there is no reward, and is too reclusive for some things to seem to touch him; not because he has no feeling but because he has so much.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

Then it was horn time. Time for the big solo. Sonny lifted the trumpet - One! Two! - He got it into sight - Three! We all stopped dead. I mean we stopped. That wasn't Sonny's horn. This one was dented-in and beat-up and the tip-end was nicked. It didn't shine, not a bit. Lux leaned over-you could have fit a coffee cup into his mouth. "Jesus God," he said. "Am I seeing right?" I looked close and said: "Man, I hope not." But why kid? We'd seen that trumpet a million times. It was Spoof's. Rose-Ann was trembling. Just like me, she remembered how we'd buried the horn with Spoof. And she remembered how quiet it had been in Sonny's room last night... I started to think real hophead thoughts, like - where did Sonny get hold of a shovel that late? and how could he expect a horn to play that's been under the ground for two years? and - That blast got into our ears like long knives. Spoof's own trademark! Sonny looked caught, like he didn't know what to do at first, like he was hypnotized, scared, almighty scared. But as the sound came out, rolling out, sharp and clean and clear - new-trumpet sound - his expression changed. His eyes changed: they danced a little and opened wide. Then he closed them, and blew that horn. Lord God of the Fishes, how he blew it! How he loved it and caressed it and pushed it up, higher and higher and higher. High C? Bottom of the barrel. He took off, and he walked all over the rules and stamped them flat. The melody got lost, first off. Everything got lost, then, while that horn flew. It wasn't only jazz; it was the heart of jazz, and the insides, pulled out with the roots and held up for everybody to see; it was blues that told the story of all the lonely cats and all the ugly whores who ever lived, blues that spoke up for the loser lamping sunshine out of iron-gray bars and every hop head hooked and gone, for the bindlestiffs and the city slicers, for the country boys in Georgia shacks and the High Yellow hipsters in Chicago slums and the bootblacks on the corners and the fruits in New Orleans, a blues that spoke for all the lonely, sad and anxious downers who could never speak themselves... And then, when it had said all this, it stopped and there was a quiet so quiet that Sonny could have shouted: 'It's okay, Spoof. It's all right now. You get it said, all of it - I'll help you. God, Spoof, you showed me how, you planned it - I'll do my best!' And he laid back his head and fastened the horn and pulled in air and blew some more. Not sad, now, not blues - but not anything else you could call by a name. Except... jazz. It was Jazz. Hate blew out of that horn, then. Hate and fury and mad and fight, like screams and snarls, like little razors shooting at you, millions of them, cutting, cutting deep... And Sonny only stopping to wipe his lip and whisper in the silent room full of people: 'You're saying it, Spoof! You are!' God Almighty Himself must have heard that trumpet, then; slapping and hitting and hurting with notes that don't exist and never existed. Man! Life took a real beating! Life got groined and sliced and belly-punched and the horn, it didn't stop until everything had all spilled out, every bit of the hate and mad that's built up in a man's heart. ("Black Country")

I’ve read about this in books, imagined it in my mind countless times since I’ve been here, but to actually witness it is something entirely different. I thought I was prepared, but nothing—no amount of book learning or supposed life experience or bravado—can make you invulnerable to the sight of a vampire drinking blood.

Because, my dear Eric, I have tasted the secret knowledge. I know how much to say and when to pull back. I know what to see and not see. And now that I have become whole again, I can never go back. All these things he has given me. Better than my supposed mother and father ever could. For that, I owe him my life and allegiance.

Up until that moment with Rose all those years ago, Lily had spent her young life assuming that her fear was a defect. She thought if she could just be wanted right, by the right man, that she herself would be righted, and that the fear would go away. But even the best man comes with the strength and stature to remind a woman that every time he doesn't hurt her is a favor.

Lady Kilmichael, on the other hand, in common with many women of her generation, had made remarkably little use of her experience. It had been impressed upon her in youth that experience was necessary and valuable, but no one had ever told her what to do with it; it was something which you apparently acquired in large or small packets, like Lux, and then put away in a cupboard. Experience so treated does indeed leave a sort of sediment of knowledge - the mere possession of those stored packets may give a certain confidence; but it does not make a very vivid contribution to life.

SECTION XI.--The Strength of Simplicity. The soul in the state of abandonment knows how to see God even in the proud who oppose His action. All creatures, good or evil, reveal Him to it. __________________________________________________________________ The whole practice of the simple soul is in the accomplishment of the will of God. This it respects even in those unruly actions by which the proud attempt to depreciate it. The proud soul despises one in whose sight it is as nothing, who beholds only God in it, and in all its actions. Often it imagines that the modesty of the simple soul is a mark of appreciation for itself; when, all the time, it is only a sign of that loving fear of God and of His holy will as shown to it in the person of the proud. No, poor fool, the simple soul fears you not at all. You excite its compassion; it is answering God when you think it is speaking to you: it is with Him that it believes it has to do; it regards you only as one of His slaves, or rather as a mask with which He disguises Himself. Therefore the more you take a high tone, the lower you become in its estimation; and when you think to take it by surprise, it surprises you. Your wiles and violence are just favours from Heaven. The proud soul cannot comprehend itself, but the simple soul, with the light of faith, can very clearly see through it. The finding of the divine action in all that occurs at each moment, in and around us, is true science, a continuous revelation of truth, and an unceasingly renewed intercourse with God. It is a rejoicing with the Spouse, not in secret, nor by stealth, in the cellar, or the vineyard, but openly, and in public, without any human respect. It is a fund of peace, of joy, of love, and of satisfaction with God who is seen, known, or rather, believed in, living and operating in the most perfect manner in everything that happens. It is the beginning of eternal happiness not yet perfectly realised and tasted, except in an incomplete and hidden manner. The Holy Spirit, who arranges all the pieces on the board of life, will, by this fruitful and continual presence of His action, say at the hour of death, "fiat lux," "let there be light" (Gen. i, 14), and then will be seen the treasures which faith hides in this abyss of peace and contentment with God, and which will be found in those things that have been every moment done, or suffered for Him. When God gives Himself thus, all that is common becomes wonderful; and it is on this account that nothing seems to be so, because this way is, in itself, extraordinary. Consequently it is unnecessary to make it full of strange and unsuitable marvels. It is, in itself, a miracle, a revelation, a constant joy even with the prevalence of minor faults. But it is a miracle which, while rendering all common and sensible things wonderful, has nothing in itself that is sensibly marvellous.

How does one go on after doing such unspeakable things? It's all rather simple, really," he continued, speaking in someone else's voice. "Say to yourself, 'What things?' And it becomes clear...you are blameless. They brought it on themselves. What have they ever done for you except control your life? They tore you away from your sister; they ripped you from your home. Did you ask to be saved? No! Forget them and start over...with us, your true family, my Corcitura, my own.

Although it had almost cost her life, she’d gotten Keisha to the hospital and stayed with her until she was able to get the help she needed. Once she was in the clear, Luxe knew she had to leave before the cops were called to ask her questions, or before Lloyd found her.

in one comic scene, Brennan and Cooper share the same bed, with Brennan’s arm, at one point, draped over Cooper’s. It is tempting to see Lillian Hellman’s hand in such scenes, since she was assigned to do rewrites of Busch’s script. She specialized in the sexual ambiguity of the ménage à trois, as in These Three (1936), a Goldwyn production that featured two schoolteachers in love with the same man. In The Westerner, it is the off-screen Langtry who links Brennan and Cooper. Her aura envelops Harden and dazzles Bean, especially since Bean has to work overtime to pry out of the laconic Harden luscious details the judge slavers over. Accompanied by Brennan’s moist patter, Cooper dryly doles out his delicacies, including a lock of Langtry’s hair (actually taken from the daughter of a homesteader who has fallen in love with Harden). During the Lux Radio Theatre production of The Westerner (broadcast September 23, 1940), Cooper’s droll delivery evoked more laughter than Brennan’s stridency.

It would be nice to live once again with the innocence of a child, to not have to face adult decisions and adult consequences. Children couldn't appreciate the gift of that life until they'd grown past the point of enjoying it.

What miffed Brennan about working with Ford was the director’s lack of respect for fellow professionals. Unlike Howard Hawks, Ford was not much of a collaborator. He never gave Brennan the feeling that they were in a project together. Hawks, on the other hand, treated Brennan as a crucial part of a film’s success. In Red River (September 17, 1948), Brennan gets nearly as much screen time as John Wayne and co-star Montgomery Clift, in the epic story of a cattle drive from Texas to Missouri that is diverted to Abilene during the lawless days following the Civil War. In one version of the film, Brennan actually narrates the story, making it his own by trading on what was now a character that transcended individual films and seemed, in effect, the voice of the West. In another less powerful version of the film, narration is delivered through the rather clumsy device of turning pages in a book. For the Lux Radio Theatre one-hour adaptation (March 7, 1949), not only was Brennan restored as narrator, he also becomes a dominant voice mediating between Dunson and the other characters.

As the human body is a microcosmos, the pregnant women's body is a microgenesis. Readings of Your incarnation in Mary's body often suggest this, even if they do not claim it outright. Mary's body is presented as a new creation. Mary's words "let it be done to me" (fiat mihi in the longtime language of the Church) echo Your words at creation "let there me light" (fiat lux). The Spirit hovering over the waters of the deep, formless and empty, hovers over the waters of Mary's womb, once again bringing life into a dark void.

When I first met you, you seemed easily categorized, Lux. Like one of my herbs. 'Nettles: a remedy for night sweats, fatigue, and releasing excess mucus.' I like things to be defined. It calms me, brings order to my life. So on your first visit, I thought, 'Lux Lysander: flighty, scared, we'll never see her again.' On your second visit, I thought, 'Sweet, a bit of a dreamer.' And now, on your third visit, it's clear I have to recalibrate once again." She nodded briskly. "Intuitive, honest, clear-thinking, and loyal." I looked at her openmouthed, letting the praise sink in. Each adjective was like a little firework burst, spreading its fingers of heat over the surface of my skin. "I'm not done," she said. "Compassionate, resourceful, intelligent." My eyes welled up. "Worthy," she finished. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I thought I'd lost those parts of me." "Nothing is ever lost," said Martha. "Only forgotten. All that's needed is one person who remembers, one person who realizes it is still there." The door to a long-abandoned room inside me that I hadn't even known existed until this minute began to open. Sweet, fresh air poured in.

Sony paid both stars handsomely for their consistent success: $20 million against 20 percent of the gross receipts, whichever was higher, was their standard compensation. They also received as much as $5 million against 5 percent for their production companies, where they employed family and friends. Sony also provided Happy Madison and Overbrook with a generous overhead to cover expenses—worth about $4 million per year. To top it off, Sandler and Smith enjoyed the perks of the luxe studio life. Flights on a corporate jet were common, with family members and friends often invited along. On occasion, Smith’s entourage and its belongings necessitated the use of two jets for travel to premieres. Knowing that Sandler was a huge sports fan, Sony regularly sent him and his pals to the Super Bowl to do publicity. In addition to enjoying the best tickets and accommodations, they had a private basketball court to play on, which the studio rented for them. Back at the Sony lot, the basketball court was renamed Happy Madison Square Garden in the star’s honor. When anybody questioned the wide latitude and endless indulgence given to Sandler and Smith, Sony executives had a standard answer: “Will and Adam bought our houses.

A sensual lifestyle adds value to the business of luxury.

And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I'm falling every time I'm around you, like I can't catch my breath, and I feel alive - not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There's been nothing like that with anyone else.

A voice in my head told me I acted like a spoiled brat, but I duct taped that sucker shut. I didn’t make it far, though. The seductive cedar smell enveloped me as Lux hoisted me off the ground, threw me over his shoulder and carried me back to the group.

Meade Lux Lewis played four bars alone—and then Angela Hoenikker joined in. Her eyes were closed. I was flabbergasted. She was great. She improvised around the music of the Pullman porter’s son; went from liquid lyricism to rasping lechery to the shrill skittishness of a frightened child, to a heroin nightmare. Her glissandi spoke of heaven and hell and all that lay between. Such music from such a woman could only be a case of schizophrenia or demonic possession. My hair stood on end, as though Angela were rolling on the floor, foaming at the mouth, and babbling fluent Babylonian. When the music was done, I shrieked at Julian Castle, who was transfixed, too, “My God—life! Who can understand even one little minute of it?” “Don’t try,” he said. “Just pretend you understand.” “That’s—that’s very good advice,” I went limp.

Perhaps this is due to the misunderstanding of the images—symbols—inherent in religious texts throughout the centuries. Lux (Latin for light) in most all spiritual paths is the end goal of the spiritual experience. Regardie discusses the importance of understanding the role of lux in initiation. Certainly, to reach and attain direct contact and communion with the Light of God is the goal, if ever there was one, of spirituality. This shows that the function of initiation, in seeking light, is shepherding oneself into a process of labor. It is an alchemical endeavor, just as the ancient alchemists were initiates themselves. Turning the lead within oneself into gold—chrysopoeia—is the prime goal. The whole aim of magic, alchemy, and mysticism is to purify one’s soul through illumination of the divine light, which is in fact an inner light. This is initiation.

Perhaps this is due to the misunderstanding of the images—symbols—inherent in religious texts throughout the centuries. Lux (Latin for light) in most all spiritual paths is the end goal of the spiritual experience. Regardie discusses the importance of understanding the role of lux in initiation. Certainly, to reach and attain direct contact and communion with the Light of God is the goal, if ever there was one, of spirituality. This shows that the function of initiation, in seeking light, is shepherding oneself into a process of labor. It is an alchemical endeavor, just as the ancient alchemists were initiates themselves. Turning the lead within oneself into gold—chrysopoeia—is the prime goal. The whole aim of magic, alchemy, and mysticism is to purify one’s soul through illumination of the divine light, which is in fact an inner light. This is initiation. One cannot receive the light, cannot receive initiation, just by wanting it. Desire alone is not sufficient. One must condition oneself accordingly so that the light of spiritual illumination may be received, for the light will not fill a container that is impure. Initiation is a state of mind. It comes as a result of discipline, rather than circumstance. It should not be our base desires which drive our life, but Will. This Will is a will not of our own but of the Divine.

Lux. I bolted up and then didn't dare move. It didn't seem possible that he was here; the prince I had dreamt about, actually real. The husband I had betrayed, actually rescued. The ghostly prisoner, actually whole. Yet here he lay, half-curled on his side, his chest moving softly with each breath. I felt like he would vanish if I moved. So I sat still and stared at him. He had the same slender, lovely face that I remembered seeing on both men. His skin was shockingly pale, but it was a human pallor, not the ghostly milk-white of Shade. His hair was black, but lanky and tangled as I had never seen Ignifex's. The line of his jaw was exactly the same as I remembered kissing. But I had never kissed him, not in this life. And he was not exactly the same man. Since I had remembered him last night, I hadn't had time to think of anything except what I had done and the terrible need to set it right. I hadn't even wondered what he would be like reunited. Now I could think of nothing else. I had loved Ignifex, and after a fashion, I had loved Shade. They had both more or less loved me in return. But Marcus Valerius Lux? What were we to each other? His eyes flickered open and focused on me. They were bright blue eyes, the pupils round and completely human, but they were not exactly Shade's eyes; the way he squinted against the light, his whole face wrinkling into the expression, was exactly like Ignifex.

Come on." I took his hand and stood, pulling him up with me. "Let's go home. Aren't you tired of being in this house?" meant the words lightly, but he looked around the sunlit ruins with solemn eyes. "It's strange," he said softly. "I think I'll miss it." And I realized that in every life he had lived, this was his only home and he had never left. "I miss hating my sister," I said, pulling him toward the gateway. "She's a little bit more wicked now, so I can't even hate her for being too kind." But when we were almost at the threshold, he paused again, and this time there was naked fear on his face. "You do realize," he said. "I don't remember how to be anything but a demon lord and his shadow." "I'm still not very good at being anything but a wicked sister." I took his other hand. A handful of kindness, the sparrow had said, and now we each had two. "We'll both be foolish," I said, "and vicious and cruel. We will never be safe with each other." "Don't try too hard to be cheerful." His fingers threaded through mine. "But we'll pretend we know how to love." I smiled at him. "And someday we'll learn." And we walked out through the gateway together.

Sensuality is the new luxe.

Then she returned to her little bedroom, which had been the site of so many wild imaginings of all the places she would go, and all the people she would meet, and what the whole incredible arc of her life would look like once her biographer finally sat down to try and do it justice.

anymore. I had access to all the finer things. In my house, it was always seventy-two degrees. And that shit feels good, especially when you believe you’ve earned it. Why put myself through a ten-week training camp or a 100-mile run in Colorado’s thin air? I knew damn well how horrible that shit feels and what it takes, but I also knew that this right here was one of the most important One-Second Decisions in my life. This wasn’t a fight-or-flight moment. I wasn’t overwhelmed by the fear of death. I wasn’t on the brink of failure or humiliation, and my heart rate was beating slow and steady. This was a mature version of the unconscious impulse to quit. The one you don’t see coming until it greets you at the gate when you think you’ve finally arrived. See, I don’t have any respect for people who live this luxe life 24/7. If I said no to Babbitt, I wouldn’t be quitting on him. I would be quitting on myself. I would be making a fear-based choice to no longer

I’m looking out on the road the sky is bright the wind is cold. The wind my element it blows so hard, the sheer force of the world is felt in this air. I feel the life being ****** out and then in to my body at the same time such a beautiful sensation. This is the sensation right before you begin the Great Work when you feel the energy of the universe. The energy just whirling around in circles the path of lapis ruber or another path. But my journey if not for lapis philosophorum my journey is for blank, my mind is not for anything. The journey I travel is not for life it is not for death this journey is not for a **** thing in existence. My journey is for something much more what it is only one on the road will understand. So when I feel the wind blowing I ask myself is it time for me to move? Is it time to start? I am going to the center of the sun what will I do now that I’ve taken the first step has it all begun? It is not possible to turn back not in this particular journey. In this journey once you take a step, the platform you were walking on before is completely destroyed. It is swallowed up in the sea of what, the platform is consumed in the place of never-ending nothingness. Really it is not a place, it is swallowed in the void, so you can’t turn around even if you will it. Now I as I walk this path I sit here and I see the star, on it are five points. The five points of the star are all looking at me I just wonder if the look is inverted or upright. If it is observing me inverted what will I do? If it is watching me uprightly what can I do? These questions are both the same but which way is the star observing me. I couldn’t give a **** either way, but at certain points it seems I would give a ****, now why is that? See I’m on a spiraling path of this something, and it’s becoming clear, it’s not that I’m stepping forward. In this journey I am not stepping forward I am not stepping backwards I am doing much more. But I am stepping. That’s the beauty of this journey where time ceases to exist. It’s because at the end of this journey I might have explored the universe in its entirety. I may have went to the edge of this universe of motion and jumped off the edge. I would have slipped through the corners barely escaping the hound dogs of the barrier. And after facing the eternal beasts, I would have ended up back inside of the universe. It’s funny because after this timeless journey, I may have gained so much and time will have certainly passed. est ruber in terra, populous non est faciem in principia pater sol regnat in terra humanos est regnant. deus sol non est in oceanaia luna non est in caelum nocte quam quam non lux. non lux quam quam sol non est regnat. hominis the rise of the moon is so great that the light of the sun can be overtake. But the light of the moon come from the light of the sun there is nothing else that can actually and truly be done. What to be done is what to be given to all who want to go forward in the way of life. The path of love and the path of light leads to the same sources it is up to one of us to decide which one will be our tool. Back to what I was talking about the sand was awesome. The alpha and the omega a rise of the sun and the fall of the moon also rise of the moon and the fall of the sun.

See, I don’t have any respect for people who live this luxe life 24/7. If I said no to Babbitt, I wouldn’t be quitting on him. I would be quitting on myself. I would be making a fear-based choice to no longer be the very person who I became so proud of. It’s all well and good to have success and reach a certain level, but I really don’t give a fuck what you did yesterday. Maybe you finished Ultraman or graduated from Harvard. I do not care. Respect is earned every day by waking up early, challenging yourself with new dreams or digging up old nightmares, and embracing the suck like you have nothing and have never done a damn thing in your life.

In today’s life, luxury is sensuality.

See, I don't have any respect for people who live this luxe life 24/7. If I said no to Babbitt, I wouldn't be quitting on him, I would be quitting on myself. I would be making a fear-based choice to no longer be the very person who I became so proud of. It's all well and good to have success and reach a certain level, but I really don't give a fuck what you did yesterday. Maybe you finished an Ultraman or graduated from Harvard. I do not care. Respect is earned every day by waking up early, challenging yourself with new dreams or digging up old nightmares, and embracing the suck like you have nothing and have never done a damn thing in your life. p93

To breathe is miraculous.

He was probably the hottest guy I'd ever seen in real life, and he was a total douche. Go figure.

The three most harmful addictions are heroin, carbohydrates, and a monthly salary.” – Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” – Mark Twain

Coco a spus, când vorbesc despre eleganță, vorbesc despre lux. Luxul trebuie să rămână invizibil, dar trebuie să se simtă. Luxul este simplu; este opusul complicației. Luxul este o necesitate care începe acolo unde se sfârșesc necesitățile. Unii oameni cred că luxul este opusul sărăciei. Nu este așa. El este opusul vulgarității. Luxul este opusul prestigiului.

Children couldn't appreciate the gift of that life until they'd grown past the point of enjoying it.

Caterpillar think life is over in cocoon, that darkness means death. Not so. Darkness bring new life. And wings. Caterpillar becomes butterfly and fly away.

A CLASSIC WAITS for me, it contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking if taste were lacking, or if the endorsement of the right man were lacking. O clublife, and the pleasures of membership, O volumes for sheer fascination unrivalled. Into an armchair endlessly rocking, Walter J. Black my president, I, freely invited, cordially welcomed to membership, My arm around John Kieran, Pearl S. Buck, My taste in books guarded by the spirits of William Lyon Phelps, Hendrik Willem Van Loon, (From your memories, sad brothers, from the fitful risings and callings I heard), I to the classics devoted, brother of rough mechanics, beauty-parlor technicians, spot welders, radio-program directors (It is not necessary to have a higher education to appreciate these books), I, connoisseur of good reading, friend of connoisseurs of good reading everywhere, I, not obligated to take any specific number of books, free to reject any volume, perfectly free to reject Montaigne, Erasmus, Milton, I, in perfect health except for a slight cold, pressed for time, having only a few more years to live, Now celebrate this opportunity. Come, I will make the club indissoluble, I will read the most splendid books the sun ever shone upon, I will start divine magnetic groups, With the love of comrades, With the life-long love of distinguished committees. I strike up for an Old Book. Long the best-read figure in America, my dues paid, sitter in armchairs everywhere, wanderer in populous cities, weeping with Hecuba and with the late William Lyon Phelps, Free to cancel my membership whenever I wish, Turbulent, fleshy, sensible, Never tiring of clublife, Always ready to read another masterpiece provided it has the approval of my president, Walter J. Black, Me imperturbe, standing at ease among writers, Rais'd by a perfect mother and now belonging to a perfect book club, Bearded, sunburnt, gray-neck'd, astigmatic, Loving the masters and the masters only (I am mad for them to be in contact with me), My arm around Pearl S. Buck, only American woman to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature, I celebrate this opportunity. And I will not read a book nor the least part of a book but has the approval of the Committee, For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times and not hit, that which they hinted at, All is useless without readability. By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms (89¢ for the Regular Edition or $1.39 for the DeLuxe Edition, plus a few cents postage). I will make inseparable readers with their arms around each other's necks, By the love of classics, By the manly love of classics.

It was the greatest irony of her life: how much she hated her body and how much she lived for the attention it garnered.