Quotes About Raw

Oh, it's a fine life, the life of the gutter. It's real: it's warm: it's violent: you can feel it through the thickest skin: you can taste it and smell it without any training or any work. Not like Science and Literature and Classical Music and Philosophy and Art.

Perfect Night has that magic and it has the raw energy that grabs you by the throat.

I would love to do the whole 'Anonymous General Manager' storyline again. The way it was supposed to turn out was that I was supposed to be this almost mob-boss style character with this Napoleon complex, throwing his power around while running Raw. Obviously things didn't work out that way.

If I'm appearing on 'Raw,' then I'm usually there to help sell tickets to something, and that's when you see the 'HBK' Shawn Michaels come out. At panels, I can be more open and honest and show some more humility. They don't want me talking about my family on TV, but I can in a panel setting.

I'm quite ragged. People say 'raw,' and some people don't like raw. They prefer it neat and tidy but you can't be neat and tidy and also be leaping above people at the far stick to score goals.

It's so easy for shows to be gritty and handheld and shaky and really tight in people's faces.

His words brought back to her the misery of her journey home after their last meeting for the mark of the hours she had spent since she had left him had cut deeply, the wounds were raw and the memory of pain came through her happiness and she did not think she could bear to be hurt again.

The poor have very few hours in which to enjoy themselves; they must take their pleasure raw; they haven't the time to cook it.

For only the humans were endowed with the lust for power so strong that the raw passion of their nature could be easily corrupted.

the pernicious spread of raw food continues, and its prodigiously farting adherents continue to multiply. They must be stopped.

Suddenly and without warning, one of the men stepped around and, with the beast's nether regions regrettably all too apparent, plunged his bare hand up to the elbow in the pig's rectum, then removed it, holding a fistful of steaming pig shit - which he flung, unceremoniously, to the ground with a loud splat before repeating the process.

Psychology means parsley. It looks pretty, smells nice, and, if you put in into a stew, it's tasty. But go chew parsley raw! Not interested, huh?

Raw humanity offends our sensibilities.

Love attacks. It sneaks up like a pride of lions or a pack of hyenas and eats your heart out while you watch. Love is the bully on the playground who takes your lunch money and gives you a black eye in return, the arsonist who burns your house down with you in it, the witch who lures you into her home with candy and boils you alive for dinner. Love is raw, and violent, and instantaneous. You don't fall in love; you get trampled by it.

That's one thing I can't lose: I can't lose the realness in my music.

I'd never record digitally. It's not because its' a horrible way to record, it's just not the best way to record my music, because my music is rawer, darker and a little more nostalgic.

All record companies want big-selling records, and my music is a little too raw for commercial success.

I think there's an attitude these days that you can go straight from a studio to the stage, and it isn't really like that. But playing live was the most important thing for me at the start because whenever I recorded something, it didn't sound right; I didn't like how my voice sounded. It was just raw.

I'm a huge fan of voice memos. I put down many ideas there and sometimes I even use some of those audio files in my actual recordings. You get this really raw energy from voice memos that you can't get when you sit down in a studio with a microphone. There's this sense of immediacy, which I'm really drawn to.

We went for the best overall feel on each song. There are no musical overdubs at all. It's a true live record; it's one of the few true live records out there.

Isco doesn't hide who he is, his football is from the street.

He had the organ on a set of pram wheels; it appeared to be held together with string. Its sound was so raw and almost discordant that the music seemed not so much to be rising from the box as tumbling out of it, as if the notes were physical things of glass or metal, landing clanging at the man's feet.

The parts of my new job that filled me with abject and irrational fear, that twisted me into all kinds of knots, were the raw emotions of those left alive. It was the living who were the great unknown.

Paint here no draped despairs, no saddening clouds, Where the soul rests, proclaims eternity. But let the wrong cry out as raw as wounds, This Time forgets and never heals, far less transcends.