When you're doing exactly what you want to do, it's not tiring. You've been planting these seeds, and finally, you have a full garden in bloom; you're like, 'Oh, I just want to smell the flowers and play among the flowers all day.' That's what I'm do...
Mistakes are excuses of doing something and being apologetically right for doing it. Excuses are deceptions of not doing something and finding reasons for not doing it. Deceptions are blindfolds that lead you to what you can sense and smell but canno...
Punk Receptionist: Would you like a free condom? They're boysenberry. Juno MacGuff: No, thanks. I'm off sex right now. Punk Receptionist: My boyfriend wears them every time we have intercourse, it makes his junk smell like pie.
Virginia 'Pepper' Potts: [fumbling inside Stark's chest] Oh... ah... EWW, there's pus! Tony Stark: It's not pus. It's an inorganic plasmic discharge. It's from the device, not my body. Virginia 'Pepper' Potts: It smells! Tony Stark: Yeah, it does.
Max: You'll be carrying the stink of the streets with you for the rest of your life! Noodles: I like the stink of the streets. It makes me feel good. And I like the smell of it, it opens up my lungs. And it gives me a hard-on.
Ed: I'm sorry, Shaun. Shaun: It's OK. Ed: No, I'm *sorry*, Shaun. Shaun: What? [smells Ed's fart] Shaun: Oh, God, that's rotten! Ed: I'll stop doing it when you stop laughing! Shaun: I am not laughing!
McManus: We gotta bury him. Hockney: With what? McManus: With our hands. [McManus starts digging] Hockney: Oh, this is nuts! It's dry fucking sand, McManus. When he rots the surfers are gonna smell him a mile away! McManus: Dig, you fuck!
I love the smell of a theater. The old rooms and the carpet and all that stuff. I love to tell stories. Even before I was doing music, I saw myself as a director. So most of my songs come in a play form, you know, where there are characters and stori...
What happens is that, you know, on Mondays, at least in the Senate, you know, Monday night we'd have what you'd call a bed-check vote. Just to get, you know, the machinery of the Senate up and running so they can start the committee process; on Tuesd...
Margo Channing: Bill's welcome home birthday party might go down in history. Even before the party started, I could smell disaster in the air. I knew it, I sensed it, even as I finished dressing for the blasted party.
Of course, maybe I'd end up like one of those crazy old people with, like, sixty cats. And one day, the neighbors would complain about the smell, and it would turn out I'd died and the cats had eaten me. Still, it might be nice to have a cat.
I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, the stations of the cross r...
Then, I feel it; it was a hot that was like a burning sword, fine, slicing my skin in pieces, and not even my jacket could protect me from the hot. Then it goes, as unexpected like it came, lifting dirt from the floor and a smell I remember, metal, a...
The first five minutes in Gramacho is really overwhelming because all of your senses are being attacked. Visually, too, because your eyes move and see fragments of things you recognize, but not quite, so it's very artistic. Your eyes are moving, then...
Although she is far apart from me, but still we are living in the same air and under the same moon, when she breath i take her breath through the air to the core of my heart,i feel her,i smells her every moment…!
Everything about you fascinates me, Sophie. The smell of your skin. The sound of your voice. Your long legs. Your sense of humor. Your personality. You don’t seem to need me, and if you don’t need me, it is much more gratifying that you want me.
There is yet another reason why I cannot, nor wish to, believe in God: the fairy tale about him is not really mine, it belongs to strangers, to all men; it is soaked through by the evil-smelling effluvia of millions of other souls that have spun abou...
Bug? You sack of sweat stink. I've got farts that smell sweeter than you. Think you're better than me? Poop ice cream cones, do you? Call me a bug! Rachel, let me do him now.
I remember loving pencils. I was fond of paper. I loved the small of textbooks. I loved the way the light from a desk lamp was bright on a page. I loved the smell of fresh-cut grass. It was a thing everybody loved, but there was no shame in being tha...
That's the secret - to distract the senses. Have I told you my theory about them? I think that our sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing are all calibrated for the enjoyment of a perfect world. But since the world is imperfect, we must put blinders on ...
You are just a bowl full of cherries,” Cynthia snatched the phone away and started dialing. “No my dear doctor friend, you are confused with someone who wants to blow smoke up your furry butt. What I am is a bowl full of wake the hell up and smel...
