A Quote by Cori Bush

My skin burned for 22 hours after I was pepper-sprayed. — © Cori Bush
My skin burned for 22 hours after I was pepper-sprayed.
Writing books is fun because after I do a show for a couple hours, I'm in a bus for 22 hours. It's not hard for me to look out the window and tell a joke here and there.
I get comments saying that I'm a leper, I control how my skin changes, I bleach my skin, my skin's burned. None of those are true.
In Los Angeles on Black Friday, a woman pepper sprayed Wal-Mart shoppers who tried to cut in line. The police acted fast by immediately hiring her to get rid of peaceful protesters outside banking institutions all across the United States.
You catch a fairly young field-vole and flay it... We take the skin, when Venus stands in the sign of the scorpion, and combust the skin... Now take the ash, which you got this way, and pepper it out on the fields.
Out of the silver heat mirage he ran. The sky burned, and under him the paving was a black mirror reflecting sun-fire. Sweat sprayed his skin with each foot strike so that he ran in a hot mist of his own creation. With each slap on the softened asphalt, his soles absorbed heat that rose through his arches and ankles and the stems of his shins. It was a carnival of pain, but he loved each stride because running distilled him to his essence and the heat hastened this distillation.
Fear is one of the elements of nonlethal weaponry. You're going to get hurt, and you don't want to get hurt. Pepper spray hurts. You don't want to be sprayed. That's why it's a useful deterrent as a nonlethal weapon - I'm not advocating spraying people randomly.
Now, they say that New Zealand is beautiful and I do not know -- because after 22 hours on a plane any landmass would be beautiful.
I worked 120 hours a week for eight years. That's 20 to 22 hours a day every day and one week I only got 15 hours sleep.
In medieval times the habit arose of expressing a man's wealth, no longer in terms of the amount of land in his estate, but of the amount of pepper in his pantry. One way of saying that a man was poor was to say that he lacked pepper. The wealthy lacked pepper. The wealthy kept large stores of pepper in their houses, and let it be known that it was there: it was a guarantee of solvency.
The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.
I love playing 'Madame Vastra.' Although I do suffer, spending three-and-a-half hours in make-up every morning to have her lizard skin put on. I was so excited the first day when we did the make-up test, but after six hours, I was like, 'Can we finish now?'
Playing a concert for 2 hours is pie. I would do that every minute of every day if I could. I love to perform. It's the 22 hours before the next show that kills you.
I moved to Hollywood when I was 22. I was married. I had a kid right away. And I had worked as a furniture mover amongst various other jobs, and I'd work eight, ten hours a day to support my family - and I'd come home and write for two hours a night or two and a half, or three hours a night.
The harsh cold and windburn from hours of skiing does a lot of damage to my skin, so I try to keep my skin as moisturized as possible.
Pain! Deep, tearing, throbbing, needle-sharp, hammer-blunt pain – ripping through his body and through his mind, twisting deep in his guts and slicing at his skin with razors and broken glass. Oskan wanted to scream, but his vocal cords had burned away. He was desperate for water and he could hear it dripping all around him, but his charred tongue found nothing in his mouth but blisters and scorched flesh. For hours he lay on the ropes of the low bed, unable to move, the pressure of the hemp on his destroyed skin sending new agonies deep into his body.
It's funny to think that at 22 years old, I was really burned out from being on the road for 10 years.
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