A Quote by Bonnie Friedman

I spent the morning smashing fliesI killed one fly against the doorjamb. Another I stalked into the kitchen...A third fly wavered by the kitchen window. When I swatted, a wild ferocious swing, a whole trembling crowd shot from the window like pebbles from a blunderbuss, then settled back. My heart pounded. I felt flushed with disgust and irritation. Why must I always have such obstacles to my writing?
Tommy had felt alone in a crowd before, even inferior to everyone in a crowd, but now he felt, well, different. It wasn't just the clothes and the make up, it was the humanity. He wasn't part of it. Heightened senses or not, he felt like he had his nose pressed against the window, looking in. The problem was, it was the window of a donut shop.
I was making pancakes the other day and a fly flew into the kitchen. And that's when I realized that a spatula is a lot like a fly-swatter. And a crushed fly is a lot like a blueberry. And a roommate is a lot like a fly eater.
I love my kitchen. For Manhattan, I have a rather decent-size kitchen, and it has an opening that gives out to the dining room, which has a window with a view of the city and in the distance the Statue of Liberty.
Sam laughed, a funny, self-deprecating laugh. "You did read a lot. And spent too much time just inside the kitchen window, where I couldn't see you very well." "And not enough time mostly naked in front of my bedroom window?" I teased. Sam turned bright red. "That," he said, "is so not the point of this conversation.
...buying a fly rod in the average city store, that is, joining it up and safely waggling it a bit, is much like seeing a woman's arm protruding from a car window: all one can readily be sure of is that the window is open.
When one door closes, find another." Kylie gazed back up. "And what if there isn't another door?" "Then you try the window." "And if there's not a window?" Kylie asked. "Then you find a sledgehammer and make a window.
The fly that doesn't want to be swatted is most secure when it lights on the fly-swatter.
I had to make 500 shots every day, and when my mom wasn't looking, I'd get up closer to the basket and do lay-ups and count them, and she'd be at the back window at the kitchen and knock. Then I'd have to go back and shoot from longer.
As the fly bangs against the window attempting freedom while the door stands open, so we bang against death ignoring heaven.
My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
Sometimes I see a bird fly by and I feel jealous. But then other times I see a bird fly into a closed window and I feel laughing.
Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow sang "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the whole story.
Our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by; so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time.
Here was this man Tom Guthrie in Holt standing at the back window in the kitchen of his house smoking cigarettes and looking out over the back lot where the sun was just coming up.
I didn't expect a knife, though. Is it the one missing from the kitchen?" "Did Rand report it?" I felt betrayed. Why hadn't he just asked for it back? "No. It just makes sense to keep track of large kitchen knives, so when one goes missing you're not surprised when someone attacks you with it.
It was almost like I was in the army: school, work, homework, fly to New York, get in at 2 in the morning, do a morning show at 5 A.M., then another one at 7, then a radio interview at 10, you know?
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