A lump in the throat is worth two on the head.
I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.
The oblique paradox of propaganda is that the lie in the throat becomes, by repetition, the truth in the heart.
I shall seize fate by the throat.
You can't slit the throat of everyone whose character it would improve.
There is no applause that so flatters a man as that which he wrings from unwilling throats.
Pay attention to the things that bring a tear to your eye or a lump in your throat because they are signs that the holy is drawing near.
When death has you by the throat, you don't mince words.
Evanlyn opened her mouth to scream. But the horror of the moment froze the sound in her throat and she crouched, openmouthed, as death approached her. It was odd, she thought, that they had dragged her here, left her overnight and then decided to kill her. It seem such a pointless way to die.
Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.
Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking bird's throat, the musical shuttle,. . . . A reminiscence sing.
He lifed his head and looked down at her seriously. "Could you," he began, then he had to clear his throat. "Could you learn to be fond of me?" he asked. "With enough time?" She looked at him in surprise. It was the first time in all their acquaintance that she'd heard him sound the least bit hesitant. "I don't need to learn anything," she said, before she thought better of it.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat
But the throat just kind of falls into line once you realize in your head what it is. You got to remember the musicality of a character you're going to do.
It's hard to smoke a pipe, and it's actually kind of brutal. It burns your mouth and your throat, and to keep it lit.
Drink this," she says. "What is it?" my throat feels swollen. I swallow hard. "What's going to happen?" "Can't tell you that. Just trust me. " I press air from my lungs and tip the contents of the vial into my mouth. My eyes close.
I felt a lump in my throat as the ball went in.
There are mics inside the instrument, a contact mic on my throat, and countless mics clustered around the air of the horn and throughout the room. I wanted to make something that was specific to the medium of recording.
A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
