Dry Quotes - Page 7

• Americans just don't understand dry wit.

  John Oliver

  Wit

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• Before 'Mad Men,' I definitely had very dry spells and I know what those feel like, and I don't think that ever leaves you as an actor.

  Rich Sommer

  Men, Thinking, Mad

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• I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry. Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it's just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still, and fumbled about for my dripping sleep and tried to slip it back on.

  Ray Bradbury

  Rain, Sleep, Night

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• Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH,' the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.

  Terry Pratchett

  Inspirational, Humor, Caves

  "Thief of Time (Discworld, Book 26)". Book by Terry Pratchett, www.theguardian.com. 2001.

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• Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.

  William Shakespeare

  Running, Kings, Rain

  William Shakespeare (1813). “The Plays of William Shakespeare”, p.836

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• There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker. It's an inside kind--wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place.

  Toni Morrison

  Loneliness, Feet, Skins

  FaceBook post by Toni Morrison from Nov 21, 2016

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• A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

  T. S. Eliot

  Morning, Fear, Rocks

  The Waste Land l. 25 (1922)

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• There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.

  Raymond Chandler

  Husband, Party, Fighting

  Raymond Chandler (2002). “Trouble Is My Business: A Novel”, p.215, Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

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• I was aware too how strange adults were, how theirs lives were vaster than they wanted anyone to realize, that they actually stretched on and on like deserts, dry and desolate, with an unpredictable, shifting sea of dunes.

  Marisha Pessl

  Sea, Adults, Desert

  Marisha Pessl (2006). “Special Topics in Calamity Physics”, p.392, Penguin

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• And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.

  John Steinbeck

  Memories, Years, People

  John Steinbeck (2002). “East of Eden”, p.11, Penguin

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• If you have to dry the dishes (Such an awful boring chore) If you have to dry the dishes ('Stead of going to the store) If you have to dry the dishes And you drop one on the floor Maybe they won't let you Dry the dishes anymore

  Shel Silverstein

  Awful, Boring, Stores

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• Reading is merely a surrogate for thinking for yourself; it means letting someone else direct your thoughts. Many books, moreover, serve merely to show how many ways there are of being wrong, and how far astray you yourself would go if you followed their guidance. You should read only when your own thoughts dry up, which will of course happen frequently enough even to the best heads; but to banish your own thoughts so as to take up a book is a sin against the holy ghost; it is like deserting untrammeled nature to look at a herbarium or engravings of landscapes.

  Arthur Schopenhauer

  Reading, Book, Mean

  Arthur Schopenhauer (2016). “101 Facts of life”, p.35, Publishdrive

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• the way i see it, hard times aren't only about money, or drought, or dust. hard times are about losing spirit, and hope, and what happens when dreams dry up.

  Karen Hesse

  Dream, Hard Times, Dust

  Karen Hesse (1997). “Out of the Dust”, p.225, Scholastic Inc.

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• But what I really want is to just swim around in a warm baby pool of these friends, jump in their dry leaf pile-to rub them all over myself, without words and clothes.

  Dave Eggers

  Baby, Clothes, Swim

  Dave Eggers (2014). “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius: Picador Classic”, p.367, Pan Macmillan

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• A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.

  Ayn Rand

  Running, Needs, Fuel

  Ayn Rand (2005). “Three Plays”, p.69, Penguin

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• She wants to go home, but nobody's home. That's why she lies, broken inside. With no place to go, no place to go, to dry her eyes, broken inside.

  Avril Lavigne

  Lying, Home, Eye

  Avril Lavigne, “Nobody's Home (Avril Lavigne Song)”

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• The autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavement in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding walk, letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward. [...] The trees overhead made a great sound of letting down their dry rain.

  Ray Bradbury

  Girl, Rain, Moving

  FaceBook post by Ray Bradbury from Jan 27, 2016

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• For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say? --some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning--indeed they did.

  Virginia Woolf

  Morning, Sight, Years

  Virginia Woolf (2016). “The Collected Novels of Virginia Woolf - Volume II - Between the Acts, Mrs Dalloway, Orlando”, p.290, Read Books Ltd

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• I worked in a health food store once. A guy asked me, 'If I melt dry ice, can I take a bath without getting wet?

  Steven Wright

  Funny, Humor, Ice

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• All I wanted to do was lie in the dry grass with my feet in a ditch forever. I could be a convenient sort of milemarker, I thought. Get to the thief and you know you're halfway to Methana.

  Megan Whalen Turner

  Lying, Feet, Forever

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• She couldn’t picture anyone falling madly in love with such a person as Fish. What a name, Fish...Fish: think cold, slippery, detached. Benedict: think dry scholarly monk from the Dark Ages. Denniston: think English preparatory school, stolid country squire. Nothing about his name sounded the least bit romantic.

  Regina Doman

  Country, Fall, School

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• Hey, have you heard that one about the difference between me, Wit, and my loutish cousin, Hilarity? No? Okay, so I walk into a bar, you see, very unassuming, and order a martini. Then the bartender, Hilarity, hauls off and squirts me in the face with a seltzer bottle, ruining my n ice new camel hair suit, dousing my monocle and my watch fob, soaking my cravat. So, do I let him have what for, and blow my top? I do not. I simply say: Sorry, I believe I said 'very dry'.

  Chip Kidd

  Cousin, Sorry, Believe

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• That’s what existence means: draining one’s own self dry without the sense of thirst.

  Jean-Paul Sartre

  Mean, Self, Existence

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• At birth, we emerge from dream soup. At death, we sink back into dream soup. In between soups, there is a crossing of dry land. Life is a portage.

  Tom Robbins

  Dream, Land, Soup

  Tom Robbins (2003). “Jitterbug Perfume”, p.376, Bantam

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• Choking with dry tears and raging, raging, raging at the absolute indifference of nature and the world to the death of love, the death of hope and the death of beauty, I remember sitting on the end of my bed, collecting these pills and capsules together and wondering why, why when I felt I had so much to offer, so much love, such outpourings of love and energy to spend on the world, I was incapable of being offered love, giving it or summoning the energy with which I knew I could transform myself and everything around me.

  Stephen Fry

  Depression, Giving, Tears

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