A Quote by Kangana Ranaut
This man who was my father's age hit me hard on my head when I was 17. I started bleeding. I took out my sandal and hit his head hard, and he started to bleed, too.
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I started boxing when I was eight. I enjoyed when I could hit someone and they couldn't hit me back. It was like a game for me. The feeling of knocking someone out. My first knockout victory was when I was ten. He went down and his nose started to bleed, so they stopped it.
I learned the hard way. When I started hitting home runs, I thought, I can hit these pitches. Then I started thinking, if I can do this, I can hit the pitch four inches outside or four inches up. I expanded the zone and got myself out. Pitchers are smart. If they find out they don't have to throw strikes, they won't.
It was like falling off a building and suddenly, bang, you hit the bottom. The first time it happened was on an ordinary day at home. I was taking down some curtains. I took one step, turned around, took another step and then I fell and hit my head hard on the rowing machine.
I feel like as a linebacker or a D-lineman, any cut, it's a man sport -- be a man, hit me up high, Hit like rams. You don't see a ram going and cutting another ram's legs. They hit head to head, pad to pad.
About five years ago, I fainted from exhaustion. I hit my head on my desk. I broke my cheekbone and got four stitches on my right eye. It started me on this journey of rediscovering sleep and balance and integrating my life. I think everyone should stop and reassess their lives before you hit your head on your desk.
In low comedy, a character gets hit in the head, and you don't really believe it. In farce, he's hit in the head, but he must be hit in the head. The character requires it.
When I was 11 I had to umpire a game. I got hit in the head and got knocked out. The ball was hit straight back, hit the bail and knocked my head.
A man strikes you, make him bleed. He makes you bleed, you break his bones. He breaks your bones, kill him. Being hit is inevitable, strike back twice as hard.
A human hires a hit man to kill his cousin for money, boring. That same hit man botches the job twice, funny. Then ?the desperate hit man sends a ghoul after the girl to finish things up, my curiosity's piqued. That same ghoul ends up with his head cut off by a mysterious redhead . . . Ah. Now I'm interested.
The first time I almost died was surfing: I got hit on the head with a board. I went under and started swimming until I hit the bottom of the ocean. I thought, 'Oh my God, I'm going the wrong way. Do I have enough air to get back up?' If you're a surfer, you know the feeling.
He snorted and hit me in the solar plexus. I bent over and took hold of the room with both hands and spun it. When I had it nicely spinning I gave it a full swing and hit myself on the back of the head with the floor.
You rarely see one punch kill anybody. I mean, Davey Moore died, the first fight I ever worked for the title, my guy fought and was getting killed, and he hit Davey Moore. Davey Moore went down. There was no bottom rope to it. I then put bottom rope to it, when I got in power. Hit his head. One blow, hit his head and died.
Tyson charged at the Cyclops leader, Ma Gasket, her chain-mail dress spattered with mud and decorated with broken spears. She gawked at Tyson and started to say, “Who—?” 463/508 Tyson hit her in the head so hard, she spun in a circle and landed on her rump. “Bad Cyclops Lady!” he bell owed. “General Tyson says GO AWAY!” He hit her again, and Ma Gasket broke into dust.
We have reached the age, those of us to whom fortune has assigned a post in life's struggle, when beaten and smashed and biffed by the lashing of the dragon's tail, we begin to appreciate that the old man was not such a fool after all. We saw our parents wrestling with the same dragon, and we thought, though we never spoke a thought aloud, 'Why doesn't he hit him on the head?' Alas, comrads, we know now. We have hit the dragon on the head and we have seen the dragon smile.
There are certain things I can't do, certain pitches I can't hit. You stay away from them. You try to wait for pitches you can hit. The bat speed isn't what it used to be. You make up for it by using your head, working counts, getting ahead in counts and getting pitches to hit and hitting them hard.
My father was a man of love. He always loved me to death. He worked hard in the fields, but my father never hit me. Never. I don't ever remember a really cross, unkind word from my father.
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