Hunch Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 32 quotes )
And one cried wee, wee, wee, all the way—" Jessica breaking down in a giggle as he reaches for the spot along her sweatered flank he knows she can't bear to be tickled in. She hunches, squirming, out of the way as he rolls past, bouncing off the back of the sofa but making a nice recovery, and by now she's ticklish all over, he can grab an ankle, elbow— But a rocket has suddenly struck. A terrific blast quite close beyond the village: the entire fabric of the air, the time, is changed—the casement window blown inward, rebounding with a wood squeak to slam again as all the house still shudders. Their hearts pound. Eardrums brushed taut by the overpressure ring in pain. The invisible train rushes away close over the rooftop.... They sit still as the painted dogs now, silent, oddly unable to touch. Death has come in the pantry door: stands watching them, iron and patient, with a look that says try to tickle me.
I SEE thee better in the dark, I do not need a light. The love of thee a prism be Excelling violet. I see thee better for the years That hunch themselves between, The miner’s lamp sufficient be To nullify the mine. And in the grave I see thee best— Its little panels be A-glow, all ruddy with the light I held so high for thee! What need of day to those whose dark Hath so surpassing sun, It seem it be continually At the meridian?
I would love to teach every kid to say "fuck." Hang on, now, hang on, listen to why. The reason is because to me, that is a word that doesn't have any effect. But "stupid" and "dummy"? You can say it to someone who is six and you can say it to someone who is a hundred and six and they will hunch their shoulders and it will be like somebody kicked them in the stomach because they are harsh, ugly words.
Finally, Peeta turns to Pollux. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and Pullox Manages a smile. We're halfway down the first tunnel when I realize what was so remarkable about that exchange. Peeta sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could....I glance back at him as he trudges along under his gaurds, Gale and Jackson, his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. But for a moment, he was really here.
all of the creatures were staring fixedly at Boots. She was standing on the back of her loyal cockroach friend, Temp, smack in the middle of the octagon, singing "The Itsy-Bisty Spider" at the top of her lungs. The green spider, to whom the song principially was directed, seemed to be cringing. Boots was somewhat off-key, but Gregor was pretty sure it was the loudness that was making the arachnid hunch down and contract. [...] "She has been going on like this for hours," whispered Nerissa. "Days more like it," said Ripred in disgust. [...] "Next I will sing one for you!" announced Boots, pointing at the bat, who actually flinched.
The creative process requires more than reason. Most original thinking isn't even verbal. It requires 'a groping experimentation with ideas, governed by intuitive hunches and inspired by the unconscious.' The majority of business men are incapable of original thinking because they are unable to escape from the tyranny of reason. Their imaginations are blocked.
Our lack of originality is something we usefully forget as we hunch over our—to us—ever-fascinating lives. My friend M., leaving his wife for a younger woman, used to complain, “People tell me it’s a clich. But it doesn’t feel like a clich to me.” Yet it was, and is. As all our lives would prove, if we could see them from a greater distance—from the viewpoint, say, of that higher creature imagined by Einstein.
The idea of safety had shrunk into particles - one snug moment, then the next. Meanwhile, the brain piped fugues of worry and staged mind-theaters full of tragedies and triumphs, because unfortunately, the fear of death does wonders to focus the mind, inspire creativity, and heightens the senses. Trusting one's hunches only seems gamble if one has time for seem; otherwise the brain goes on autopilot and trades the elite craft of analysis for the best rapid insights that float up from its danger files and ancient bag of tricks.
And I'll tell you another thing, Patrick Michael Thomas Cunnane, if you think you can come and go at all hours as you damn please just because you're going off to college, you'd best get that thick head of yours examined in a hurry. I'll be happy to do it myself, with the skillet I have in my hand, just as soon as I'm done with it.""Yes, ma'am." At the table Patrick say with his shoulders hunched, wincing at this mother's back. "But since you're using it, maybe I could have some more French toast. Nobody makes it like you do.""You won't get around me that way.""Maybe I will."She shot a look over her shoulder that Brian recognized as one only a mother could conjure to wither a child."And maybe I won't," Patrick muttered, then brightened when he saw Brian at the door. "Ma, we've got company. Have a seat, Brian. Had breakfast? My mother makes world-famous French toast.""Witnessess won't save you," Adelia said mildly, but turned to smile at Brian.
Then the syncretist Ficino, sitting hunched with Lorenzo standing at his side, put all the ideas together, along with Lorenzo's new song: chariots blazing between the worlds as gods fought rebel gods, the destruction of a city -- a planet? -- by fire, beasts beyond imagining both to terrify and befriend the heroes."It needs a title," Signorina Scala said. Pulci had his mouth open, but Ficino beat him to the pun."It shall be dedicated to Isis and Mars," he said, "and we will call it Stella Martis.
I have been seeing dragons again. Last night, hunched on a beaver dam, one held a body like a badly held cocktail; his tail, keeping the beat of a waltz, sent a morse of ripples to my canoe. They are not richly brightbut muted like dawnsor the vague sheen on a fly's wing. Their old flesh drags in foldsas they drop into grey pools, strain behind a tree. Finally the others saw one today, trapped, tangled in our badminton net. The minute eyes shuddered deep in the creased facewhile his throat, strangely fierce, stretchedto release an extinct burning inside: pathetic loud whispers as four of usand the excited spaniel surrounded him.
So you want to be a writerif it does?t come bursting out of youin spite of everything,do?t do it.unless it comes unasked out of yourheart and your mind and your mouthand your gut,do?t do it.if you have to sit for hoursstaring at your computer screenor hunched over yourtypewritersearching for words,do?t do it.if yo?re doing it for money orfame,do?t do it.if yo?re doing it because you wantwomen in your bed,do?t do it.if you have to sit there andrewrite it again and again,do?t do it.if i?s hard work just thinking about doing it,do?t do it.if yo?re trying to write like somebodyelse,forget about it.if you have to wait for it to roar out ofyou,then wait patiently.if it never does roar out of you,do something else.if you first have to read it to your wifeor your girlfriend or your boyfriendor your parents or to anybody at all,yo?re not ready.do?t be like so many writers,do?t be like so many thousands ofpeople who call themselves writers,do?t be dull and boring andpretentious, do?t be consumed with self-love.the libraries of the world haveyawned themselves tosleepover your kind.do?t add to that.do?t do it.unless it comes out ofyour soul like a rocket,unless being still woulddrive you to madness orsuicide or murder,do?t do it.unless the sun inside you isburning your gut,do?t do it.when it is truly time,and if you have been chosen,it will do it byitself and it will keep on doing ituntil you die or it dies in you.there is no other way.and there never was.
When we seek daily spiritual guidance, we are guided toward the next step forward for our art. Sometimes the step is very small. Sometimes the step is, "Wait. Not now." Sometimes the step is, "Work on something else for a while." When we are open to Divine Guidance, we will receive it. It will come to us as the hunch, the inkling, the itch. It will come to us as timely conversations with others. It will come to us in many ways--but it will come.