MOTHER: Why, just lying there, Jim, you run so fast. I never saw anyone move so much, just sleeping. Promise me, Jim. Wherever you go and come back, bring lots of kids. Let them run wild. Let me spoil them, some day. JIM: I'm never going to own anything that can hurt me.
What?" I asked uneasily. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He shook his head, the smile rueful now. "Because sometimes, a person can get so caught up in the details that they miss the whole. It's not just the dress or the hair. It's YOU. You're beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts me.
You're beautiful, Roza. So beautiful it hurts me.
Don't trust anyone. Be a cold fish. I hurt no one. And no one can hurt me.
The only thing that can hurt me is being apart from you.
It is only by putting it into words that I make it whole. This wholeness means that it has lost its power to hurt me; it gives me, perhaps because by doing so I take away the pain, a great delight to put the severed parts together
You cannot hurt me. Only I can do that.
It hurts me because of what he's doing to boxing. Because one of the most important world titles is at stake now. The champion has to defend it against the best.
As painful as this thing has been I just can't be with no one else. See I know what we've got to do. You let go, and I'll let go too. 'Cause no one's hurt me more than you And no one ever will.
I don't want there to always be this stigma of the "female" artist. "Oh, what does it feel like to be a female doing something?" That hurts me.
In the past two years, I've started the process of becoming a new man. I am much chastened and profoundly remorseful over the reckless and hurtful things I have done in my life, especially those which have brought me before you today.
It hurts because you want to try to get out there and help the team win, and I wasn't able to do that. Injuries are part of the game, but I'm over that now, hopefully.
I was numb and I had lots of swollen lymph nodes, my heart was hurting and I had blood clots in my arm and leg.
That's one of those things that will really hurt me personally, if I label a character or think about what it might do if it were to do well. I just try to do a good job with it.
Things hurt me now. My knees hurt, my back hurts. But your head still thinks it's twenty-three.
Those who enter to buy, support me. Those who come to flatter, please me. Those who complain, teach me how I may please others so that more will come. Those only hurt me who are displeased but do not complain. They refuse me permission to correct my errors and thus improve my service.
Like all planets, I turn in my sleep, I’ve been doing it since before I was born. My body is a nightmare it hurts me every day. I’ve been taught to resent it by boys trying to forge themselves righteous through conquering. They knew there was something wrong with me, it was explained through hands that spoke only in exclamation points.
It almost hurts me to walk down a road and have people grab my hand and ask for my autograph and not sit and talk. When I'm finished I'm not going to be on the front page, but I'm going to be just as happy without the publicity.
You have two pages, that's the whole credit card agreement. The terms are clear and flat and easy to see so anyone can read them. So you could lay four credit cards in front of you and say, 'Oh, that's the one that has the highest rate, that's the one that has the really scary provision that could hurt me.'
If you were meant to cure cancer or crack cold fusion and you don't do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children, you hurt me, you hurt the planet. You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite God Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter further along its path back to God.
You know what I do? I listen to other people, stumbling about with their half thoughts and half sentences and their clumsy feelings that they can't express, and it hurts me. So I go home and burnish it and polish it and weld it to a rhythmic frame, make the dull colors gleam, mute the garish artificiality to pastels, so it doesn't hurt any more: that's my poem. I know what they want to say, and I say it for them.
He won't hurt me. I have a secret weapon.
I'm not scared anymore, I just ... I don't know. I think it's because I saw someone else, someone behind your face, like you'd taken off a mask. It was still you, but it wasn't. And I don't think that person is going to hurt me, or Marci, or anybody else, but ... I guess the thing is that I don't know anything about that person. At all. And that's what scares me more than anything - that there could be two people, so different, and one of them so secret.
Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God
They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.
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