You're lucky your blood's still flowing.

A cheering, warming, goodly wine. A wine that'll race through your veins... with little torches. It's port, Bob.

You have the blood of the hidalgos in your veins.

Is there blood in your veins or poison?

His race is as old, his blood is as good as yours.

What runs in your veins, philosopher, blood or water?

You sure oughta! You got no more sense than to run and pump the poison through your veins!

Now let the blood in your veins... intermingle with the blood... of the ancient spirits of the dark nether world.

With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

Well, once you've had an idea like that it kind of gets under your skin and even if people don't read your memo actually he did, it was found after he died, his copy.

But it is not okay to hold back your genius, the very thing only you understand, the thing that runs through your veins, the thing that you were put on this Earth to deliver, that only you can do.