A Quote by Jamie McGuire
Ugh! Why can't Hell stay where it's at? Why does it always have to break loose?
Related Quotes
I never worry that all hell will break loose. My concern is that only part of hell will break loose and be much harder to detect.
I'm not concerned about all hell breaking loose, but that a PART of hell will break loose... it'll be much harder to detect.
You can understand why a system would seek information - but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?
I used to drive myself crazy by thinking, three days later, 'Ugh, why didn't I play it like that? Ugh, now that line makes sense to me.'
Why does the past seem so magical, so fraught, so luminous? At the time it was just, ugh, another boring bloody day. But, to look back on, it's a day full of miracles and light and extraordinary events. Why is this? What process do we apply to the past, to give it this vividness? I don't know.
Why? is the boy's motto, why does, why is, why not? Food, weather, time, fires, sea and season, clothes and cars and people; it's all grist to the mill of why.
Does anyone ask you why you stay, Sean Kendrick?" "They do." "And why do you?" "The sky and the sand and the sea and Corr.
But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask; why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas?
That's precisely the question everyone should be asking-why the hell not? - Why not you, why not now.
I grew up with Western films, and I always wondered why Bollywood never made films like that. Why do we always have to break into song?
Very few people or companies can clearly articulate WHY they do WHAT they do. By WHY I mean your purpose, cause or belief - WHY does your company exist? WHY do you get out of bed every morning? And WHY should anyone care?
Why, if we're hurtling through space, why would water stay still? Why is it not wobbling?
Don't let a little sin in; all hell will break loose.
Why, why, when one writes, does a sort of shackle bind one's imagination? I become conscious of a deadening mediocrity, perhaps a form of mental cowardice, and I long to break free, to let my imagination take wings. It doesn't - yet.
I like looking at the finger of God. Why it takes one and not another, why this one or that one, why now or why then. The finger of God is always on us. When you get older and you see your friends dying around you, you say "Why not me?" That machine is always there.
We tell each other stories to help each other live. That’s why I read poetry. I read poetry to stay alive. That’s why I went to poetry in the first place, that’s why I stay with it, that’s why I’ll never leave it.
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