I may say this is a deluded generation, veiled with ignorance, that tho[ugh] popery and slavery be riding in upon them, do not perceive it; tho[ugh] I am sure there was no man born marked of God above another, for none comes into the world with a saddle on his back, neither any booted and spurred to ride him.
Being a woman is worse than being a farmer there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done: legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturised, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised. The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature - with a full beard and handlebar moustache on each shin Dennis Healey eyebrows face a graveyard of dead skin cells spots erupting long curly fingernails like Struwelpeter blind as bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses flabby body flobbering around. Ugh ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?
Another thing I've been trying to do on my walks is to know what I'm looking at, when I'm looking at it. I want to be smart. When I walk down the sidewalk I see about a hundred different kinds of bugs and all I do is point at them like a caveman and say 'Ugh, look, a bug, ' but I know each one of them must have a different name and a different reason why and how it came to be on the planet, and I don't know any of that stuff.
I feel satisfaction at the end of the day when I've written a scene that I really like or when I write a good line of dialogue that I read out to my wife or something like that. But there's also days where it's just bloody agony and I go, 'ugh, this is such crap! Why did I think I had any talent?
George R. R. Martin
Sometimes, when you work with directors who have done it a lot and are established in the business and know the game, there are all these rules that they have. First-time directors will allow you to come in with choices. They're not so jaded by actors that they're like, 'Ugh, just do your job, man.'
Sometimes, when you work with directors who have done it a lot and are established in the business and know the game, there are all these rules that they have. First-time directors will allow you to come in with choices. They're not so jaded by actors that they're like, 'Ugh, just do your job, man.
Jake M. Johnson
Let me put it this way: I don't feel as settled as I look. I think that's true of everyone, probably. Except for Beyonce and Jay-Z. I don't think they wake up and think, 'Ugh, when's it going to work out for us? Why can't we catch a break?' Aside from them, I'm pretty sure everyone's life feels a lot less intentional.
What happened to me is I gained a little weight so I could be more accessible to people. They're not like, 'Oh my God, he's, like, a male model comedian; yuck, ugh.' It's like, 'Oh, he's a little squishy; He's like me. He's accessible.' And girls are like, 'Look how cuddly he is. I just want to cuddle up in his neck fat and go to sleep.'
Doris loves Superman as well.unfortunately, she got knocked down by a van last year, and it was a big, long recovery for her, really. It took about six months, didn't it, before she was fully back to normal. She never gone back to normal. She's got a bionic leg now, which made her twice as fast and twice as stupid. You know, but she's just such good fun. But anyway, like she had a bit of a low point, you know, when she got really fed up, you know, with those stupid lampshade collars, you know, that they have on their head. Ugh, bumping into everything, she was walking about sighing. Ugh, like that, you know, and if you've ever been known or been with the terriers, but that ball of energy, you know, and she wasn't allowed to be for a walk or anything. It was awful. So to cheer her up, I bought her a little Superman outfit for dogs. When you get home, you look online. They are absolutely brilliant. You can get Wonder Woman and Darth Vader, all sorts. They're the funniest thing I have ever seen in my. The front paws, the front legs go in Super man's legs, you know, and it like covers up the paw with these little, red boot things on the bottom. And it comes up and ties around the neck, and there's tube stuff down from the front. So from the front, it's like a tiny, little Superman with a dog's head. And then, on the back there's this cape. So when she trots around, it looks like she's flying! Ah, it's brilliant! And she loves it. I couldn't get it off for about a week. It's honestly, they're absolutely brilliant, you must check it out. So anyway, tonight this is for Doris.
It's like my entire conscious state has been reduced to this toxic blend of hope and uncertainty. I hate that I have to act cool and almost pretend I don't like him when in fact I do, because, God forbid, I might come across as desperate for affection or a little clingy, which everyone should know are perfectly natural human behaviors, after all. Ugh!
... Where did you go?" "Down below." "Ugh," she said. "I've heard they're little better than animals." Funny. I thought the same thing about most Topsiders I encountered. Tegan touched my hand in silent sympathy, and I set my jaw. ... I stepped forward and pasted on a false smile. We were in her home, after all. The least I could do was be polite. "I'm Deuce, animal from the underground.
Why does the past seem so magical, so fraught, so luminous? At the time it was just, ugh, another boring bloody day. But, to look back on, it's a day full of miracles and light and extraordinary events. Why is this? What process do we apply to the past, to give it this vividness? I don't know.
[Tho]ugh death be a dark passage; it leads to immortality, and that is recompense enough for suffering of it. And yet faith lights us, even through the grave....And this is the comfort of the good, and the grave cannot hold them, and they live as they die. For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
What did Finnick Odair want?' he asks. I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. 'He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets, ' I say in my best seductive voice. Peeta laughs. 'Ugh. Not really.' 'Really, ' I say. 'I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling.
I remember my mom threatening me, half-serious: 'You know what? I should take you to Pittsburgh and put you in dance lessons just to keep you occupied.' Well, that brought everything to a screeching halt. 'Jeeze, dance lessons.' In retrospect, it would have been awesome, but then, 'Ugh, dancing - dancing's for sissies.'
Damp veils of mist swirled around them. They were dreadfully cold (Moomintroll thought longingly of his woolly trousers) and surrounded completely by an awful floating emptiness. "I always thought clouds were soft and woolly and nice to be in, " said Sniff, sneezing. "Ugh! I'm beginning to be sorry I ever came on this expedition.
I will say that going to these meetings and things, you know, I thought that, you know, be in a room with a bunch of drunk people. Ugh! I can't do that. And the truth is, it is the cheapest therapy that you could ever get. You're in a group of people that are from all walks of life, you know. Some guy that's got, you know, construction stuff on and dust still on, to a person that's the CEO of a company. And it's a common - it's a common abyss that you shared.
A month ago it would have been my dream just to be in his bedroom watching a movie, but now it's torture because I want so much more. It's like my entire conscious state has been reduced to this toxic blend of hope and uncertainty. I hate that I have to act cool and almost pretend I don't like him when in fact I do, because, God forbid, I come across as desperate for attention or a little clingy, which everyone should know are perfectly natural human behaviors, after all. Ugh!
I gave a relenting sigh. "Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's." Pj's that consisted of nothing but a tank top and boy shorts--an image I didn't want to sear into Scott's mind. Scott smiled. "I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter." Ugh. The dimple in his cheek deepened. And it was not in any way cute... pg 196
Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. "What?" I called back. "You look great!" A goofy smile was plastered on his face. "Oh boy," Vee said. "Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp." "So maybe he's a little drunk." "Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs." Ugh.
I mean, ' her mother paused to choose her words, 'maybe you'll get involved in some school related activities, or join a team, or maybe meet a nice boy.' 'Ugh, ' Keely groaned, 'I don't have time for that stuff mom. We've talked about this.' 'Because of the little ghost... searching... thingy you and Tad do?' 'It's called paranormal investigation mom.' 'It's called being antisocial.
Chloe, wake up. I really, really, really need to pee.' I moan and sink deeper into Jorge's arms, pulling my hand back. 'Chloe, wake up. I'm dying here. I have to pee.' Ugh, why won't that voice go away? I crack my eyes open and see Ringo by the bed prancing around doing the doggy version of a potty dance. Ringo starts prancing toward the bedroom door. 'Thank goodness. I've got to go.
My very core clenches and spasms, my hips with a mind of their own, lurch. It is as if I no longer have control of any part of my body. 'Ugh, ' I continue to groan in relief. And then, slowly, the rush is over and I am able to part my eyelids again. David is still looking at my face, a light sheen of sweat on his brow indicates that his task was not without effort. Finding his gaze too forthright in the current circumstances, my eyes move to the arm that still dwells beneath my skirts and the hand that clings viciously to his sleeve. My hand.
We're all Running People, as the Tarahumara have always known. But the American approach - ugh. Rotten at its core. It was too artificial and grabby, Vigil believed, too much about getting stuff and getting it now: medals, Nike deals, a cute butt. It wasn't art; it was business, a hard-nosed quid pro quo. No wonder so many people hated running; if you thought it was only a means to an end-an investment in becoming faster, skinnier, richer-then why stick with it if you weren't getting enough quo for your quid?
Ugh, " he said after a few swallows. "Dead blood." Jace's eyebrows went up. " Isn't all blood dead?" "The longer the animal whose blood I'm drinking has been dead, the worse the blood tastes, " Simon explained. "Fresh is better." "But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his own eyebrows in response. "Well, aside from mine, of course, " Jace said. "And I'm sure my blood is fan-tastic.
The way to get through anything mentally painful is to take it a little at a time. The mind can't handle dealing with a massive iceberg of pain in front of it, but it can deal with short nuggets that will come to an end. So instead of thinking, Ugh, I've got twenty-four miles to go, focus on making it to the next telephone pole in the distance. Whether you're running twenty or one hundred and twenty miles at a time, the distance has to be tackled mentally and physically one mile at a time. The ability to compartmentalize pain into these small bite sizes is key.
Joe De Sena
Most photographers have some kind of verbal patter going on when they shoot: "Great. Turn to me. Big smile. Less shark eyes. Have fun with it. Not like that." Some photographers are compulsively effusive. "Beautiful. Amazing. Gorgeous! Ugh, so gorgeous!" they yell at shutter speed. If you are anything less than insane, you will realize this is not sincere. It's hard to take because it's more positive feedback than you've received in your entire life thrown at you in fifteen seconds. It would be like going jogging while someone rode next to you in a slow-moving car, yelling, "Yes! You are Carl Lewis! You're breaking a world record right now. Amazing! You are fast. You're going very fast, yes!
When I first met Mick he wore jeans and those Seventies ribbed, tight T-shirts, and I absolutely loved that look. Nobody looks better in jeans than Mick because he's got this amazing body with a very slim, long waist and a bit V-shaped chest and I thought that was just the cutest. That's when I fell in love with him. Then in the Eighties he started wearing trousers and badly cut tweed suits, big shirts in orange and brown. Ugh! Clothes that he wore for about 20 years. But now he's started wearing jeans again and he looks great - I saw him the other day and I thought, 'thank God'.
But at times words can be a dangerous addition to music - they can pin it down. Words imply that the music is about what the words say, literally, and nothing more. If done poorly, they can destroy the pleasant ambiguity that constitutes much of the reason we love music. That ambiguity allows listeners to psychologically tailor a song to suit their needs, sensibilities, and situations, but words can limit that, too. There are plenty of beautiful tracks that I can't listen to because they've been 'ruined' by bad words - my own and others. In Beyonce's song "Irreplaceable, " she rhymes "minute" with "minute, " and I cringe every time I hear it (partly because by that point I'm singing along). On my own song "Astronaut, " I wrap up with the line "feel like I'm an astronaut, " which seems like the dumbest metaphor for alienation ever. Ugh.
All kidding aside... ' I focus back on Pyke, genuine sincerity in my tone. 'Thank you... for everything. For dragging my 'clueless ass' through the ocean, and over hill and vale, when you knew it was futile and stupid-but that I'd still try to do it, with or without your help. Thanks for tracking me down when I was alone and helpless; and for giving me a voice when I thought all hope was lost-' 'Ugh, for crying out loud... Enough already, ' Pyke squirms, a nauseated grimace twisting his hairy face. 'Now you're going way overboard with the gratitude... That kind of gushy crap is meant to be dished out in small doses, ' he gripes. 'Please make it stop... before I have to snap my own neck, just to end the suffering.' He backs away into the crowd, giving Tristan's shoulder one more slap with a sly wink. 'Hurry up, Man, and do something. Kiss her, muzzle her... shove a sock in her mouth-
Me: 'I refuse to attend Support Group.' Mom: 'One of the symptoms of depression is disinterest in activities.' Me: 'Please just let me watch America's Next Top Model. It's an activity.' Mom: 'Television is a passivity.' Me: 'Ugh, Mom, please.' Mom: 'Hazel, you're a teenager. You're not a little kid anymore. You need to make friends, get out of the house, and live your life.' Me: 'If you want me to be a teenager, don't send me to Support Group. Buy me a fake ID so I can go to clubs, drink vodka, and take pot.' Mom: 'You don't take pot, for starters.' Me: 'See, that's the kind of thing I'd know if you got me a fake ID.' Mom: 'You're going to Support Group.' Me: 'UGGGGGGGGGGGGG.' Mom: 'Hazel, you deserve a life.
ALL AROUND THE COUNTRY COST TO COST PEOPLE SAY WHAT YOU LIKE MOST I DON'T WANT TO BRAG I DON'T WANT TO BOST I ALWAYS TELLUM I LIKE TOAST YEAH TOAST YEAH TOAST I GET UP IN THE MORNING ABOUT 6 AM HAVE A LIL JELLY HAVE A LIL JAM TAKE A PEACE OF BREAD IN THE SLOT PUSH DOWN THE LEAVER AND THE WHIRES GET HOT YOU GET TOAST YEAH TOAST YEAH TOAST NOW THERE'S NO SEEKRET TO TOASTING PERFECTION THERE IS A DILE ON THE SIDE AND YOU MAKE YOUR SELECTION PUSH TO THE DARK OR THE LIGTH AND THEN IF IT POPS TO SOON JUST PRESS DOWN AGAIN MAKE TOAST YEAH TOAST UNGH TOAST WHEN THE FIRST CAVE MAN DROVE IN FROM THE DRAGS DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WOULD GO WITH THE BAKON AND THE EGGS MUST HAVE BEEN A GENUS GOT IT IN HIS HEAD PLUG THE TOASTER IN TO THE WALL BUY A BAG OF BREAD MAKE TOAST YEAH TOAST UGH TOAST OH WII BONJOR MOR COVANCAN ON CONRUS CONCAV OIE MOSHARIE TH'EIFFEL TOWER OUI MARIE BUG BONSOIR MONSOWA FRENCH TOAST FRENCH TOAST FROM THE BOTTOME OF THE BOB AND TOM SHOW YEAH TOAST
What to call it - the spark of God? Survival instinct? The souped-up computer of an apex brain evolved from eons in the R&D of natural selection? You could practically see the neurons firing in the kid's skull. His body was all spring and torque, a bundle of fast-twitch muscles that exuded faint floral whiffs of ripe pear. So much perfection in such a compact little person - Billy had to tackle him from time to time, wrestle him squealing to the ground just to get that little rascal in his hands, just your basic adorable thirty-month-old with big blue eyes clear as chlorine pools and Huggies poking out of his stretchy-waist jeans. So is this what they mean by the sanctity of life? A soft groan escaped Billy when he thought about that, the war revealed in this fresh and gruesome light. Oh. Ugh. Divine spark, image of God, suffer the little children and all that - there's real power when words attach to actual things. Made him want to sit right down and weep, as powerful as that. He got it, yes he did, and when he came home for good he'd have to meditate on this, but for now it was best to compartmentalize, as they said, or even better not to mentalize at all.