Quotes about beat

That's the beautiful thing about innocence even monsters have a pocketful of childhood memories with which to seek comfort with.

Poetry seems to be the only weapon able to beat language, using language's own means.

A true friend doesn't have guts they beat you up and later plead with you to beat them back.

And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.

He said he loves her more because she makes him smile. Fine! I'll give him the Glasgow smile. Beat that, bitch!

The Grim Reaper isn't grim at all; he's a life-saver. He isn't grim because he isn't anything. . . . he is nothing. And nothing is a hell of a lot better than anything. So long, boys.

The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move & breathe.

To vote or not... it really doesn't matter it = 1 vote... as for the others with one vote somebody could beat you.

Let's play double or nothing... you beat me... fair... now let's play again, let's see was that your lucky day or not!?

Chess, I never thought that I will beat somebody on chess. I just thought that I'm too stupid to play chess, but it looks like the best in the class of math I beat him. He has in math as a result 5, I have 3 - Strange? I don't think so!

America this is quite serious

…love is by definition freeand if he choose to gowhen I would have him stayperhaps I'll die a bitbut I'd rather sothan taste his absent minded kissand lie uneasy in a masked embrace

Help me,” the girl pleaded softly.Sam knelt beside her. He recoiled in shock. “Bette?”The left side of Bouncing Bette’s face was covered in blood. There was a gash above her temple. She was panting, gasping, like she had collapsed after a marathon and was trying with her last ounce of energy to crawl across the finish line.“Bette, what happened?”“They’re trying to get me,” Bette cried, and clutched at Sam’s arm.The three dark figures advanced to the edge of the circle of light. One was clearly O

Why does that kid think so highly of himself?""Kids that think they're so smart.They're everywhere! Destroy is self-esteem!""Yes...I really do think highly of myself.People like me should get a taste of the ups and downs of life! Sorry I'm so envious.I will reflect upon this. Please don't be angry."Ah..um..""There, I said it now. Are you satisfied?" ........"Bye

...this refinement and delicacy were what Cale adored; but Cale had been beaten into shape, hammered in dreadful fires of fear and pain. How could she be with him for long? A secret part of Arbell had been searching for some time for a way to leave her lover—although she was unaware of this, it is only fair to record. And so as Cale waited for her to save him while he worked out a way of saving her, she had already chosen the bitter but reasonable path of the good, of the many over the one...

Man is an artifact designed for space travel. He is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole.

If you ever look sideways at another man or attempt to refuse me I shall beat you. Got it?

A man cannot impart the true feeling of things to others unless he himself has experienced what he is trying to tell of.

Shergahn and friend lay like poleaxed steers, and the Daranfelian's greasy hair was thick with potatoes, carrots, gravy, and chunks of beef. His companion had less stew in his hair, but an equally large lump was rising fast, and Brandark flipped his improvised club into the air, caught it in proper dipping position, and filled it once more from the pot without even glancing at them. He raised the ladle to his nose, inhaled deeply, and glanced at the cook with an impudent twitch of his ears."Smel

Poetry is alive because it is a medium of vision and experience. It is not necessarily comfortable.It is not necessarily safe.

There are no barriers to poetry or prophecy; by their nature they are barrier-breakers, bursts of perceptions, lines into infinity. If the poet lies about his vision he lies about himself and in himself; this produces a true barrier.

Euphemisms chosen by fear are a covenant with hypocrisy and will immediately destroy the poem and eventually destroy the poet.

Bedtime is daytime, and we come into bloom after midnight.

I'd like a pop-up magazine with 45 articles on Russell Crowe. I'm like a teenager. I'd have 'Teen Beat' if I could, for grown-ups.

The satisfaction you get when you finally beat your dad is amazing, that rush of adrenaline.

It is necessary for me to establish a winner image. Therefore, I have to beat somebody.

Once lively peonies nowwind-weary, and ragged at the edges, hang their heavy crowns; rain on their backs,one final act, beforedetaching from the stemand falling down.

I Feel like a prison holding myself, bounded by the judgements of people I care and chained by the rules of the society I live in. If I would let the person who speaks inside me out, he would tell you a different story than what you have seen all these years. Sometimes I see myself crying, screaming and trying to tear myself into pieces when I stand in front of the mirror so that I could finally be free from myself. But the demons I have created inside me to guard beats me down and laughs at me,

...Cody is furiously explaining to his little son Tim 'Never let the right hand know what your left hand is doing'...Page 100.

Miriam is upset. Her voice is stretched and I can't look at her. Perhaps they beat something out of her she didn't get back.

The idiotic industry of an ant building his hill in the path of a glacier, and imagining that he is free.

Sung Win smiled to himself, enjoying the tension across his shoulders and the way his pulse beat in his veins. All life involved risk.

When we step in the name of love, we cannot rhyme if we don't have the same RHYTHM, and we cannot have the same rhythm if we are not listening to the same BEAT.It takes someone who understands the rhythm and melody of your "heartbeat" to dance to it.

All I wanted and all Neal wanted and all anybody wanted was some kind of penetration into the heart of things where, like in a womb, we could curl up and sleep the ecstatic sleep that Burroughs was experiencing with a good big mainline shot of M. and advertising executives in NY were experiencing with twelve Scotch & Sodas in Stouffers before they made the drunkard's train to Westchester---but without hangovers.

I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?

Lovers are the coolest their hearts beat the best & they kiss magic as hell

I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.

Excellence is to keep beating your own standards every day. If you don't have a standard for yourself, you have no records to beat; and if you don't have any record to beat, you can't excel. What is your current standard?

…of constipation of the brain & diarrhea of the mouth.

Meeting new people is just remembering faces of God we've forgotten.

Driving down deserted early morning roads. Round and round. Round downtown. Through naked streets. Lips pursed on two litre bottles of beer, but pursuing the lips of freedom's night. Swapping cars. Winding up at karaoke bars or Bolsi- the best place in town. For the food. For the folk. For the service. For the crema de papaya. And for that late night dawn's whiskey coffee.

The problem with the 11:11 Phenomenon is getting anybody interested in it that hasn't experienced it themselves. Other phenomena, such as U.F.Os or crop circles, are able to be seen. We can debate them. But seeing and being guided by 11:11 is hard to convey to those uninitiated in its ways.

You can't beat the beehive for glam punkette attitude.

Did you do this?”“There are other ways to beat someone than with fists.” Radu poked her in the side with a finger.She surprised him by laughing. He stood up straighter, a proud grin at having surprised and delighted Lada bursting across his face. She never laughed unless she was laughing at him. He had done something right!Then the lashings began.Radu’s smile wilted and died. He looked away. He was safe now. And Lada was proud of him, which had never happened before. He focused on that to ignore

There's nothing happy about love at all!! I would rather have not known real love... if it hurts this much.

Don't play to beat someone, play to win.

Wesley was playing Soulcalibur IV. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I’d challenged him.My God, I had to find something I could beat him at!And you know, something about beating the shit out of an animated character really made me feel better. Before I knew it, I wasn’t even worried about Mom or Dad. Things would be okay. They had to be. I just had to be patient and let things happen. And in the meantime, I had to kick Wesley’s ass… or try, at least.

When you are suffering from sexual starvation, a spank or even a hug seems like a porn scene.

The drum to which we march reveals the conductor to whom we’re listening.

...music, if it really resonates, will beat somewhere right near your heartbeat. That music will make sense to you...because it's in rhythm with your soul.

He looked into her eyes and said "When everything falls apart, and the day my soul refuses to move any further, I'll come back home. A home that fills me with courage and love. My home neither has doors and nor windows, All it have is walls. The walls that beat every second. And it has a pair of eyes too. Through which I can see this world more beautifully than I ever did".

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

Leaders should know how fast time runs and how faster they can beat it. Poor leaders run slowly till time overtakes them.

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut ... We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn’t the opposite equally true?

Whatever is language is poetic language and if the word required by the poet does not exist in his known language then it is up to him to discover it.

Poetry without words, you are, the beat to my hearts rhythm.

Like seasonless fowl we migrate…from East Coast to West Coastand back and forth again,for a job,for a friend,for a change,for a kick.

Wake up. If your eyes are sleeping then wipe them gently. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up! If your mind is sleeping then shake it quickly. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up, I said! If your heart is sleeping then beat your chest! You need to be awake for life! You need to be awake for love! It is a matter of living and being alive.

Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy

See it was like this when we waltz into this place.A couple of papish cats is doing an Aztec two-stepAnd I says Dad let's cutbut then this dame comes up behind me see and says you and me could really existWow I says Only the next day she has bad teeth and really hates poetry.

Because I am Beat, I believe in Beatitude and that God so loved the world He gave His only begotten Son to it.

If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction

Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!

Kyo: Of course, I'll beat YOU, too!Yuki: Don't you ever get tired of saying that?Kyo: Beating you is my vocation! It's my goal in life!Yuki: It's so unfair that I keep having to take abuse just because you can't meet your goals.Kyo: THAT CONDESCENDING ATTITUDE OF YOURS REALLY PISSES ME OFF!Yuki: And that revolting thought process of yours pisses me off.

It’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level of the ‘public’, a kind of beatness – I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are – and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world … It’s something like that. So I guess you might say we’re a beat generation.

Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

For once I want the beat louder than my mind.

A merciful heart beats contently stronger than many vengeful ones

Eyes and ears are two.Lungs and kidneys, too.I wonder thenwhy we're born with oneheart that skips a beat when hay is here,and beats quickly when you are near.One heart that cracks when you are far, lie to me and leave a scar.I wonder thenwhy we're born with oneheart that gets broken.Was I supposed to find you then?So your heart would make one plus one is twofor me andtwo for you.

So I did something I've never done, and put your live above my own, because no matter how hard I try to convey it, I'm not heartless. I have a heart and... and it beats for you.

His whisper was the softest sound I ever knew, which seemed to bring the loudest heartbeat.

Science can make a heart beat with ventilator, but there is only one power that makes it live, that is LOVE which is the purest form of FAITH.

Little beat big When Little smart. First with the head, then with the heart.

I'd learned myself by the age of sixteen that just as girls guarded their virginity, boys guarded something less tangible which they called Themselves.

A poet is a blind optimist.The world is against him formany reasons. But thepoet persists. He believesthat he is on the right track,no matter what any of his fellow men say. In hiseternal search for truth, thepoet is alone.He tries to be timeless in a society built on time.

In our frenzied attempts to catch up with life, we run right past it. Once we have run past it, what we are in reality attempting to catch is ourselves.

I cannot be afraid of being afraid. Rather, I need to realize that it is my fear that gives me the energy to wrestle that which I fear into the dirt that is soon to become the road underneath my feet.