A Quote by Joyce Cary

Nothing like poetry when you lie awake at night. It keeps the old brain limber. It washes away the mud and sand that keeps on blocking up the bends. Like waves to make the pebbles dance on my old floors. And turn them into rubies and jacinths; or at any rate, good imitations.
What keeps me awake at night? Just about everything! I worry that I am not there for my family enough. So what keeps me awake at night is general guilt!
Nothing keeps me awake at night. I keep other people awake at night.
Fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.
A Mudboy is just somebody who came from nothing: you know, who turned nothing into something. You know, when I was in Africa, in the rain, I walk around in, like, mud, you know, the sand would turn to mud, and you are not getting out of that.
There's nothing I hate more than nothing. Nothing keeps me up at night. I toss and turn over nothing. Nothing could cause a great big fight.
The brain is full of lonely ideas, begging you to make some sense of them, to recognize them as interesting. The lazy brain just files them away in old pigeonholes, like a bureaucrat who wants an easy life. The lively brain picks and chooses and creates new works of art out of ideas.
I wanted to say something to cheer her up. I had a feeling that cheering her up might be a lot of work. I was thinking of how sometimes, trying to say the right thing to people, it’s like some kind of brain surgery, and you have to tweak exactly the right part of the lobe. Except with talking, it’s more like brain surgery with old, rusted skewers and things, maybe like those things you use to eat lobster, but brown. And you have to get exactly the right place, and you’re touching around in the brain but the patient, she keeps jumping and saying, “Ow.
Semiotics is really interested in the questions like, what keeps you watching something, what keeps you - you know, what keeps you listening to a story on the radio? Like, what keeps you turning the pages in a book? What's the pleasure of it that's moving you forward, that's pulling you in and grabbing you and pulling you forward?
- he's finished with that; it's like an old clock that won't tell time but won't stop neither, with the hands bent out of shape and the face bare of numbers and the alarm bell rusted silent, an old worthless clock that just keeps ticking and cuckooing without meaning nothing.
Mike Tomlin, man, is one of the realest coaches out there. He keeps everything real; he keeps it 100. He doesn't lie to you. He doesn't sugarcoat anything. And that's what I like about him.
Yoga is the best thing for your sex life. It keeps you limber in all kinds of ways. It teaches you to love your body and your partner's body. But more than anything, it keeps your mind liquid, and nothing's sexier than that.
We're all so clogged with dead ideas passed from generation to generation that even the best of us don't know the way out We invented the Revolution but we don't know how to run it Look everyone wants to keep something from the past a souvenir of the old regime This man decides to keep a painting This one keeps his mistress He [ pointing ] keeps his garden He [ pointing ] keeps his estate He keeps his country house He keeps his factories This man couldn't part with his shipyards This one kept his army and that one keeps his king
What is that smell? (Nick) (It was like three-day-old cat vomit mixed with rotten asparagus.) Duck urine. It keeps the zombies from thinking I’m human. (Mark) Yeah, well it keeps me from thinking you’re sane. (Nick)
I see it all the time in politics. If a candidate gets caught in a lie, he quickly tries to change the subject by throwing more mud at his opponent. The mud keeps flying until some of the slanderous material sticks.
Sometimes I'll open my voice to sing and I'll think, "I hope I hit the right notes." I do music for a living and I still feel like that, but it's good because it keeps me humble, it keeps my feet grounded, it keeps me trusting in God.
All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right.
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