A Quote by Gena Showalter
Paris answered for him. "Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again." "I'm surprised you didn't mention the part where you fainted," Lucien said wryly. Strider chortled. "Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby!" "Hey," Paris said, frowning at Lucien. "I told you I hit my head midflash." Lucien
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Legion hissed like a startled cat, the noise scraping at Reyes’s skin. “Me no boy. You think me a boy?” Everyone stopped, stared. Even Aeron. Reyes was the first to find his voice. “You’re a…girl?” A nod. “Me pretty.” “Yes, you are.” Reyes exchanged a glance with Lucien. “Beautiful.
I have pictures of my grandmother from the 1920s and '30s in avant-garde dresses that looked like they could have come from the House of Worth or Lucien Lelong. She would never say if they were couture, but I do recall her telling me, 'All my clothes and shoes came from Paris.'
it’s only by studying the mistakes of the past,” Lucien said mildly, “that we can even have a future
It's simple, really," Alaric Wulf said. " Lucien Antonescu is the prince of darkness." Jon nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We know. He's got a castle and stuff.
Some of you may have been hoping that today I would speak about Lucien Bouchard's latest economic theories. But I have decided to spare him for the time being: after all, he is a man.
Someone gave me a piece of advice once, my first manager Lucien Hold. He said, 'If you do stand-up about your own life, no one can steal it.' I always thought that was the best piece of advice.
It is scarcely exaggeration to say that if one is not a little mad about Balzac at twenty, one will never live; and if at forty one can still take Rastignac and Lucien de Rubempre at Balzac's own estimate, one has lived in vain.
Sheep. Looting. Cousins." Lucien cursed and got out of bed.
The subject of a novel is not the plot. Who remembers what happened to Lucien de Rebempre in the end?
You wrong yourself and me by assuming my interest in you is purely physical,” he went on. “I told you I am eager to further our acquaintance. I want to know what you think about things. What you want out of life. What you dream. -Lucien to Alice
He is the dark prince. The all-powerful one. The leader of the creatures of the night." Then Meena said, "I'm confused then. I thought the prince of darkness was the devil." [......] "Wait," Meena said, blinking. " Are you saying....." "Yes," Alaric said. "That is exactly what I'm saying." Jon looked blank. "I don't understand. Is he the devil or not?" "Lucien Antonescu," Alaric said. "is a vampire. Not just any vampire, but the ruler of all vampires.
And I'll have you know that if you hurt my son again, if he so much as sighs sadly over his coffee, I will hire a man, a Russian, probably, to hunt you down and rip all that shiny black hair from your head, then break your skinny arms and legs, and set you on fire, and then put you out with a hammer. And should there be children from your beastly rutting, I shall have the Russian man cut them to tiny pieces and feed them to Madame Jacob's dog. because, although he may be only a worthless, simpleminded, libertine artist, Lucien is my favorite, and I will not have him hurt. Do you understand?
One of my favourite films is called 'Lacombe Lucien,' directed by Louis Malle. The lead character in that film, like the lead characters in many '70s and '80s films, has a moral ambiguity to him.
Every moment away from you feels like time spent in a sort of cell. I can think of nothing, dream of nothing, but you. Unfortunately, I will have to remain in my self-inflicted prison a bit longer, since work will keep me from meeting you tonight. I can't seem to find a way to avoid this... however, I hope this gift will make up for my unforgivable behavior. I saw this and though of you, and St. George. You have slain the dragon. Until we meet again, I am your Lucien.
The only time this happened to me before was in Jil Sander in Berlin where they said, "We have nothing that will fit you." I said, "Yes, you do." And I found something great. This happens to me in Paris again and again and again. They don't carry anything over size 40 which is nothing, because I wear a size 42 or 44 but that's hard to find in Paris among the designer clothes. All stores are like that.
You either fainted or you wanted a much closer look at the cracks in the tile. Either way, you hit hard." "Seriously?" He nodded. "Maybe you shouldn't have been trying to make out with him," he suggested. How did he know that? "I was kissing him good-bye." He snorted and exchanged glances with the nurse. "That's not what it looked like to me." Probably not. But what happened? Could Reyes Farrow take control over me even from a freaking coma? I was doomed.
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