You okay? (Grace) Oh, yeah. I'm just fine considering the fact I've walked through burning fires that hurt less than my groin does right now. (Julian) I said I was sorry. Okay, can you reach the pedals? (Grace) I'd like to reach your pedals... (Julian) Julian! Would you concentrate? (Grace) All right. I'm concentrating. (Julian) I don't mean on my breasts. (He dropped his hungry gaze to her lap.) Or there, either. (Grace)
What do you want, MacGuffin, a duel?' 'No.' Julian held out both hands, one palm flat, the other held over it in a fist. 'Rock, paper, scissors. Two out of three.' Ty rolled his eyes and held out his fist, apparently willing to play. Julian hit his palm three times, and Ty kept time with his fist in the air. But when Julian threw a paper, Ty reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled his gun, aiming it at Julian. 'Ty!' Zane said in exasperation from the front seat. 'Glock, paper, scissors. I win.' 'You are an ass, ' Julian muttered.
It's basically a joke." "I think it's cool, " Julian says. "It's all about control, right?" He considers something. "It's not a joke. You should take it seriously. I mean, you're also one of the producers-" I cut him off. "Why have you been tracking this?" "It's a big deal and-" "Julian, it's a movie, " I say. "Why have you been tracking this? It's just another movie." "Maybe for you." "What does that mean?" "Maybe for others it's something else, " Julian says. "Something more meaningful." "I get where you're coming from, but there's a vampire in it.
Bret Easton Ellis
But the thing I remember most about the screening in October twenty years ago was the moment Julian grasped my hand that had gone numb on the armrest separating our seats. He did this because in the book Julian Wells lived but in the movie's new scenario he had to die. He had to be punished for all of his sins. That's what the movie demanded. (Later, as a screenwriter, I learned it's what all movies demanded.) When this scene occurred, in the last ten minutes, Julian looked at me in the darkness, stunned. "I died, " he whispered. "They killed me off." I waited a bit before sighing, "But you're still here." Julian turned back to the screen and soon the movie ended, the credits rolling over the palm trees as I (improbably) take Blair back to my college while Roy Orbison wails a song about how life fades away.
Bret Easton Ellis
The first thing Julian wanted to do in life, well, before he wanted to be an artist and then a musician, was to be a chef. He'd come home and say 'Why don't you bake cakes like my friends' mothers?' I'd say, 'Oh, Julian, go out and buy a Mary Baker cake mix and do it yourself!' That started him off! By the time he was 13, he'd disappear into the kitchen whenever we had visitors and emerge with beautiful canapes. Now he thinks nothing of cooking for ten or 15 people, and he does it so calmly.
You've got a lot of responsibility now, ' Jace said to Julian. 'You'll have to make sure Emma winds up with a guy who deserves her.' Julian was strangely white-faced. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the ceremony, Emma thought. It had been strong magic; she still felt it sizzling through her blood like champagne bubbles. But Jules looked as if he'd been slapped. 'What about me?' Emma said, quickly. 'Don't I have to make sure Jules winds up with someone who deserves him?' 'Absolutely. I did it for Alec, Alec did it for me - well, actually, he hated Clary at first, but he came around.' 'I BET you didn't like Magnus much, either, ' said Julian, still with the same odd, stiff look on his face. 'Maybe not, ' said Jace, 'but I never would have said so.' 'Because it would have hurt Alec's feelings?' Emma asked. 'No, ' said Jace, 'because Magnus would have turned me into a hat rack.
Refusing to listen to him any longer, Julian backs up. 'Whenever you realize working together is in Summer's best interest, come find me, Boy Scout. Until then, I'll just pretend you don't exist.' Then he walks away. Gage glares at Julian's retreating form. His hand scrapes through his hair as he fumes. A guttural roar of rage crawls up his throat, and he kicks the sand. Damn him and his stupid logic. He's right. And Gage knows he's right. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.
Julian smiled back, his full lips pulled back over white teeth as he rolled the blanket back a little bit. 'Is he really a heart breaker?' 'I'm the breakiest of heart breakers, ' Leo interjected, his tone deadpan as he dumped a handful of greens into the pot on the stove. Julian wrinkled his nose. 'That's not even a word, ' He complained and fell into a sulky silence from his place on the bed.
Julian sincerely abhorred the system of oriental despotism which Diocletian, Constantine, and the patient habits of four score years, had established in the empire. A motive of superstition prevented the execution of the design which Julian had frequently meditated, of relieving his head from the weight of a costly diadem; but he absolutely refused the title of Dominus or Lord, a word which was grown so familiar to the ears of the Romans, that they no longer remembered its servile and humiliating origin.
Julian tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, though already it felt strained. He was uncomfortable with people who used the word blessed as a part of their everyday speech. The implication was that God was intervening in the minutiae of their lives, hanging around and helping them with their jobs or children or household chores as though He had nothing better to do. Maybe it was true, Julian thought wryly. Maybe that was why there were wars and murders and earthquakes and hurricanes. God was too busy helping real estate agents find new listings to deal with those other issues.
Bloomsbury lost Fry, in 1934, and Lytton Strachey before him, in January 1932, to early deaths. The loss of Strachey was compounded by Carrington's suicide just two months after, in March. Another old friend, Ka Cox, died of a heart attack in 1938. But the death, in 1937, of Woolf 's nephew Julian, in the Spanish Civil War, was perhaps the bitterest blow. Vanessa found her sister her only comfort: 'I couldn't get on at all if it weren't for you' (VWB2 203). Julian, a radical thinker and aspiring writer, campaigned all his life against war, but he had to be dissuaded by his family from joining the International Brigade to fight Franco. Instead he worked as an ambulance driver, a role that did not prevent his death from shrapnel wounds. Woolf 's Three Guineas, she wrote to his mother, was written 'as an argument with him
"What can I offer you that will make you happier about how you should feel about who Angelina Jolie is?" I think that's a very strange desire to know those things. And yet I have it, with musicians in particular. I'm desperate to know what Micah P. Hinson is like or Julian Casablancas. Philip Seymour Hoffman made me feel like that.
The American psychologist Julian Jaynes, in a controversial study on the origin of consciousness, argued that the bicameral mind - in which one of the hemispheres becomes specialized in silent reading - is a late development in humankind's evolution, and that the process by which this function develops is still changing.
And I have Julian. I found him, and he followed me. I reach out in the half dark, wordlessly, and find his hands. We interlace our fingers, and though he doesn't say anything either, I can feel the warmth and energy passing between us, a soundless dialogue. Thank you, he is saying, and I am saying, I am so happy, I am so happy, I needed you to be safe.
When Julian ascended the throne, he declared his impatience to embrace and reward the Syrian sophist, who had preserved, in a degenerate age, the Grecian purity of taste, of manners and of religion. The emperor's prepossession was increased and justified by the discreet pride of his favourite.
He holds her for an eternity. Time cascades into the void of the past. She inhales his scent. Full of man and strength and yearning. And she wonders why she ever doubted their relationship. Why she let Julian's soothing touch coax her into loving him too. Gage is everything. Gage is hers.
Julian, " she said huskily, "you were right the other morning. You know me so well. I'm not made for illicit affaires, all that sneaking around to avoid discovery." In the dark, her hands crept up to his shoulders, then his face. Her finger teased through his hair. "Why should we hide at all? Let all London see us together. I don't care what anyone says or thinks. I love you, and I want the world to know." He wanted to weep. For joy, for frustration. She was so brave, his beautiful Lily, and the situation was so damned unfair. It wasn't her fault that she made these heartrending declarations at a moment when their lives were probably in danger and he couldn't possibly reciprocate. That fault was his, for choosing to live the way he had and making the decisions he'd made. He didn't deserve her, didn't deserve her love. He most certainly didn't merit those warm brushes of her lips against his skin. But damned if he could bring himself to stop them. "We're in love, Julian. Isn't it wonderful?" "No, " he murmured as she kissed him again. "It's not wonderful. It's a disaster." Her lips grazed his jaw, then his throat. "I can feel you speaking, and I know you're probably making some valiant protest. But you know I can't hear those words. Your body is making an altogether different argument, and I'm listening to it." Her fingers crept inside his waistcoat, splaying over the thin lawn of his shirt. "Take your heart, for example." Yes, take it. Take it and keep it, always.
Every Forsaken in a mile radius can probably hear you. You're just asking for trouble if you two don't stop whipping out the measuring stick.' 'It's his fault, ' Avery snaps, pointing at Julian. 'Shut up, ya wanker.' They start in on each other again. They yell as if they both have megaphones to their mouths, standing inches apart. Each vulgar insult is more illogical than the last.
I wanted to give five solid years of being there all the time (with Sean). I hadn't seen my first son Julian grow up, and now there's a 17-year-old man on the phone talking about motorbikes. No matter what artistic gains I get, or gold records, if I can't make a success out of my relationship with the people I love, then everything else is bullsh*t.
Never having thought of writing for the guitar, I asked Julian Bream for a chart which would explain what the guitar could do. I managed to write some rather pretty pieces for him, except that the first six notes of the first piece all need to be played on open strings. So when he begins to play the audience will probably think he's tuning the bloody thing up!
But if you want to be a good mayor-there seem to be so very few of them-that must be the sort of thing you have to be destined for. And a wish that goes against your destiny... that's always a bad idea.. Only a fool scoffs at destiny.' "'I think only a fool relies on it, ' Julian grumbled. 'How can destiny decide what I'm going to be before I do?
Julian was not insensible of the advantages of freedom. From his studies he had imbibed the spirit of ancient sages and heroes; his life and fortunes had depended on the caprice of a tyrant; and, when he ascended the throne, his pride was sometimes mortified by the reflection that the slaves who would not dare to censure his defects were not worthy to applaud his virtues.
We got latched together and I was hoping you could separate us? (Amanda) They were made by your stepfather. Any chance you have a key lying around? (Kyrian) I guess I shouldn't be surprised. At least this time she's not an Amazon princess with an irate mother demanding parts of your body be removed. Two thousand years later, and you're still getting into unbelievable messes. (Julian)
In a film muddied by fictional detail, the new Spielberg production Fifth Estate's portrayal of the Guardian's work with Wikileaks is accurate in describing the running dispute between journalists who wanted to redact documents to make them safe and Julian Assange, who wanted no such restraint.
Men of extraordinary success, in their honest moments, have always sung, "Not unto us, not unto us." According to the faith of their times, they have built altars to Fortune, or to Destiny, or to St. Julian. Their success lay in their parallelism to the course of thought, which found in them an unobstructed channel; and the wonders of which they were the visible conductors seemed to their eye their deed.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I don't know, ' Mark said, looking down at his own long pale fingers tangled in the little boy's brown curls. 'He just - Julian left, and Tavvy fell asleep on my lap.' He sounded amazed, wondering. 'Of course he did, ' Cristina said. 'He's your brother. He trusts you.' 'Nobody trusts a Hunter, ' Mark said.