Quotes About Blank

I fear if I cannot think again, if my mind suddenly goes blank. It will be embarrassing.

In fact, what makes Wallace the ultimate demagogue is that, behind his indefatigable scrambling, his ferocious concentration, his inexhaustible ambition, there seems to lurk a secret, desperate suspicion that facing him, aside from and beyond his political existence, is nothingness- an empty, terrible white blank. It's as if, when the time finally arrives for him to cease to be a politician, he will simply cease to be.

It had been such a stupid question, I had forgotten not to have an expression.

That is how they stay so white: by refusing to accept blemish or history. Whiteness isn't about being something, it is about being no thing, nothing, an erasure. Covering over the truth with layers of blank reality just as the snowstorm was now covering our tent...(225)

You'll be fine." "I don't know if I can do this. I've gone blank." "You're overthinking it." "I have anxiety. I have no other type of thinking available.

I never think of nothing. The closest I come to a blank mind is when I am counting, fucking, or drinking. The rest of the time, my thoughts are like a hamster on a wheel, running endlessly but getting nowhere.

It was a doll's smile. Plastic. She added a head-tilt and blank gaze.

The cool thing about writing is that there is really never a typical day. Sometimes I get a rhythm going and head off to work every morning and come home at night. Sometimes I'll write for two days straight and then be utterly blank for the next two.

Time had wiped the slate clean.

One very big album, bound in expensive leather with a gold-stamped title on the cover - This is our life: The Austers - was totally blank inside.

When the mind experiences a power surge of stress and bullshit, it switches off, just shuts your cognition down and you blank out.

As I write this entry in my diary, I myself feel like a diary which has been left out in the rain, from which the moisture has washed away the cramped inky writing, the record of thousands of days and nights, leaving only a blank and sodden page.