Quotes About Nerves

A ljudi kupuju tu plastiku i te sli?ice, pa se igraju time kao djeca. Nije to baš mala stvar, bacati uvijek nove senzacije u gladnu fantaziju špitala. Treba tu osobita metoda da bi se išibali ovi klonuli živci i ova rezignacija.

Pick the nerves of anger with a knife, there must be somewhere to switch from a lie to a state of truth.

Linda's presentation of the 'facts' had been so gruesome that the children left Alconleigh howling dismally, their nerves permanently impaired, their future chances of a sane and happy sex life much reduced.

The animals' neural pathways have woven themselves into a new map that corresponds to the new arrangement of nerves in their hands. At first, he can't believe what he's seen. Like every other neuroscientist, he's been taught that the structure of the adult brain is fixed.

dead skin and is moist, so it is a great conductor. And it has so many nerves that Paul thought it would deliver a high-resolution image to the

Music makes one feel so romantic - at least it always gets on one's nerves - which is the same thing nowadays.

Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibers, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams.

Jack poured wine into Janet's glass, fighting to ignore what felt suspiciously like nerves. "Bon appétit." What the hell did he possibly have to be nervous about? Absolutely nothing. That's what. This wasn't a date or some damned romantic liaison. He was having dinner with an acquaintance who'd gotten stranded near his property—and who just happened to be a beautiful woman.

only fools and priests are never afraid. But it is true that very few things unnerved him.

One gapes at the wonder of those headphones. A man is about to toss two canisters of tear gas into a crowd of four hundred people and then open fire on them with a shotgun, semi-­automatic rifle, and a handgun, and yet his nerves are so delicately strung that he cannot bear to listen to the clamor and the screams those actions will inevitably provoke.

If we reason we would be understood; if we imagine we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within another's; if we feel we would that another's nerves should vibrate to our own, that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once and mix and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood. This is love.

It might even be said one pulls himself together to disintegrate. The scattered particles of self - love, wood thrush calling, homework sums, broken nerves, rag dolls, one Phi Betta Kappa key, gold stars, lamplight smiles, night cries, and the shambles of contemplation - are collected for a split moment like scraps of shrapnel before they explode.