Clio Quotes & Sayings

Ah." He paused. "I see where this is going. You want to know my secret pain."
"Secret pain?"
"Oh, yes. My inner demons. The dark current of torment washing away little grains of my soul. That's what you're after. You think that if you keep me here in your pretty castle and cosset me with sixteen pillows, I'll learn to love myself and cease submitting my body to such horrific abuse."
Clio bit her lip, grateful it was too dark for him to see her blush. If she'd been flamingo pink the other day, she must be fuchsia now. "I don't know where you get these ideas."
He chuckled. "From every woman I've ever met. You're not the first to try it, and you won't be the last. — Tessa Dare

Destination should not be determined based on a map you have. destination should be determined first, only thyen you can find a right map. — Clio Freya

Even so, Miss Whitmore . . . We should have a signal." "A signal?" "A word to shout if you're in distress. Like 'Tangiers,' or . . . or perhaps 'muscadine.' " Clio gave her an amused look. "Is something wrong with the word 'help'?" "I . . . well, I suppose not." "Very — Tessa Dare

Guilt isn't always a rational thing, Clio realized. Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not. — Maureen Johnson

If you want," he said with a shrug. "It's up to you. If you want to be lifted, I'll lift you.'
"Oh yes," Elsa said, refilling all the glasses. "There will be lifting."
Clio realized that she hadn't spoken through any of this. It was all Elsa lifting and carrying the conversation, twirling around with it.
"Sure," Clio said. "Pick up me up."
Aidan tipped his head in concession, his green eyes lit up for once.
"You want me to pick you up, I guess I can't refuse. — Maureen Johnson

Just tell me i'm not dreaming?"
maybe you are," she said. "Probably you are."
I don't want to be. Clio, i can't do this on my own."
There was a bang.
We both jumped, turned towards the Roman bath. A clump of leaves swirled on the surface of the water in a slow spiral.
Is there something down there?"
Clio nodded. "Yes."
What is it?"
I don't k now," she said, watching the waters. "Something from down where it gets black."
There was another bang.
Little waves raced across the littery surface, lapping the bath's mouldy tiled sides.
Are you ready? This is it." Clio held me by the tops of my arms and gave me a smile which was meant to be strong and almost was.
What? Clee, what's going on?"
Bang. — Steven Hall

Too many so-called historians are really 'hysterians'; their thinking is more visceral than cerebral. When their duties as citizens clash with their responsibilities as scholars, Clio frequently takes a back seat. — Thomas A. Bailey

Almost immediately, I found the red door into the library. I opened it idly- and the breath stopped in my throat. It was the same room I remembered: the shelves, the lion-footed table, the white bass-relief of Clio. But now, tendrils of dark green ivy grew between the shelves, reaching toward the books as if they were hungry to read. White mist flowed along the floor, rippling and tumbling as if blown by wind. Across the ceiling wove a network of icy ropes like tree roots. They dripped- not little droplets like the ice melting off a tree but grape-sized drops of water, like giant tears, that splashed on the table, plopped to the floor. — Rosamund Hodge

Was it possible that he she'd entered his dream now?
If so, she couldn't help but wonder what they were doing in there.
His fingers flexed, squeezing her backside backside "Clio," he groaned.
Something good it would seem.
With a low moan, he snaked his arm around her waist, and a small contraction of his muscles drew her close. "Clio."
"Yes, Rafe?"
Green eyes snapped open. "Clio?"
In a heartbeat, he was on the far side of the bed
as close as he could get to the edge of the mattress without falling off. — Tessa Dare

Clio, the muse of history, is as thoroughly infected with lies as a street whore with syphilis. — Arthur Schopenhauer

It seemed that unbeknownst to her father, the lecherous bishop had chased Clio for the entire previous week and had foolishly cornered her on the staircase, where he stole a kiss and squeezed her small breasts. So when it came time to doctor him, she had smiled sweetly and stitched up his wound in the shape of three sixes, the sign of the devil. — Jill Barnett

When Bonaparte returned from Italy he called on Mr. Paine and invited him to dinner: in the course of his rapturous address to him he declared that a statue of gold ought to be erected to him in every city in the universe, assuring him that he always slept with his book 'Rights of Man' under his pillow and conjured him to honor him with his correspondence and advice. — Thomas Clio Rickman

At some point, while you were roaming the globe, making treaties and dividing the spoils of war, I quietly declared my own independence. I am the sovereign nation of Clio now. And there will be no terms of surrender. — Tessa Dare

It's tiring not knowing people isn't it?" Clio said later.
It isn't word efficient," I agreed. — Steven Hall

Clio may be the most austere and chaste of the Muses, but she has been known to come down informally from Mount Helicon in a mood so raffish that there are those who claim to have seen her with her slip showing. — Thornton Willis

Women, he would say, are not Muses. Muses are Muses. To confuse one with the other is to mistake the Devouring Void for the Seminal Light. Earthly Women and the Muses are ancient, sworn enemies. The battlefield is the Creative Male. On the one side is the encampment of Discordia, of Diana, of Venus located in his Heart and in his Groin. On the other is the Bastion of Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania, in his Brain and in his Mind. The Muses are tolerant and understanding of border raids, skirmishes, and harassing maneuvers. Throughout the history of the Male Light, there have been few painters, few writers, who have not had a She Who Must Be Accommodated. For some it was their mothers. For many their wives, their mistresses, their girlfriends. For many it was their daughters, a favourite waitress, a stripper, a whore. To the Muses, they are all one. Mother, whore, wife, daughter, stripper, waitress, mistress, girlfriend. — Dave Sim

Listen, haircut ... '
Did you just call me haircut?' he asked.
Yes. You know there's no reason we can't go online. It's crazy.'
Why'd you call me haircut?' he asked, touching his hair. 'Is it because I have a great haircut?'
You figure it out,' she answered.
-Clio and Aiden, Girl At Sea by Maureen Johnson — Maureen Johnson