Hands Quotes - Page 404

I think British humour is very cruel, and gay humour is very cruel. I think the two go hand-in-hand and that's why they mix so well in England. I think that's why you get so many gay comedians in England that are accepted so well because British humour is very cruel. I love it.

Both men and women are really vast and boundless and yet in many films we’re told that they’re not. We’re told they can only be one thing - like handsome and charming and that’s it. Nothing more.

Sometimes when I am drawing outside - when it is cold out it gets difficult (my hand gets slower when it is really cold) because I do not like wearing a glove while drawing, because I cannot feel the paper right.

Sometimes I draw with my left hand and I am pretty terrible. The drawings end up just looking like shakier/inconsistent (worse) versions of my right hand drawings. Sometimes I like drawing with my eyes closed.

When I have a breakthrough in music and I hear the melody in my hands: that's when I get compelled - something in my gut just has to rise up and sing and put something to that.

You know, there's still a lot of great songwriters out there who hand in songs. And there's a lot of brilliant singers and performers out there who sing other people's words. I enjoy doing both.

For TV you also get those pre-interviews when researchers ask you what you're going to say. The pre-interview drives me insane. If they've already decided the outcome, why don't I just hand in an essay? Maybe if we talk we'll find something out. I'd rather just have an awkward pause.

I don't pretend to be an expert on intellectual property law, but I do know one thing. If a music industry executive claims I should agree with their agenda because it will make me more money, I put my hand on my walletand check it after they leave, just to make sure nothing's missing.

I have very girly hands and I use them a lot when I talk in a way that I think is very feminine.

If someone says "You're not doing that right," hand him the shovel, sit and watch. That's the right way to garden.

I'll meet a guy now, and the next thing I know they'll be sweating and their hands will be shaking. And I feel so bad - I don't even know what to say to them. Then there are other guys who come on too strong, and they're just all over you. The nice ones are the ones who are in-between - the ones who aren't scared and who aren't all over you.

Once we have found our passion, we feel a strange contradiction: On one hand, we could die today and life would have been worth it, and at the same time, we want to live forever to continue our connection to our passion.

I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.

I'd do the lifting, but I just got a manicure. And I notice you don't have a manicure at all. Only thing noticeable about your hands is the missing tan on your ring finger that I don't care about. -Lula

Amen" Lula said and she made the sign of the cross. "I thought you were Baptist." "Yeah, but we don't got any hand signals for an occasion like this.

Ranger clicked his penlight on. "Hang onto me if you can't see." I curled my hand into the back of his cargo pants just above his gun belt. "I'm good to go." He was still for a beat. "You could have held on to my jacket," he said. "Would you rather I do that?" "No. Not even a little.

The elevator doors opened, and Ranger stepped out and spied Tank stretched out on the carpet. "Fainted," I said. Ranger walked to Tank and stood hands on hips, staring down at him. "Tank doesn't faint. I've been in firefights with him. He's a rock." "Well, the rock fainted.

Granted, not really a joke, but how often do you get a mic in your hand? You know? So. I am sorry but don't anybody trip on my soap box on the way out. Don't anybody trip over that. And the chip on my shoulder's a little heavy. I have back problems now.

The ability to name poetry's gestures and rhetorics isn't required to write or read them, any more than a painter needs to know the physics of color to bring forward a landscape. The eye and hand and ear know what they need to know. Some of us want to know more, because knowing pleases.

Some questions cannot be answered. They become familiar weights in the hand, round stones pulled from the pocket, unyielding and cool.

The refugees flee to protect their families from violence; the Europeans, on the other hand, fear for their jobs that they need to feed their families.

There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn thread-bare in all common hands; who can say any thing new or striking, any thing that rouses the attention, without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not (in his public capacity) honour enough.

He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.

He doesn't have to say it, i feel it too; it's not subtle - like every bell for miles and miles is ringing at once, loud and clanging, hungry ones and tiny, happy, chiming ones, all of them sounding off in this moment. I put my hands around his neck, pull him to me, and then he's kissing me hard and so deep, and i am flying, sailing, soaring.

Everyone has a breaking point, Riley. He hit his long time ago. But you didn't. He smiled and sqeezed her hand.'Because of you.' Weaving his arm around her waist, they walked up the stairs in tandem. - Riley Blackthorne and Paul Blackthorne