Scrub 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
suffering-is-essential-for-elimination-ego-just-as-it-was-necessary-for-you-to-scrub-scrub-in-order-to-wash-stain-from-my-coat-meher-baba
i-thought-it-was-going-to-take-lot-more-countdowns-on-pad-we-actually-did-scrub-once-but-i-figured-wed-scrub-several-times-since-its-pretty-complicated-vehicle
i039m-bout-to-scrub-my-game-up
the-women-thats-always-talking-about-being-independent-are-usually-the-ones-that-are-single-or-the-ones-that-got-a-scrub
if-i-had-dollar-for-every-guy-that-came-up-to-me-to-say-im-not-scrub-oh-my-god-id-have-billion-dollars
well-sue-me-for-staring-id-be-willing-to-scrub-away-my-shame-on-his-washboard-abs-tia-giacalone
i-am-not-big-facial-person-but-i-do-love-body-scrub
your-assumptions-are-your-windows-on-world-scrub-them-off-every-once-in-while-light-wont-come-in-isaac-asimov
graffitis-always-been-temporary-art-form-you-make-your-mark-then-they-scrub-it-off
i-go-home-stay-there-i-wash-scrub-up-each-day-thats-it-one-month-i-actually-grew-moustache-just-i-could-say-that-id-done-something
my-desire-to-get-here-parliament-was-like-minerscoal-dust-it-was-under-my-fingers-i-couldnt-scrub-it-out-betty-boothroyd
did-you-know-youre-supposed-to-soap-scrub-for-as-long-as-it-takes-to-sing-happy-birthday-twice
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
being-scrub-was-undesirable-hard-work-living-in-crowded-conditions-with-no-privacy-just-being-one-many-undistinguishable-maria-v-snyder
i-wash-clothes-rinse-them-then-scrub-them-again-will-that-square-little-box-do-that-i-am-not-using-any-fancy-machines-when-my-hands-will-do-renita-dsilva
because-we-cannot-scrub-our-inner-body-we-need-to-learn-few-skills-to-help-cleanse-our-tissues-organs-mind-this-is-art-ayurveda-sebastian-pole
shunning-upstart-shower-the-cold-cursory-scrub-i-celebrate-power-that-lies-within-tub-phyllis-mcginley
now-is-time-to-scrub-ideology-out-energy-discussion-we-can-make-bipartisan-progress-towards-investing-in-shared-better-future-jay-inslee
his-clothes-were-clean-but-his-mustache-was-dirty-he-must-have-used-it-as-brush-to-scrub-his-pants-ill-bet-his-coffee-tastes-like-freedom-jarod-kintz
i-got-blues-thinking-future-i-left-off-made-some-marmalade-its-amazing-how-it-cheers-one-up-to-shred-orange-scrub-floor-d-h-lawrence
the-scrub-sinkis-place-where-doctors-wash-their-hands-after-they-operate-that-they-wont-get-flecks-your-vital-organs-on-their-lexus-upholstery-dave-barry
oh-ive-never-gone-off-into-that-rooms-not-right-temperature-take-this-tea-back-stuff-i-still-scrub-my-own-toilet-vacuum-carpet-i-have-to-be-able-to-push-my-trolley-around-morriso
i-have-to-exfoliate-my-lips-as-theyre-quite-large-surface-area-sometimes-when-i-wear-lipstick-it-goes-all-cakey-so-i-mix-brown-sugar-with-lip-balm-just-scrub-it-onto-them
begin-challenging-your-own-assumptions-your-assumptions-are-your-windows-on-world-scrub-them-off-every-once-in-while-light-wont-come-in
begin-challenging-your-assumptions-your-assumptions-are-windows-on-world-scrub-them-off-every-once-in-awhile-light-wont-come-in-alan-alda
begin-challenging-your-own-assumptions-your-assumptions-are-your-windows-on-world-scrub-them-off-every-once-in-awhile-light-wont-come-in-alan-alda
we-should-scrub-all-our-federal-regulations-to-find-responsible-ways-to-make-life-easier-to-small-businesses-i-want-to-be-small-business-president-william-j-clinton
a-soft-touch-light-scrub-hard-squeeze-tight-hug-long-stare-beautiful-conversation-are-just-few-among-many-trivial-influential-love-actions-that-develop-peoples-emotions-victor-ma
resume-i-wish-i-had-resume-and-if-i-did-i-wouldnt-scrub-anything-from-it-who-cares
i-cant-live-without-good-scrub-concealer-concealer-could-give-you-8-hours-sleep-instantly-i-also-love-lipstick-for-everyday-berry-tone-that-resembles-natural-lip-color
i-love-making-body-scrub-with-ground-up-coffee-coconut-oil-its-really-good-for-circulation-it-smells-delicious-i-also-do-diy-greek-yogurt-honey-mask-that-softens-your-skin-helps-
he-wanna-turn-key-hurt-sheets-move-to-left-he-wanna-hot-scrub-hot-love-making-it-wet-michael-jackson
and-from-first-time-i-picked-up-basketball-at-age-eight-i-had-lot-difficulty-when-i-first-picked-up-basketball-because-i-was-scrub-there-were-things-that-i-liked-about-it
from-rugged-cliffs-cape-liptrap-peninsula-jutting-bravely-into-swells-bass-strait-coast-arcs-southeast-hugging-waters-waratah-bay-with-sweeping-flat-lines-fine-pale-sand-knotty-s
xerxes-i-read-halted-his-unwieldy-army-for-days-that-he-might-contemplate-to-his-satisfaction-beauty-single-sycamore-you-are-xerxes-in-persia-your-army-spreads-on-vast-arid-penep
GONE TO STATIC it sounds better than it is, this business of surviving, making it through the wrong place at the wrong time and living to tell. when the talk shows and movie credits wear off, it's just me and my dumb luck. this morning I had that dream again: the one where I'm dead. I wake up and nothing's much different. everything's gone sepia, a dirty bourbon glass by the bed, you're still dead. I could stumble to the shower, scrub the luck of breath off my skin but it's futile. the killer always wins. it's just a matter of time. and I have time. I have grief and liquor to fill it. tonight, the liquor and I are talking to you. the liquor says, 'remember' and I fill in the rest, your hands, your smile. all those times. remember. tonight the liquor and I are telling you about our day. we made it out of bed. we miss you. we were surprised by the blood between our legs. we miss you. we made it to the video store, missing you. we stopped at the liquor store hoping the bourbon would stop the missing. there's always more bourbon, more missing tonight, when we got home, there was a stray cat at the door. she came in. she screams to be touched. she screams when I touch her. she's right at home. not me. the whisky is open the vcr is on. I'm running the film backwards and one by one you come back to me, all of you. your pulses stutter to a begin your eyes go from fixed to blink the knives come out of your chests, the chainsaws roar out from your legs your wounds seal over your t-cells multiply, your tumors shrink the maniac killer disappears it's just you and me and the bourbon and the movie flickering together and the air breathes us and I am home, I am lucky I am right before everything goes black

Daphne Gottlieb
gone-to-static-it-sounds-better-than-it-is-this-business-surviving-making-it-through-wrong-place-at-wrong-time-living-to-tell-when-talk-shows-movie-credits-wear-off-its-just-me-m
AND I BE GETTING COMMENTS LIKE "HOP, WHAT'S THE HOLD UP WITH YOUR NEW SHIT MAN YOU BE TAKING FOREVER SON YO I'M A STOP WAITING I'M GETTING MY HOPES UP WITH YOUR WORK ETHIC IT AIN'T GON' EVER COME YOU HAD THE XXL COVER IN 2012 AND I THOUGHT YOU WOULD SOON PREVAIL BUT NIGGA, YOU AIN'T DOING WELL YOU HIT US WITH THAT ILL MIND SHIT AND THAT WAS COOL AS HELL BUT WHEN IT COMES TO YOUR ALBUM YOU AIN'T EVER GOT NO NEWS TO TELL YOUR WHOLE CAREER IS JUST A TRAIN WRECK YOU TOURED AROUND THE WORLD FOR 3 YEARS BUT YOU ALWAYS PERFORMED THE SAME SET I BEEN ASKED YOU TO COME TO MY CITY BUT YOU AIN'T CAME YET I GUESS YOU AIN'T IN IT FOR LOVE YOU JUST WANT THAT PAY CHECK IF I WAS YOU, THEN I WOULDN'T BE TOO PROUD YOU SIGNED DIZZY NOT TOO LONG AGO AND HE'S BIGGER THAN YOU NOW YOU SAID YOU SAVING HIP HOP WELL SAVE THIS SHIT AND ALL I HEAR IS WACK NIGGAS AND I HATE THIS SHIT HOMIE I STOPPED BEING A SCRUB BECAUSE OF YOU I STOPPED PLAYING THESE BITCHES IN THE CLUB AND FELL IN LOVE BECAUSE OF YOU MY DAD HEARD YOUR SONG AND HE STOPPED DOING DRUGS BECAUSE OF YOU I LEARNED TO RAP AND EVEN BUILT A LIL BUZZ BECAUSE OF YOU BUT YOU TAKE IT FOR GRANTED THINKING YOU HAVE IT MADE SITTING BACK IN THE SHADE HOPSIN, THERE'S PEOPLE THAT YOU HAVE TO SAVE THIS IS BEYOND MUSIC YOU SPEAK LIFE INTO THESE MOTHERFUCKERS HOP, YOU HAVE A GIFT, SO WHEN YOU GON' USE IT?" DAMN, I HAVE THAT MUCH OF AN IMPACT? MY RHYMES DID THAT? SOMETIMES, I REALLY FEEL MY SHIT'S WACK THAT'S WHY I KICK BACK BUT FUCK THIS SHIT, YO WHERE MY PEN AT? I'M ABOUT TO KILL THIS SHIT AND MAKE NIGGAS JUST WANNA QUIT RAP I'M CAUSING HAVOC LAYING THE RAPPERS LIKE A HAMMOCK IF I WANT THE FUCKING PLANET, I CAN HAVE IT NOW TRY TO SNATCH IT ONLY GOD CAN STOP MY VIOLENT HABITS YOU NIGGAS AVERAGE I AIN'T EVEN IN MY PRIME AND STILL I'M TWICE THE SAVAGE

Hopsin
and-i-be-getting-comments-like-hop-whats-the-hold-up-with-your-new-shit-man-you-be-taking-forever-son-yo-im-a-stop-waiting-im-getting-my-hopes-up-with-hopsin
It was said that the Old Folk controlled the power of fire, among other things, but that was in the Long and Long Ago. Before that, the fathers of the Old Folk caught a spark with flint and steel and their own desire to live. It was also said that the world was a great wheel, and everything came round to what it once had been, and so Steven Boughmount knelt in the snow with rocks in his hands, trying to catch a flame. He was having little luck. Just over the low hills, beyond this scrub of forest, the village was warm and sleeping behind its wall. That's where I should be, Steven thought as he scraped the edge of one rock against the other. Not in bed, not yet, but stretched out in my chair with my feet up, a pipe smoking just right in my hand and Heather curled up beside me. The boys are all asleep, but maybe we'll stay up for a while. Maybe we'll move to the bedroom, maybe not. That's where I should be, not up to my ass in snow trying to light a fire. 'C'mon, bastard, ' he said, and drug the sharp edge of the rock in his right hand against the flat of the one in his left. A white spark flew, and then died before it could reach the stripped branches and dried moss he had laid out on the frozen ground. Snow crunched somewhere off to the left of him. Steven heard soft, bare footsteps. They were coming, all right. And they were in a hurry, running toward a village protected by two drunks on either side of a leaning gate. That was why Steven sat in the snow. When the Guards slept, the Hunters went to work. And what sounded like a whole clan of goblins was passing him by because he couldn't get a damn fire lit. Steven drew his sword. It was called Fangodoom, given to him by his mother just before she died. Fangodoom was a dwarf blade, of steel mined and forged deep within the Lyme Mountains centuries ago. Goblins near, the blade all but gleamed though there wasn't any moon. Again he wondered if this would be the last time, and again he knew that if it was, it was. His hand turned into a fist on the hilt of his weapon, and he prayed. 'Lord, make me Your hammer.

Michael Kanuckel
it-was-said-that-old-folk-controlled-power-fire-among-other-things-but-that-was-in-long-long-ago-before-that-fathers-old-folk-caught-spark-with-flint-steel-their-own-desire-to-li
This tub is for washing your courage... When you are born your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of a spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true... This tub is for washing your wishes... For the wishes of one's old life wither and shrivel like old leaves if they are not replaced with new wishes when the world changes. And the world always changes. Wishes get slimy, and their colors fade, and soon they are just mud, like all the rest of the mud, and not wishes at all, but regrets. The trouble is, not everyone can tell when they ought to launder their wishes. Even when one finds oneself in Fairyland and not at home at all, it is not always so easy to catch the world in its changing and change with it... Lastly, we must wash your luck. When souls queue up to be born, they all leap up at just the last moment, touching the lintel of the world for luck. Some jump high and can seize a great measure of luck; some jump only a bit and snatch a few loose strands. Everyone manages to catch some. If one did not have at least a little luck, one would never survive childhood. But luck can be spent, like money, and lost, like a memory; and wasted, like a life. If you know how to look, you can examine the kneecaps of a human and tell how much luck they have left. No bath can replenish luck that has been spent on avoiding an early death by automobile accident or winning too many raffles in a row. No bath can restore luck lost through absentmindedness and overconfidence. But luck withered by conservative, tired, riskless living can be pumped up again-after all, it is only a bit thirsty for something to do.

Catherynne M. Valente
this-tub-is-for-washing-your-courage-when-you-are-born-your-courage-is-new-clean-you-are-brave-enough-for-anything-crawling-off-staircases-saying-your-first-words-without-fearing
Here's the thing, say Shug. The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit. It? I ast. Yeah, It. God ain't a he or a she, but a It. But what do it look like? I ast. Don't look like nothing, she say. It ain't a picture show. It ain't something you can look at apart from anything else, including yourself. I believe God is everything, say Shug. Everything that is or ever was or ever will be. And when you can feel that, and be happy to feel that, you've found It. Shug a beautiful something, let me tell you. She frown a little, look out cross the yard, lean back in her chair, look like a big rose. She say, My first step from the old white man was trees. Then air. Then birds. Then other people. But one day when I was sitting quiet and feeling like a motherless child, which I was, it come to me: that feeling of being part of everything, not separate at all. I knew that if I cut a tree, my arm would bleed. And I laughed and I cried and I run all around the house. I knew just what it was. In fact, when it happen, you can't miss it. It sort of like you know what, she say, grinning and rubbing high up on my thigh. Shug! I say. Oh, she say. God love all them feelings. That's some of the best stuff God did. And when you know God loves 'em you enjoys 'em a lot more. You can just relax, go with everything that's going, and praise God by liking what you like. God don't think it dirty? I ast. Naw, she say. God made it. Listen, God love everything you love? and a mess of stuff you don't. But more than anything else, God love admiration. You saying God vain? I ast. Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it. What it do when it pissed off? I ast. Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back. Yeah? I say. Yeah, she say. It always making little surprises and springing them on us when us least expect. You mean it want to be loved, just like the bible say. Yes, Celie, she say. Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk? Well, us talk and talk bout God, but I'm still adrift. Trying to chase that old white man out of my head. I been so busy thinking bout him I never truly notice nothing God make. Not a blade of corn (how it do that?) not the color purple (where it come from?). Not the little wildflowers. Nothing. Now that my eyes opening, I feels like a fool. Next to any little scrub of a bush in my yard, Mr. ____s evil sort of shrink. But not altogether. Still, it is like Shug say, You have to git man off your eyeball, before you can see anything a'tall. Man corrupt everything, say Shug. He on your box of grits, in your head, and all over the radio. He try to make you think he everywhere. Soon as you think he everywhere, you think he God. But he ain't. Whenever you trying to pray, and man plop himself on the other end of it, tell him to git lost, say Shug. Conjure up flowers, wind, water, a big rock. But this hard work, let me tell you. He been there so long, he don't want to budge. He threaten lightening, floods and earthquakes. Us fight. I hardly pray at all. Every time I conjure up a rock, I throw it. Amen

Alice Walker
heres-thing-say-shug-the-thing-i-believe-god-is-inside-you-inside-everybody-else-you-come-into-world-with-god-but-only-them-that-search-for-it-inside-find-it-and-sometimes-it-jus
I realized I still had my eyes shut. I had shut them when I put my face to the screen, like I was scared to look outside. Now I had to open them. I looked out the window and saw for the first time how the hospital was out in the country. The moon was low in the sky over the pastureland; the face of it was scarred and scuffed where it had just torn up out of the snarl of scrub oak and madrone trees on the horizon. The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon. It called to mind how I noticed the exact same thing when I was off on a hunt with Papa and the uncles and I lay rolled in blankets Grandma had woven, lying off a piece from where the men hunkered around the fire as they passed a quart jar of cactus liquor in a silent circle. I watched that big Oregon prairie moon above me put all the stars around it to shame. I kept awake watching, to see if the moon ever got dimmer or if the stars got brighter, till the dew commenced to drift onto my cheeks and I had to pull a blanket over my head. Something moved on the grounds down beneath my window - cast a long spider of shadow out across the grass as it ran out of sight behind a hedge. When it ran back to where I could get a better look, I saw it was a dog, a young, gangly mongrel slipped off from home to find out about things went on after dark. He was sniffing digger squirrel holes, not with a notion to go digging after one but just to get an idea what they were up to at this hour. He'd run his muzzle down a hole, butt up in the air and tail going, then dash off to another. The moon glistened around him on the wet grass, and when he ran he left tracks like dabs of dark paint spattered across the blue shine of the lawn. Galloping from one particularly interesting hole to the next, he became so took with what was coming off - the moon up there, the night, the breeze full of smells so wild makes a young dog drunk - that he had to lie down on his back and roll. He twisted and thrashed around like a fish, back bowed and belly up, and when he got to his feet and shook himself a spray came off him in the moon like silver scales. He sniffed all the holes over again one quick one, to get the smells down good, then suddenly froze still with one paw lifted and his head tilted, listening. I listened too, but I couldn't hear anything except the popping of the window shade. I listened for a long time. Then, from a long way off, I heard a high, laughing gabble, faint and coming closer. Canada honkers going south for the winter. I remembered all the hunting and belly-crawling I'd ever done trying to kill a honker, and that I never got one. I tried to look where the dog was looking to see if I could find the flock, but it was too dark. The honking came closer and closer till it seemed like they must be flying right through the dorm, right over my head. Then they crossed the moon - a black, weaving necklace, drawn into a V by that lead goose. For an instant that lead goose was right in the center of that circle, bigger than the others, a black cross opening and closing, then he pulled his V out of sight into the sky once more. I listened to them fade away till all I could hear was my memory of the sound.

Ken Kesey
i-realized-i-still-had-my-eyes-shut-i-had-shut-them-when-i-put-my-face-to-screen-like-i-was-scared-to-look-outside-now-i-had-to-open-them-i-looked-out-window-saw-for-first-time-h
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