Quotes About Entrance

All I could think was, The psychologist lied to us, and suddenly the pressure of her presence far above, guarding the entrance, was pressing down on me in an intolerable way.

It helped that Celia Ray could walk into a joint like nobody I've ever seen. She would throw her resplendence into a room ahead of her, the way a soldier might throw a grenade into a machine gunner's nest, and then she would follow her beauty right on in and assess the carnage.

She had entered him like he was water. Like he was a dictionary and she was a word he hadn't known was in him. Or she had entered him more simply, like he was a door and she opened him, leaving him standing ajar as she walked straight in.

After all, I told myself, anyone willing and able to pay seven hundred dollars a pop to stay overnight could walk through the Ritz's imposing place Vendôme entrance. But only those carrying an employee's identification card were allowed through the back door on rue Cambon.

Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate. (Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here)

door opening Ã¢â'¬â€Ã¢â'¬Å"there's a crest on the door.

Another door swung open, and another guard appeared, this time with Gabrielle, who wore a black catsuit and rappelling harness.

Kat was more prone to simply making sure the very fancy college that Lady Georgette was going to be attending found out that the girl had had "help" with her entrance exams. There

He didn't need to find a way into the Gallagher Academy, he told himself. He'd be walking through the front doors soon enough.

I have the best entrance in all of professional wrestling for crying out loud.

People talk about opportunity knocking, but the gate was always swinging in the breeze before I got to the door.

When the gospel is understood primarily in terms of entrance rather than joyous participation, it can actually serve to cut people off from the explosive, liberating experience of the God who is an endless giving circle of joy and creativity.

Two attendants were on duty in the parking lot. Scott parked across their entrance, and got out. The older attendant was a Latin man in his fifties with short black hair and a red vest. He hurried over when he saw Scott block their drive, but pulled up short when he saw Scott's uniform. This was the cop effect. He said, "You wan' to park?" Scott let Maggie out. The man saw her, and took a step back. This was the German shepherd effect. Scott

he believed the window of time through which he could enter was shrinking.

Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys.

Cited by the author of 'Lucky Jim' as one of the most dismal depressing questions in the English language: Shall we go straight in?

At the front door, I took thirty seconds to compose myself. I need to learn how to whistle. My roommate at the center had taught me that trick. Parents never suspected their children were unhappy/delusional/high when the kid was whistling. Their minds just couldn't reconcile it. As I slipped inside, I puckered my lips, blowing soundless air. Whistling sucked.

Opportunity is like a door; it is always open, but you have to be prepared to enter through it.

The Christmas decorations at the entrance were garish, incomprehensible, partisan. What kind of a country did we live in?

She picks the lock with a tiny pin from one of the green crystals woven into her hair. "…walk in." The door clicks.

There were piles of horse manure in the entrance court and noisome heaps of refuse that would not bear investigating on the street outside the kitchen door. In some wings the stench of chamber pots was pervasive; in others the odor was unidentifiable and indescribable, but just as overpowering.

Yes, we will,' said George. 'Look – that is where the entrance

I remember [Meyer] Schapiro telling us that before Cézanne, there had always been a place in landscape painting where the viewer could walk into the picture. There was an entrance; you could go there, like walking into a park. But this was not true of Cézanne's landscapes, which were cut off absolutely, abstracted from their context. You could not walk into them—you could enter them only through art, by leaping. Anatole Broyard, Kafka Was the Rage

These day's I like to imagine that if a man were to enter through the slash on the book's cover, as if it were a door, he could walk right into the heart of the Inferno.