Screws 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
i-thought-about-screws-their-happiness-maybe-they-were-glad-to-be-free-eggbeater-to-be-independent-screws-to-luxuriate-on-white-trays-it-did-feel-good-to-see-them-happy-haruki-mu
no-ones-virgin-life-screws-us-all
what-slut-time-is-she-screws-with-everybody-john-green
what-slut-time-is-she-screws-everybody-john-green
we039re-turning-the-screws-right-now
nothing-screws-up-your-friday-like-realizing-its-thursday
anybody-who-doesnt-know-that-politics-is-crime-has-got-few-screws-loose
what-screws-us-up-the-most-in-life-is-the-picture-in-our-head-of-how-it-is-supposed-to-be
what-has-six-balls-screws-texans-the-texas-lottery-kinky-friedman
what-screws-us-up-the-most-in-life-is-the-picture-in-our-head-of-how-its-supposed-to-be
what-screws-us-up-most-in-life-is-the-picture-in-our-head-of-how-its-supposed-to-be
what-screws-us-up-the-most-in-life-is-the-picture-in-our-heads-of-how-its-supposed-to-be
kings-equal-opportunity-dirtbag-he-screws-everybody-michael-spinks
what-screws-us-up-the-most-in-life-is-the-picture-in-our-head-of-how-its-suppose-to-be
i-never-got-to-make-that-transition-from-little-girl-to-young-woman-that-really-screws-you-up
it-was-as-if-when-he-left-hed-taken-some-screws-that-held-her-together-now-all-she-could-do-was-walk-around-all-wonky-falling-apart-virginia-macgregor
screws-fall-out-all-time-world-is-imperfect-place-john-hughes
i-live-at-dentists-im-on-my-third-set-teeth-that-they-put-in-with-nails-screws
there-thats-better-now-you-look-like-wild-scrub-that-fell-into-my-life-because-you-loosened-vents-screws-best-decision-ever-maria-v-snyder
a-speaker-is-like-lousy-auto-mechanic-every-time-he-fixes-something-in-language-he-screws-up-something-else-joseph-h-greenberg
i-think-thats-most-important-thing-when-life-kind-screws-you-over-little-bit-youve-got-to-learn-from-that-experience-andrew-mcmahon
each-us-is-full-too-many-wheels-screws-valves-to-permit-us-to-judge-one-another-on-first-impression-by-two-three-external-signs-anton-chekhov
i-have-to-tell-you-im-not-like-demi-moore-where-tears-trickle-prettily-down-my-cheeks-my-whole-face-screws-up-its-like-oh-please-get-room
free-agency-screws-everybodys-allegiances-up-whether-it-be-football-baseball-hockey-basketball-whatever-it-may-be-its-really-hard-bill-goldberg
when-answer-finally-comes-to-me-i-know-ive-completely-lost-all-my-wits-as-my-mama-used-to-tell-my-father-i-have-few-screws-loose-brandy-nacole
the-german-emperor-is-ageing-me-he-is-like-battleship-with-steam-up-screws-going-but-with-no-rudder-he-will-run-into-something-some-day-cause-catastrophe
if-you-want-to-hurt-me-fine-take-my-books-burn-down-my-house-shave-my-head-while-i-am-sleeping-but-nobody-nobody-screws-with-my-dog-molly-harper
military-action-is-never-first-thing-that-you-jump-to-you-always-look-at-other-possibilities-including-economic-sanctions-tightening-screws-benjamin-carson
the-church-has-no-power-over-our-lives-any-more-which-is-something-blessing-for-those-who-do-not-enjoy-redhot-pokers-iron-thumbscrews-stephen-fry
for-me-to-be-pompous-is-most-horrible-thing-in-world-its-like-putting-wall-around-you-it-screws-you-up-youd-better-be-willing-to-change-your-views-jean-pigozzi
sitting-on-tree-branch-like-crow-ill-hawk-your-every-move-dropping-down-on-muthafuckas-backs-and-twist-they-heads-like-screws-dark-lotus
the-novelist-screws-up-his-courage-in-order-to-invest-another-two-three-years-in-another-attempt-to-float-boat-original-design-upon-invented-ocean-edward-hoagland
mysterious-in-light-day-nature-retains-her-veil-despite-our-clamours-that-which-she-does-not-willingly-display-cannot-be-wrenched-from-her-with-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe
and-before-you-barrel-through-some-idiotic-cosmo-girl-list-howwelldoyouknowyourman-questions-let-me-say-that-i-dont-know-squat-about-him-except-that-he-kisses-like-god-screws-lik
i-dont-know-if-hep-c-is-called-quiet-killer-but-it-easily-could-be-unnoticeably-does-it-nestle-into-your-body-before-crankin-up-screws-letting-you-race-to-figure-out-whats-going-
yeah-there-has-to-be-few-screws-loose-when-girl-asks-you-to-drop-everything-to-spend-threeday-weekend-on-short-notice-you-say-okey-dokey-without-care-in-world-yawatta-hosby
most-people-dont-realize-that-large-pieces-coral-which-have-been-painted-brown-attached-to-skull-by-common-wood-screws-can-make-child-look-like-jack-handey
just-stop-for-minute-youll-realize-youre-happy-just-being-i-think-its-pursuit-that-screws-up-happiness-if-we-drop-pursuit-its-right-here-james-hillman
they-want-liberalization-ill-give-them-liberalization-ill-loosen-screws-until-americans-beg-me-to-tighten-them-again-mohammed-reza-pahlavi
ill-chain-you-to-the-truth-for-the-truth-shall-set-you-free-ill-turn-the-screws-of-vengeance-and-bury-you-with-honesty
for-many-years-ive-said-that-if-someone-screws-you-screw-them-backwhen-somebody-hurts-you-just-go-after-them-as-viciously-as-violently-as-you-can-pope-francis
scn-is-like-hiv-gets-in-there-screws-up-immune-system-perverts-law-to-its-own-ends-forget-government-taking-lead-role-in-bringing-down-scn-that-keith-henson
wrestling-acting-couldnt-be-anymore-different-in-terms-what-it-takes-to-entertain-wrestling-is-explosion-acting-is-implosion-one-really-screws-up-roddy-piper
shrapnel-is-based-on-idea-that-we-do-colonize-solar-system-but-its-not-clean-optimistic-the-haves-are-putting-screws-to-have-nots-the-story-is-about-last-stand-last-free-colony-i
if-we-get-in-accident-thats-strong-enough-to-break-bones-its-going-to-break-bones-what-makes-me-little-bit-higher-risk-is-that-if-i-break-my-right-ankle-again-ive-got-bunch-screw
we-all-have-too-many-wheels-screws-valves-to-judge-each-other-on-first-impressions-one-two-pointers-i-dont-understand-you-you-dont-understand-me-anton-chekhov
its-complex-song-its-fascinating-to-watch-creative-process-as-they-went-back-forth-finally-created-it-over-few-months-lennon-was-always-my-favorite-beatle-he-laughs-as-lennon-sto
Fanfare for the Makers A cloud of witnesses. To whom? To what? To the small fire that never leaves the sky. To the great fire that boils the daily pot. To all the things we are not remembered by, Which we remember and bless. To all the things That will not notice when we die, Yet lend the passing moment words and wings. So fanfare for the Makers: who compose A book of words or deeds who runs may write As many who do run, as a family grows At times like sunflowers turning towards the light. As sometimes in the blackout and the raids One joke composed an island in the night. As sometimes one man's kindness pervades A room or house or village, as sometimes Merely to tighten screws or sharpen blades Can catch a meaning, as to hear the chimes At midnight means to share them, as one man In old age plants an avenue of limes And before they bloom can smell them, before they span The road can walk beneath the perfected arch, The merest greenprint when the lives began Of those who walk there with him, as in default Of coffee men grind acorns, as in despite Of all assaults conscripts counter assault, As mothers sit up late night after night Moulding a life, as miners day by day Descend blind shafts, as a boy may flaunt his kite In an empty nonchalant sky, as anglers play Their fish, as workers work and can take pride In spending sweat before they draw their pay. As horsemen fashion horses while they ride, As climbers climb a peak because it is there, As life can be confirmed even in suicide: To make is such. Let us make. And set the weather fair. Louis Macneice

Louis MacNeice
fanfare-for-makers-a-cloud-witnesses-to-whom-to-what-to-small-fire-that-never-leaves-sky-to-great-fire-that-boils-daily-pot-to-all-things-we-are-not-remembered-by-which-we-rememb
Stephen had been put to sleep in his usual room, far from children and noise, away in that corner of the house which looked down to the orchard and the bowling-green, and in spite of his long absence it was so familiar to him that when he woke at about three he made his way to the window almost as quickly as if dawn had already broken, opened it and walked out onto the balcony. The moon had set: there was barely a star to be seen. The still air was delightfully fresh with falling dew, and a late nightingale, in an indifferent voice, was uttering a routine jug-jug far down in Jack's plantations; closer at hand and more agreeable by far, nightjars churred in the orchard, two of them, or perhaps three, the sound rising and falling, intertwining so that the source could not be made out for sure. There were few birds that he preferred to nightjars, but it was not they that had brought him out of bed: he stood leaning on the balcony rail and presently Jack Aubrey, in a summer-house by the bowling-green, began again, playing very gently in the darkness, improvising wholly for himself, dreaming away on his violin with a mastery that Stephen had never heard equalled, though they had played together for years and years. Like many other sailors Jack Aubrey had long dreamed of lying in his warm bed all night long; yet although he could now do so with a clear conscience he often rose at unChristian hours, particularly if he were moved by strong emotion, and crept from his bedroom in a watch-coat, to walk about the house or into the stables or to pace the bowling-green. Sometimes he took his fiddle with him. He was in fact a better player than Stephen, and now that he was using his precious Guarnieri rather than a robust sea-going fiddle the difference was still more evident: but the Guarnieri did not account for the whole of it, nor anything like. Jack certainly concealed his excellence when they were playing together, keeping to Stephen's mediocre level: this had become perfectly clear when Stephen's hands were at last recovered from the thumb-screws and other implements applied by French counter-intelligence officers in Minorca; but on reflexion Stephen thought it had been the case much earlier, since quite apart from his delicacy at that period, Jack hated showing away. Now, in the warm night, there was no one to be comforted, kept in countenance, no one could scorn him for virtuosity, and he could let himself go entirely; and as the grave and subtle music wound on and on, Stephen once more contemplated on the apparent contradiction between the big, cheerful, florid sea-officer whom most people liked on sight but who would have never been described as subtle or capable of subtlety by any one of them (except perhaps his surviving opponents in battle) and the intricate, reflective music he was now creating. So utterly unlike his limited vocabulary in words, at times verging upon the inarticulate. 'My hands have now regained the moderate ability they possessed before I was captured, ' observed Maturin, 'but his have gone on to a point I never thought he could reach: his hands and his mind. I am amazed. In his own way he is the secret man of the world.

Patrick O'Brian
stephen-had-been-put-to-sleep-in-his-usual-room-far-from-children-noise-away-in-that-corner-house-which-looked-down-to-orchard-bowlinggreen-in-spite-his-long-absence-it-was-famil
I imagined my coffin being closed, and the screws being turned. I was immobile, but I was alive, and I wanted to tell my family that I was seeing everything. I wanted to tell them all that I loved them, but not a sound came out of my mouth. My father and mother were weeping, my wife and my friends were gathered around, but I was completely alone! With all of the people dear to me standing there, no one was able to see that I was alive and that I had not yet accomplished all that I wanted to do in this world. I tried desperately to open my eyes, to give a sign, to beat on the lid of the coffin. But I could not move any part of my body. I felt the coffin being carried toward the grave. I could hear the sound of the handles grinding against their fittings, the steps of those in the procession, and conversations from this side and that. Someone said that he had a date for dinner later on, and another observed that I had died early. The smell of flowers all around me began to suffocate me. I remembered how I had given up trying to establish a relationship with two or three women, fearing their rejection. I remembered also the number of times I had failed to do what I wanted to do, thinking I could always do it later. I felt very sorry for myself, not only because I was about to be buried alive but also because I had been afraid to live. Why be fearful of saying no to someone or of leaving something undone when the most important thing of all was to enjoy life fully? There I was, trapped in a coffin, and it was already too late to go back and show the courage I should have had. There I was, having played the role of my own Judas, having betrayed myself. There I was, powerless to move a muscle, screaming for help, while the others were involved in their lives, worrying about what they were going to do that night, admiring statues and buildings that I would never see again. I began to feel how unfair it was to have to be buried while others continued to live. I would have felt better if there had been a catastrophe and all of us had been in the same boat, heading for the same abyss toward which they were carrying me now. Help! I tried to cry out. I'm still alive. I haven't died. My mind is still functioning! They placed my coffin at the edge of the grave. They are going to bury me! My wife is going to forget all about me; she will marry someone else and spend the money we have struggled to save for all these years! But who cares about that. I want to be with her now, because I'm alive! I hear sobs, and I feel tears falling from my eyes, too. If my friends were to open my coffin now, they would see my tears and save me. But instead all I feel is the lowering of the coffin into the ground. Suddenly, everything is dark. A moment ago, there was a ray of light at the edge of the coffin, but now the darkness is complete. The grave diggers' shovels are filling in the grave, and I'm alive! Buried alive! I sense that the air is being cut off, and the fragrance of the flowers is awful. I hear the mourners' departing footsteps. My terror is total. I'm not able to do anything; if they go away now, it will soon be night, and no one will hear me knocking on the lid of my coffin! The footsteps fade, nobody hears my screams, and I am alone in the darkness; the air is heavy, and the smell of the flowers is driving me crazy. Suddenly, I hear a sound. It's the worms, coming to eat me alive. I try with all my strength to move the parts of my body, but I am inert. The worms begin to climb over my body. They are sticky and cold. They creep over my face and crawl into my shorts. One of them enters through my anus, and another begins to sneak into a nostril. Help! I'm being eaten alive, and nobody can hear me; nobody says a word to me. The worm that entered my nostril has reached my throat. I feel another invading my ear. I have to get out! Where is God; why doesn't he help me? They are beginning to eat at my throat, and soon I won't be able to scream!

Paulo Coelho
i-imagined-my-coffin-being-closed-screws-being-turned-i-was-immobile-but-i-was-alive-i-wanted-to-tell-my-family-that-i-was-seeing-everything-i-wanted-to-tell-them-all-that-i-love
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