A Quote by Matt Smith
If I see a spider in the flat, I try to get a cup and a piece of paper and throw it out of the window. I can't kill them because they're good for catching flies.
Related Quotes
In rock, paper, scissors the key is, and this is the best piece of advice that I can give you, if you do think that you recognize the pattern from your opponent, it's good to try to throw a tie as opposed to a win. A tie will very often get you a tie or a win, whereas a win will get you a win or a loss. For example, if you think that someone might throw a rock, it's good to throw rock back at them. You should be going for ties. That's actually a really good strategy to win at rock, paper, scissors. There's my rock, paper, scissors advice for you.
There's an easy method for finding someone when you hear them scream. First get a clean sheet of paper and a sharp pencil. Then sketch out nine rows of fourteen squares each. Then throw the piece of paper away and find whoever is screaming so you can help them. It is no time to fiddle with paper.
When I was a little kid - and I don't know why - I was obsessed with littering. I'd yell at people in their cars if I saw someone throw paper or a cup out of their window.
Just like a spider with a line of silk! Did you ever see them throw themselves out into space to weave? They're taking a chance, every single time. They got to do it or else they'd never create anything. But I bet it don't feel good, even to a spider.
If there were only one cherry pie in the world, and Bill Clinton owned it, I might get a piece of it. If Bush or Reagan owned it, you'd have to kill them to get a piece of pie. That's my feeling about Bill. And Bill's a good bullshitter. America likes a good bullshitter. That's one of the reasons he was re-elected. Honesty has no place in politics. It would throw everything off.
Place (or put) a spider on top of a mountain, it will only try to catch flies; alas, they are many those who, in the figurative meaning, have spider's eyes.
I try to get my subconscious to puke out as much stuff as I can because I'm really not judging myself while making music. If I crave a frequency in the mid, I'll just drag in a sound and try to mold it into what feels right. It happens very quickly. And if I've been making a piece of music for five hours and it sucks, I'll just throw it away. There has to be an entry point to learn about myself, or an idea I've never tried, because then I can try on a new skin and see the world through a different perspective. If I have that spark, then I'll save the file.
The only time I really try for a strikeout is when I'm in a jam. If the bases are loaded with none out, for example, then I'll go for a strikeout. But most of the time I try to throw to spots. I try to get them to pop up or ground out. On a strikeout I might have to throw five or six pitches, sometimes more if there are foul-offs. That tires me. So I just try to get outs. That's what counts - outs. You win with outs, not strikeouts.
If you're in the ring with somebody that doesn't throw good punches, guess what. Don't have him throw any punches. You work to their strengths. It's really not that difficult. You don't try to get them to do things that are out of their realm or whatever. It's not hard. It's not rocket science.
We kill the women. We kill the babies. We kill the blind. We kill the cripples. We kill them all.... When you get through killing them all, go to the goddamn graveyard and kill them a-goddamn-gain because they didn't die hard enough.
Kill your television. Throw it out the darn window. Watch PBS in a bar.
I start a lot more songs than I finish, because I realize when I get into them, they're no good. I don't throw them away, I just put them away, store them, get them out of sight.
Books are like rocks. You hold one in your hand and look at it in various lights to get a sense of it, and then when you get a good angle, you throw it through a window to see what happens.
Not fault of teaching spider if little spider pay more attention to catching fly than doing lesson.
I do whatever pushes me hardest. It's coming at me and I try to... it's like uninvited guest and I have to wrestle them out the door or through the window - get them out and get over with them quickly.
What shall I compare it to, this fantastic thing I call my Mind? To a waste-paper basket, to a sieve choked with sediment, or to a barrel full of floating froth and refuse? No, what it is really most like is a spider's web, insecurely hung on leaves and twigs, quivering in every wind, and sprinkled with dewdrops and dead flies. And at its centre, pondering forever the Problem of Existence, sits motionless the spider-like and uncanny Soul.
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