Hocus Pocus let's try to focus
Haider: Chutzpah Monologue Hello? Hello? Mic testing 1,2,3... Hello...? Awaz aa rahi hai aap laog ko? Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello? UN council resolution no. 47 of 1948, Article 2 of the Geneva convention, and Article 370 of the Indian Constitut...
Sometimes when people can't speak English, they hum the melody instead of singing along. Having 20,000 people humming your song is incredible.
What is the world doing? Have new gods been discovered, new laws, new freedoms? Who cares! But up here a primrose is blossoming and bearing silver fuzz on its leaves, and the light sweet wind is singing below me in the poplars, and between my eyes an...
I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloo...
Seamus Finnigan: Eye of rabbit, harp string hum, turn this water into rum. [he checks the goblet, then tries again] Seamus Finnigan: Eye of rabbit, harp string hum... Harry: What's Seamus trying to do to that glass of water? Ron: Turn it to rum. Actu...
I find humming is very useful.
A melody is not merely something you can hum.
..the happy hum of humanity.
If they can't hum it after we play it, it's not for us.
There is geometry in the humming of the strings, there is music in the spacing of the spheres.
I write my lyrics into the computer and I hum my music into the dictaphone.
You always will be singing a song or humming a line or a melody.
Within forty minutes, the voice inside my head was screaming, WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO? I tried to ignore it, to hum as I hiked, though humming proved too difficult to do while also panting and moaning in agony and trying to remain hunched in t...
John Mason: I'm only borrowing your Hum-Vee!
I could hum Beatles songs before I could talk - not very well, but sort of.
There's something so soothing about the hum of Grand Central Station.
Three o'clock in the morning. The highway is empty, under a malignant moon. The oil drippings make the roadway gleam like a blue-satin ribbon. The night is still but for a humming noise coming up somewhere behind a rise of ground. Two other, fiercer,...
My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.
your hands humming hurricanes of beauty.
With my personal preparation at the piano, I can afford to hum at half voice.
