Erupted Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
shed-taken-one-look-at-him-first-time-theyd-met-it-was-like-her-body-had-just-erupted-into-ball-heat-hunger-katie-reus
an-orchestra-temple-bells-chanting-erupted-suddenly-like-pleasing-drizzle-aporva-kala
her-grief-was-big-wild-it-terrified-her-like-evil-beast-that-had-erupted-from-under-floorboards-j-k-rowling
i-would-say-history-is-clear-witness-to-many-problems-that-have-erupted-when-two-partners-from-same-industry-same-country-have-come-together
the-queen-someone-shouted-in-alarm-king-erupted-like-wild-animal-caught-in-snare-megan-whalen-turner
the-next-microsecond-as-water-erupted-around-me-i-realized-too-late-that-i-shouldve-brought-entire-twentyfirst-nome-to-help-me-rick-riordan
there-are-other-issues-i-have-felt-more-emotionally-connected-to-like-china-where-i-lived-worked-for-some-time-i-was-living-there-when-tiananmen-nicholas-d-kristof
there-are-other-issues-i-have-felt-more-emotionally-connected-to-like-china-where-i-lived-worked-for-some-time-i-was-living-there-when-tiananmen-square-erupted
caine-erupted-in-disbelieving-laughter-yeah-thatll-do-it-im-just-kid-your-honor-hah-theyll-have-to-find-few-scapegoats-guess-who-it-will-be-you-me-surfer-boy-you-me-michael-grant
now-julie-could-stay-here-in-keep-full-homicidal-maniacs-who-grew-teeth-size-switchblades-erupted-into-violent-frenzy-when-threatened-ilona-andrews
i-think-average-american-recognizes-that-it-took-years-to-create-crisis-that-erupted-in-2008-peaked-in-january-2009-and-its-going-to-take-some-david-axelrod
there-was-sound-like-garbage-bag-pudding-dropped-off-tall-building-onto-sidewalk-robert-had-erupted-chunks-slapping-off-walls-in-every-direction-david-wong
jessie-wallace-was-first-time-i-erupted-she-was-late-she-was-young-shes-not-like-that-any-more-i-lost-my-temper-it-was-silly-i-burst-into-tears-ran-up-to-producer-i-said-i-had-be
not-only-was-one-cartoonist-gunned-down-but-riots-erupted-around-world-resulting-in-deaths-scores-no-one-could-say-toward-what-positive-social-end-garry-trudeau
many-my-20-30-something-peers-struggle-with-student-loan-debt-high-rent-more-than-once-ive-erupted-in-laughter-at-idea-that-i-will-collect-any-social-security-in-my-betty-white-y
laughter-erupted-from-her-belly-shot-out-her-mouth-like-pigeons-through-open-cage-door-schoolchildren-bursting-into-summer-vacation-water-from-tapped-hydrant-dennis-vickers
he-screamed-in-agony-as-large-black-wings-erupted-from-his-back-each-had-four-large-talons-on-it-alan-kinross
it-was-his-dream-to-coach-at-school-he-played-for-and-kids-love-him-when-i-announced-that-he-was-coach-they-erupted-in-applause-scott-raftery
platitude-not-crowd-erupted-into-applause-by-acclamation-kuni-garu-became-duke-zudi-a-few-pointed-out-that-titles-nobility-really-couldnt-be-handed-out-in-such-democratic-fashion
the-first-set-i-remember-was-ghostbusters-it-was-scene-in-which-street-erupted-i-remember-even-at-seven-years-old-thinking-wow-if-you-direct-movie-jason-reitman
Fear of the Dark I've always been prone to worry and anxiety, but after I became a mother, negotiating joy, gratitude, and scarcity felt like a full-time job. For years, my fear of something terrible happening to my children actually prevented me from fully embracing joy and gratitude. Every time I came too close to softening into sheer joyfulness about my children and how much I love them, I'd picture something terrible happening; I'd picture losing everything in a flash. At first I thought I was crazy. Was I the only person in the world who did this? As my therapist and I started working on it, I realized that 'my too good to be true' was totally related to fear, scarcity, and vulnerability. Knowing that those are pretty universal emotions, I gathered up the courage to talk about my experiences with a group of five hundred parents who had come to one of my parenting lectures. I gave an example of standing over my daughter watching her sleep, feeling totally engulfed in gratitude, then being ripped out of that joy and gratitude by images of something bad happening to her. You could have heard a pin drop. I thought, Oh, God. I'm crazy and now they're all sitting there like, 'She's a nut. How do we get out of here?' Then all of the sudden I heard the sound of a woman toward the back starting to cry. Not sniffle cry, but sob cry. That sound was followed by someone from the front shouting out, 'Oh my God! Why do we do that? What does it mean?' The auditorium erupted in some kind of crazy parent revival. As I had suspected, I was not alone.

Brene Brown
fear-dark-ive-always-been-prone-to-worry-anxiety-but-after-i-became-mother-negotiating-joy-gratitude-scarcity-felt-like-fulltime-job-for-years-my-fear-something-terrible-happenin
The land around Ankh-Morpork is fertile and largely given over to the cabbage fields that help to give the city its distinctive odor. The gray light of pre-dawn unrolled over the blue-green expanse, and around a couple of farmers who were making an early start on the spinach harvest. They looked up, not at a sound, but at a travelling point of silence where sound ought to have been. It was a man and a woman and something like a size five man in a size twelve fur coat, all in a chariot that flickered as it moved. It bowled along the road toward Holy Wood and was soon out of sight. A minute or two later it was followed by a wheelchair. Its axle glowed red-hot. It was full of people screaming at one another. One of them was turning a handle on a box. It was so overburdened that wizards occasionally fell off and ran along after it, shouting, until they had a chance to jump on again and start screaming. Whoever was attempting to steer was not succeeding, and it weaved back and forth across the road and eventually hurtled off it completely and through the side of a barn. One of the farmers nudged the other. "Oi've seen this on the clicks, " he said. "It's always the same. They crash into a barn and they allus comes out the other side covered in squawking chickens." His companion leaned reflectively on his hoe. "It'd be a sight worth seeing that, " he said. "Sure would." "'Cos all there is in there, boy, is twenty ton of cabbage." There was a crash, and the chair erupted from the barn in a shower of chickens and headed madly toward the road. The farmers looked at one another. "Well, dang me, " said one of them.

Terry Pratchett
the-land-around-ankhmorpork-is-fertile-largely-given-over-to-cabbage-fields-that-help-to-give-city-its-distinctive-odor-the-gray-light-predawn-unrolled-over-bluegreen-expanse-aro
Despite the chaos that was tearing her head apart, Tevi understood what scene Yenneg was attempting to play out, with herself as a conscripted actor. She needed to force out an explanation or denial, but no words could get past her lips. Jemeryl's presence was paralysing her, an effect far more irresistible than anything Yenneg had achieved. Tevi watched Jemeryl take another few steps forwards and then crouch down so that their eyes were no more than a foot apart. Tevi thought she would die from the shock. Yet somehow, she forced her mouth to shape the words, "Wine. Love potion." Her voice was not loud enough even to count as a whisper. Certainly nobody else in the room would have heard, yet Tevi could not control her breathing to manage anything else. At first Jemeryl showed no sign of comprehension, but then suddenly, the bewilderment on her face transformed into fury. She leapt up, her arms moving in a blurred aggressive swirl. The gesture ended with an action like hurling a ball. Blue fire erupted from Jemeryl's hands and shot towards Yenneg. The other sorcerer had obviously recognised the gesture and made an effort to protect himself. A shimmering shield sprung up before Yenneg, but it was not strong enough, and the shockwave knocked him off his feet. His shoulders slammed into the wall behind him and he crumpled to the floor. Jemeryl had been telling the truth when she claimed to vastly excel the acolytes in magical ability, not that Tevi had ever entertained doubts. Jemeryl's hands moved again, and this time Yenneg was sprawled on the floor and in no state to mount a defence. A second bolt of blue fire burst in his direction. Lightning in the form of a whip snapped across the room, intercepting Jemeryl's attack before it struck. The diverted fireball hit the wall of the summerhouse two feet from Yenneg's head and smashed through it, as if it were a stone going through wet paper.

Jane Fletcher
despite-chaos-that-was-tearing-her-head-apart-tevi-understood-what-scene-yenneg-was-attempting-to-play-out-with-herself-as-conscripted-actor-she-needed-to-force-out-explanation-d
The prime minister was provoked by what he considered to be unfriendly or inept coverage, or both, over many months. He concluded that the editors had lost control of the newsroom... What was probably the last straw for him was coverage of Israeli president Chaim Herzog's visit. When the Foreign Ministry announced the visit, fury flared across the Causeway. The Malaysian prime minister, Dr Mahathir Mohamad, recalled his high commissioner to Singapore and demanded the visit be cancelled. For Singapore to do so after the visit was announced would inflict serious damage on its sovereignty. Demonstrations erupted in many parts of Malaysia, and at the Malaysian end of the Causeway more than 100 demonstrators tried to stop a Singapore-bound train. Singapore flags were burnt. There were threats to cut off the water supply from Johor. Malaysia saw the visit as an insult. It did not recognise Israel, and had expected Singapore to be sensitive to its feelings. Singapore, however, could not refuse the Israeli request for its head of state to make a stopover visit in Singapore, the tail end of his three-week tour of Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and the Philippines, the first visit to this part of the world by an Israeli leader. Singapore could hardly forget the crucial assistance Israel had provided the Singapore Armed Forces in the early days of independence, when other friendly countries like Egypt and India had declined to help. What angered Lee Kuan Yew was our coverage of the Malaysian reactions to the visit. He felt it was grossly inadequate... Coverage in the Malaysian English press was restrained, but in their Malay press, Singapore was condemned in inflammatory language, and accused of being Israel's Trojan horse in Southeast Asia. A threat to target Singapore Airlines was prominently reported... And by depriving Singaporeans of the full flavour of what the Malaysian Malay media was reporting, an opportunity was lost to educate them about the harsh reality of life in the region, with two large Muslim-majority neighbours.

Cheong Yip Seng
the-prime-minister-was-provoked-by-what-he-considered-to-be-unfriendly-inept-coverage-both-over-many-months-he-concluded-that-editors-had-lost-control-newsroom-what-was-probably-
Seeing is of course very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call my attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won't see it. It is, as Ruskin says, 'not merely unnoticed, but in the full clear sense of the word, unseen.' If Tinker Mountain erupted, I'd be likely to notice. But if I want to notice the lesser cataclysms of valley life, I have to maintain in my head a running description of the present... when I see this way I analyze and pry. I hurl over logs and roll away stones; I study the bank a square foot at a time, probing and tilting my head. Some days when the mist covers the mountains, when the muskrats won't show and the microscope's mirror shatters, I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife, claw a rent in the top, peep, and if I must, fall. But there is another kind of seeing that involves a letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and without a camera. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment's light prints on my own silver gut. It was sunny one evening last summer at Tinker Creek; the sun was low in the sky, upstream. I was sitting on the sycamore log bridge with the sunset at my back, watching the shiners the size of minnows who were feeding over the muddy bottom... again and again, one fish, then another, turned for a split second and flash! the sun shot out from its silver side. I couldn't watch for it. It was always just happening somewhere else... so I blurred my eyes and gazed towards the brim of my hat and saw a new world. I saw the pale white circles roll up, roll up like the world's turning, mute and perfect, and I saw the linear flashes, gleaming silver, like stars being born at random down a rolling scroll of time. Something broke and something opened. I filled up like a new wineskin. I breathed an air like light; I saw a light like water. I was the lip of a fountain the creek filled forever; I was ether, the leaf in the zephyr; I was flesh-flake, feather, bone. When I see this way, I see truly.

Annie Dillard
seeing-is-course-much-matter-verbalization-unless-i-call-my-attention-to-what-passes-before-my-eyes-i-simply-wont-see-it-it-is-as-ruskin-says-not-merely-unnoticed-but-in-full-cle
Ready yourselves!' Mullone heard himself say, which was strange, he thought, for he knew his men were prepared. A great cry came from beyond the walls that were punctuated by musket blasts and Mullone readied himself for the guns to leap into action. Mullone felt a tremor. The ground shook and then the first rebels poured through the gates like an oncoming tide. Mullone saw the leading man; both hands gripping a green banner, face contorted with zeal. The flag had a white cross in the centre of the green field and the initials JF below it. John Fitzstephen. Then, there were more men behind him, tens, then scores. And then time seemed to slow. The guns erupted barely twenty feet from them. Later on, Mullone would remember the great streaks of flame leap from the muzzles to lick the air and all of the charging rebels were shredded and torn apart in one terrible instant. Balls ricocheted on stone and great chunks were gouged out by the bullets. Blood sprayed on the walls as far back as the arched gateway, limbs were shorn off, and Mullone watched in horror as a bloodied head tumbled down the sloped street towards the barricade. 'Jesus sweet suffering Christ!' Cahill gawped at the carnage as the echo of the big guns resonated like a giant's beating heart. Trooper O'Shea bent to one side and vomited at the sight of the twitching, bleeding and unrecognisable lumps that had once been men. A man staggered with both arms missing. Another crawled back to the gate with a shattered leg spurting blood. The stench of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood hung ripe and nauseating in the oppressive air. One of the low wooden cabins by the wall was on fire. A blast of musketry outside the walls rattled against the stonework and a redcoat toppled backwards onto the cabin's roof as the flames fanned over the wood. 'Here they come again! Ready your firelocks! Do not waste a shot!' Johnson shouted in a steady voice as the gateway became thick with more rebels. He took a deep breath. 'God forgive us, ' Corporal Brennan said. 'Liberty or death!' A rebel, armed with a blood-stained pitchfork, shouted over-and-over.

David Cook
ready-yourselves-mullone-heard-himself-say-which-was-strange-he-thought-for-he-knew-his-men-were-prepared-a-great-cry-came-from-beyond-walls-that-were-punctuated-by-musket-blasts
Iain MacGregor, ' she whispered longingly, looking up. The woods were quiet. Strips of moonlight shone through tree limbs that reached like surreal black fingertips across her vision. A single tear slid down her cheek. She touched her mouth, imagining his kiss. Taking a small pocket knife out of her cargo pants, she looked about. A mystic had once told her that if she left pieces of herself around while she lived, it would expand her haunting territory when she died. Jane wasn't sure she believed in sideshow magic tricks-or the Old Magick as the mystic had spelled it on her sign. She had no idea what had possessed her to talk to the palm reader and ask about ghosts. Still, just in case, she was leaving her stamp all over the woods. She cut her palm and pressed it to a nearby tree under a branch. Holding the wound to the rough bark stung at first, but then it made her feel better. This forest wouldn't be a bad eternity. The sound of running feet erupted behind her and she stiffened. No one ever came out here at night. She'd walked the woods hundreds of times. Her mind instantly went to the creepy girl ghosts chanting by the stream. 'Whoohoo!' Jane whipped around, startled as a streak of naked flesh sprinted past her. The Scottish voice was met with loud cheers from those who followed him. 'Water's this way, lads, or my name isn't Raibeart MacGregor, King of the Highlands!' Another naked man dashed through the forest after him. 'It smells of freedom.' Jane stayed hidden in the branches, undetected, with her hand pressed to the bark. 'Aye, freedom from your proper Cait, ' Raibeart answered, his voice coming through the dark where he'd disappeared into the trees. 'Murdoch, stop him before he reaches town. Cait will not teleport ya out of jail again, ' a third man yelled, not running quite so fast. 'Raibeart, ya are goin' the wrong way!' 'Och, Angus, my Cait canna live without me, ' Murdoch, the second streaker, answered. 'She'll always come to my rescue.' 'I said stop him, Murdoch, we're new to this place.' Angus skidded to a stop and lifted his jaw, as if sensing he was being watched. He looked in her direction and instantly covered his manhood as his eyes caught Jane's shocked face in the tree limbs. 'Oh, lassie.' 'Oh, naked man, ' Jane teased before she could stop herself. 'That I am, ' Angus answered, 'but there is an explanation for it.' 'I don't think some things need explained, ' Jane said.

Michelle M. Pillow
iain-macgregor-she-whispered-longingly-looking-up-the-woods-were-quiet-strips-moonlight-shone-through-tree-limbs-that-reached-like-surreal-black-fingertips-across-her-vision-a-si
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