My mother says that when Mrs. Rowley is mean, which is generally the case, it is really because she is just unhappy, and who could blame her with a husband like that. . . She says this is really the only reason people are ever mean--they have something hurting inside of them, a claw of unhappiness scratching at their hearts, and it hurts them so much that sometimes they have to push it right out of their mouths to scratch someone else, just to give themselves a rest, a moment of relief.
Men really disgust me if they don't have a nice smile, nice lips and nice teeth. . . They have too many disgusting habits - like scratching themselves all the time. And it's really weird how guys think that passing gas is the funniest thing in the world. They love to do that thing in front of girls and laugh about it.
She let him finish, scratching his head with the tips of her fingers, and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.
He loved the scratching of pencil against paper when he was focused: it meant something was happening.
He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. "Fleas?" I said.
My colleague Senator John Ensign of Nevada told me a story that epitomizes the selfishness of our culture: When I was a teenager, I had a sticker in my car with a picture of a bear scratching himself on the tree, and under it was the saying, 'If it feels good, do it!' That was the motto of the '60s and the '70s, and certainly it is the motto today. The image of the bear scratching himself highlights a view of human beings as animals, and that people should do what pleases them at the moment without a thought to the broader long-term consequences of their actions.
The first four months of writing the book, my mental image is scratching with my hands through granite. My other image is pushing a train up the mountain, and it's icy, and I'm in bare feet.
I'm really into pandas right now. They're really scratching an itch for me. They're so goddamn cute.
I would say if a man is going to write on chemistry, he learns chemistry. The same is true of Christianity. But to speak of the craft itself, I would not know how to advise a man how to write. It is a matter of talent and interest. I believe he must be strongly moved if he is to become a writer. Writing is like a 'lust,' or like 'scratching when you itch. ' Writing comes as a result of a very strong impulse, and when it does come, I for one must get it out.
Scratching could not make it worse. . . such a face as yours.
90% of people are in jobs they hate and are bitter about their lives and scratching about for money. That's my worst nightmare.
I always wished to be a better planner. It seems more elegant, while my trial and error process is more akin to someone scratching an awful case of poison oak.
Scratching is one of nature's sweetest gratifications, and the one nearest at hand.
I'm not supposed to know what's going on. But I can tell you this, I won't be standing around scratching my head like Coach Johnson in that Denorex commercial.
The secret to success is to start from scratch and keep on scratching.
Sure, that's what I mean,' Doc Daneeka said. 'A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. ' Yossarian knew what he meant. That's not what I meant,' Doc Daneeka said, as Yossarian began scratching his back.
I'm one of the few DJs who uses turntables. I'm the only DJ that's scratching.
When we were making the law, when we were writing the literature and the mathematics the grandfarthers of Blair and little Bush were scratching around in caves.
The only writer who gives me unfeigned pleasure is P. G. Wodehouse. And even him I find a bit heavy. He takes a lot out of me. Scratching my hair, with soft whistles, with lips aquiver, I frown over Sunset at Blandings.
Unless you are here: this garden refuses to exist. Pink dragonflies fall from the air and become scorpions scratching blood out of rocks. The rainbows that dangle upon this mist: shatter. Like the smile of a child separated from his mother’s milk for the very first time. --from poem Blood and Blossoms
