Spell Out Famous Quotes & Sayings
100 Spell Out Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
When my sister was released from the mental hospital, she came to live with me in the tilting and crumbling one-bedroom house I'd bought with the small amount of money I inherited when our parents died. She arrived one afternoon unannounced in a taxi. She must have known instinctively that I'd take her in. I don't know how or why they released her. Probably due to overcrowding, and they had her scratch her name on a form then pushed her out the door. Or maybe she just slipped away when no one was looking (who'd notice in a place like that?)— Michael Gira
she never did tell me and I didn't ask her. I was so happy to have her with me again that the last thing I wanted to do was break the spell by letting reality intrude. Ever since they'd dragged her away weeping with laughter and reaching out for me with our parents' blood still coating her hands with shiny red gloves, I'd felt amputated, like they'd pulled her kicking and screaming and insane out of my guts.
While you don't need a formal written contract before you get married, I think it's important for both partners to spell out what they expect from each other ... There are always plenty of surprises- and lots of give and take-once you're married.— Muriel Fox
And then finally the magic flowed, but not the same way as when the Dragon's spell-lessons dragged it in a rush out of me. Instead it seemed to me the sound of the chanting became a stream made to carry magic along, and I was standing by the water's edge with a pitcher that never ran dry, pouring a thin silver line into the rushing current.— Naomi Novik
Don't be intimidated by Caesar's Hollywood fake versions of religiosity. If life has a meaning for you beyond the TV-studio game, you are religious! Spell it out!— Timothy Leary
Lissa and I had been friends ever since kindergarten, when our teacher had paired us up together for writing lessons. Forcing five-year-olds to spell Vasilisa Dragomir and Rosemarie Hathaway was beyond cruel, and we'd - or rather, I'd - responded appropriately. I'd chucked my book at out teacher and called her a fascist bastard. I hadn't known what those words meant, but I'd known how to hit a moving target.— Richelle Mead
Lissa and I had been inseparable ever since.
The scientific method entails two assumptions that are so basic that, even if you spell them out, they are still difficult to keep in mind. First: that the observer stays the same while the world changes. Second: that cause precedes effect.— Dexter Palmer
But the very nature of the experiment we are conducting means that the second of these assumptions is thrown into doubt. We are deliberately attempting to engineer an event in which effect chronologically precedes cause.
If one of these assumptions is under threat, why not the other?
I still can't spell anything, but I can bust out two-dollar words.— Drew Barrymore
If you had grown up with me, this is one of the things I would have tried to teach you: Marry a man who loves you more than you love him. Because I have both now, and when it is the other way around, there is no spell in the world that can even out the balance.— Jodi Picoult
What followed were instructions for casting the spell itself and a diagram for laying the components out. Altin didn't like the secrecy thing, but a quick glance at the spell Greater Common Tongue showed that it was forty-three pages long. He didn't think he had that kind of time or expertise, so he decided to stick with the six-page version for now. He realized that getting cuttings of their hair was likely going to be an interesting trick as well. And he needed his quill pen, parchment and pot of ink, which meant he had to go back to the tower. He wondered how they were going to take his making another trip into the waterfall-pot room so soon, but he had little other choice.— John Daulton
Telling your story out loud is the way human beings communicate. We don't normally think up words, translate how to spell them and then move our fingers up and down over this randomly arranged set of keys to make the same letters appear on a screen.— Kevin J. Anderson
Liberals have a new wish every time their latest wish is granted. Conservatives should make them spell out their principles and ideals. Instead of doing this, conservatives allow liberals to pursue incremental goals without revealing their ultimate destination. So, thanks to the negligence of their opponents, liberals control the terms of every debate by always demanding 'more' while never defining 'enough.' The predictable result is that they always get more, and it's never enough.— Joseph Sobran
Ariadne made an impression on you, and that's great. But life is not literature. Sooner or later, the spell wears off, the romantic feelings disappear, and you're left watching somebody's body disintegrate. You start with a love story, you end up manacled to an hourglass, watching the sands run out.— Paul Murray
1. Milo There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself - not just sometimes, but always. When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered. Nothing really interested him - least of all the things that should have. "It seems to me that almost everything is a waste of time," he remarked one day as he walked dejectedly home from school. "I can't see the point in learning to solve useless problems, or subtracting turnips from turnips, or knowing where Ethiopia is or how to spell February." And, since no one bothered to explain otherwise, he regarded the process of seeking knowledge as the greatest waste of time of all.— Norton Juster
I was forever under his spell and I never wanted to be without him, ever again. And if being with him, like this, turned out to be a mistake, it would be the best mistake I'd ever make.— C.J. English
He shook his head in mock sympathy. I tell you, Sage. Sometimes I think I am the one who needs to take out the restraining order on you.— Richelle Mead
People use their leaders almost as an excuse. When they give in to the leader's commands they can always reserve the feeling that these commands are are alien to them, that they are the leader's responsibility, that the terrible acts they are committing are in his name and not theirs. This, then, is another thing that makes people feel so guiltless, as Canetti points out: they can imagine themselves as temporary victims of the leader. The more they give in to his spell, and the more terrible the crimes they commit, the more they can feel that the wrongs are not natural to them. It is all so neat, this usage of the leader; it reminds us of James Franzer's discovery that in the remote past tribes often used their kings as scapegoats who, when they no longer served the people's needs, were put to death. These are the many ways in which men can play the hero, all the while that they are avoiding responsibility for their own acts in a cowardly way.— Ernest Becker
Don't drink too much."— Richard Kadrey
"When I can spell out your name in shot glasses, I'll stop."
"I'll have to get a shorter name."
"I'll have to forget how to spell it.
Her life is a wrecked boat torn apart for kindling and set ablaze to send a message to the sky from a deserted beach. From a distance the words spell SAVE ME. The closer the sign the clearer the statement. Turns out it says FUCK YOU.— Merri Lisa Johnson
I think I'm drowning— Muse
Asphyxiated
I wanna break this spell
That you've created
You're something beautiful
A contradiction
I wanna play the game
I want the friction
You will be the death of me
You will be the death of me
Out of the starless night that covers me,— William Ernest Henley
(O tribulation of the wind that rolls!)
Black as the cloud of some tremendous spell,
The susurration of the sighing sea
Sounds like the sobbing whisper of two souls
That tremble in a passion of farewell.
To the desires that trebled life in me,
(O melancholy of the wind that rolls!)
The dreams that seemed the future to foretell,
The hopes that mounted herward like the sea,
To all the sweet things sent on happy souls,
I cannot choose but bid a mute farewell.
And to the girl who was so much to me
(O lamentation of this wind that rolls!)
Since I may not the life of her compel,
Out of the night, beside the sounding sea,
Full of the love that might have blent our souls,
A sad, a last, a long, supreme farewell.
The mysterious does not spell itself out in capital letters, as many writers believe, but is always between, an interstice.— Julio Cortazar
For me, there's nothing better than when I become the funnel, and have that out of body experience where I'm not the one writing anymore. At that point, it's all about bladder control. Sitting back and watching scenes, characters, and dialogue appear out of nowhere, and fear of breaking the spell makes you hold in your pee for six or eight hours is the best thing about being a writer.— Rafael Amadeus Hines
It is now an easy matter to spell out the ethic of a truth: 'Do all that you can to persevere in that which exceeds you perseverance. Persevere in the interruption. Seize in your being that which has seized and broken you.— Alain Badiou
We act out our lives to a soundtrack, thought Isabel, the music that becomes, for a spell, out favourite and is listened to again and again until it stands for the time itself. But that was about all the scripting that we achieved; the rest, for most of us, was extemporising.— Alexander McCall Smith
Looking back on that time it seems to me that such rapture over Tarkovsky by an audience most of whom would not have known how to spell his name, and who would under normal circumstances have ignored or even disliked his work, arose from our intense sensory deprivation. We were thirsty for some form of beauty, even in an incomprehensible, overintellectual, abstract film with no subtitles and censored out of recognition. There was a sense of wonder at being in a public place for the first time in years without fear or anger, being in a place with a crowd of strangers that was not a demonstration, a protest rally, a breadline or a public execution.— Azar Nafisi
Launching a start-up, you need to get a lot done quickly. Every day is different. Everyone pitches in with everything. It's easy for the founding team to say, 'We're flexible. We all help out with everything!' But when it comes to making decisions - that flexibility can spell inefficiency and disaster.— Kathryn Minshew
At least, that's what she was going to do. As soon as we were home, the feel of Alexa's pussy still fresh on my fingers, I followed her up to her room. I couldn't get that noise she made out of my head. It was half whine, part whimper, and all fucking sexy as hell. It drove me crazy the way her body responded to my every touch. But as soon as we were home, it was like the damn spell was broken.— B.B. Hamel
If you are having trouble understanding, let me spell it out for you ... This is serious, Bianca. I've never been more fucking serious in my life.— R.K. Lilley
You can't spell "parentry" without "try." Of course, you'll make a few mistakes. The important thing is that the mistakes you make with your kids are the same ones your parents made with you. At least you know how those turn out.— Stephen Colbert
Let me spell my name out for you, it's Ricky:— Slick Rick
R: Ravishing, I: Impress,
C: Courageous or Careless,
K: for the Kangols which I've got,
That I wear everyday and Y: Why not?
Mama forbade me to attend the Exhibition after an over-heating spell, yet she insisted I gallivant in the park in the midafternoon sun. I almost wanted to pass out again just to spite her.— Susan Dennard
Lonely's a temporary condition, a cloud that blocks out the sun for a spell and then makes the sunshine seem even brighter after it travels along. Like when you're far away from home and you miss the people you love and it seems like you're never going to see them again. But you will, and you do, and then you're not lonely anymore.— Steve Earle
Lonesome's a whole other thing. Incurable. Terminal. A hole in your heart you could drive a semi truck through. So big and so deep that no amount of money or whiskey or pussy or dope in the whole goddamn world can fill it up because you dug it yourself and you're digging it still, one lie, one disappointment, one broken promise at a time.
If every life is a river, then it's little wonder that we do not even notice the changes that occur until we are far out in the darkest sea. One day you look around and nothing is familiar, not even your own face.— Alice Hoffman
My name once meant daughter, grandaughter, friend, sister, beloved. Now those words mean only what their letters spell out; Star in the night sky. Truth in the darkness.
I have crossed over to a place where I never thought I'd be. I am someone I would have never imagined. A secret. A dream. I am this, body and soul. Burn me. Drown me. Tell me lies. I will still be who I am.
Has your work become very easy? Do you find you can do it with little effort? Has it ceased to impose any strain or fatigue upon you? Do you no longer feel loss of vitality after a long spell of it? Can you now do it as easy as water rolls off a duck's back? If so, look out! Do some stock-taking. Examine your output ... Work done with little effort is likely to yield little result. Every job can be done excellently or indifferently. Excellence necessitates effort-hard, sustained, concentrated effort.— B.C. Forbes
He begins to sing to her, very softly, almost not singing at all, just a whisper of a tune. He spins out the tune like it is a tale he is telling her, until he feels her body relax, until he feels her falling into sleep. He sings to let her know he's there, to stay anchored to the earth, to keep from laughing or crying in amazement that he is lying with Alice in his arms, he sings as if music could keep her alive, as if music could feed her soul, as if music could weave a protective spell around her to survive these days and these weeks and these months and these years, he sings as if he could give her a piece of himself, which will ring inside of her like a bell, like a promise, like hope whenever she needs him; and in his singing, he promises her every single thing he can think of, and more.— Laura Harrington
Another way to point out the true differences in men and women is that wives spell 'LOVE' 'H-O-L-D M-E'; husbands spell 'LOVE' 'S-E-X.— ScissorMan
Right,' Thomas said. 'Where are we headed?'— Jim Butcher
'To where they treat me like royalty,' I said.
'We're going to Burger King?'
I rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead and spelled fratricide in a subvocal mutter, but I had to spell out temporary insanity and justifiable homicide, too, before I calmed down enough to speak politely. 'Just take a left and drive. Please.'
'Well,' Thomas said, grinning, 'since you said 'please'
- Thomas Raith & Harry Dresden, Small Favor, Jim Butcher
I am the most well-adjusted human being I know. I started out this investigation as a very happy man with a great career. I've got the life people dream about: I am rich, I am famous, I've got a fabulous marriage to an absolutely, spell-bindingly brilliant woman.— James Ellroy
Her body didn't give a damn that he was all wrong for her, it wanted him anyway. Badly. Either oblivious of or not wanting to encourage the attraction between them, Wade looked down at his mug as though he wasn't comfortable holding her gaze at such close range, and took a sip. As he swallowed, one side of his mouth curved up and he let out an appreciative groan that seemed to reverberate right through her, heating her blood. Startled, she drank in the almost dreamy expression on his angular face and imagined that same look right after he'd enjoyed an intensely satisfying orgasm. Erin couldn't be positive, but if his reaction to a simple cup of coffee made him groan like that, she was pretty sure it had been a while since he'd had one of those, too. And man, the idea of being the one to end his dry spell was way too freaking hot for her own good.— Kaylea Cross
Deep down I know I have to have Baya. I need her to want me too, and I can't figure out why the hell I feel this way after knowing her for less than a few hours. Baya Brighton has cast her spell whether she's aware of it or not, and, now, the only thing left to do is to figure out how the hell to break it.— Addison Moore
I don't think I can.
I don't think I want to.
Tell me what you want," he demanded. "Say the words." Because he needed to hear them. Some primal part of him wanted her to spell it out.— Katie Reus
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded. "Kiss me."
"Where?
Things aren't like this," he kept repeating. "It shouldn't be this way." As if he had access to some other plane of existence, some parallel, "right" universe, and had sensed that our time had somehow been put out of joint. Such was his vehemence that I found myself believing him, believing, for example, in the possibility of that other life in which Vina had never left and we were making our lives together, all three of us, ascending together to the stars. Then he shook his head, and the spell broke. He opened his eyes, grinning ruefully. As if he knew his thoughts had infected mine. As if he knew his power. "Better get on with it," he said. "Make do with what there is.— Salman Rushdie
The result exactly fulfilled all the theoretical predictions. The land wasn't properly worked; there were strikes in all the factories; the laws were set at naught, orders disobeyed; all the people detailed for a spell of low-grade work were perpetually intriguing for high-grade jobs, and all the people with high-grade jobs were counter-intriguing at all costs to stay where they were. Within six years they were having a first-class civil war. When nineteen out of the twenty-two thousand had been killed, the survivors unanimously petitioned the World Controllers to resume the government of the island. Which they did. And that was the end of the only society of Alphas that the world has ever seen." The— Aldous Huxley
At the time, I didn't know what forgiveness meant. I wouldn't really know what forgiveness meant for another year, until my pastor, Rick McKinley, happened to spell it out in a sermon. He said that when you forgive, you bear the burden somebody has given you without holding them accountable.— Donald Miller
I quite enjoy the banter actually. I mean, you don't meet many females who can come back at you as fast as you can throw it out at them. I prefer a more graphic dialogue as a forerunner to sex though: if they have the guts to spell it out for me in glorious Technicolor that always gets my interest.— Poppet
But she wrote out some extra words on a piece of paper so Rain could practice reading. "Is this a magic spell?" the girl asked her.— Gregory Maguire
"Don't let me get sappy on you, but when you get right down to it, every collection of letters is a magic spell, even if it is a moronic proclamation by the Emperor. Words have their impact, girl. Mind your manners. I may not know how to fly but I know how to read, and that's almost the same thing."
-Out of Oz
Love isn't some treasure that needs finding, it's something that just happens; to anyone, at any given moment; to even the most skeptical minds. It's a magical feeling to be in love, that's why it hurts so much to fall out of it. The spell wears off. But the hurt, the agony, the betrayal we find in lost love, is outweighed ten fold by the delight we discover within it.— Jo Baker
I think there's a whole book being written about it in the UK. I don't know if you can get it here. It's about all the hidden messages and meetings in this and the fact that it is about women and the fact that this cave is full of blood and all this kind of stuff. And when I was making it, I didn't make it with that specifically in mind, but I always had it in the back of mind and I thought, 'Let's just throw it in there and see what people make of it.' And people seem to be making quite a lot of it. So I don't want to spell it out or say this, that or the other.— Neil Marshall
So," I said at last, staring at my hands. "How's, uh, your car?"— Richelle Mead
"I left it out on the street. Figured it'll be fine there while I'm gone.
There were two separate and notable things that happened that evening, but they happened at the same time, and I do not feel it would write down properly that way, going back and forth, so what I will do is, spell out one, then the other. I always assumed that, in the few books I have read, the author had made some sort of attempt to squeeze real life between the covers. Now I see that this is not so: life is made easier to handle - blinkered, tethered and hobbled - before it is whipped into words and bound between leather.— Paul Quarrington
To be entranced, to be driven, to be obsessed, to be under the spell of an emerging, not quite fully 'comprehended' narrative— Joyce Carol Oates
this is the greatest happiness of the writer's life even as it burns us out and exhausts us, unfitting us for the placid contours of 'normality.
Bran," I sob. "You have to go." He just smiles. "Bran! You must!" Again the smile. He won't leave. He'll be my faithful friend forever. He'd rather die by my side than skip free without me. I return the smile. "Very well," I sigh and reach out a hand. Bran takes it, expecting only my touch. But what he gets on top of that is the last of my magic. A swift, improvised spell. I reach into his mind and send an image into his thoughts, of the hole, him dashing out of it, racing through the cave and not coming back. And then, with all the magical force I can muster, I yell at him - "Run fast!— Darren Shan
life doesn't often spell things out for you or give you what you want exactly when you want it, otherwise it wouldn't be called life, it would be called vending machine. It's hard to say exactly when it will happen, and it's true that whatever you're after may not drop down the moment you spend all your quarters, but someday soon a train is coming. In fact, it may already be on the way. You just don't know it yet.— Lauren Graham
Almost all scholarly research carries practical and political implications. Better that we should spell these out ourselves than leave that task to people with a vested interest in stressing only some of the implications and falsifying others. The idea that academics should remain "above the fray" only gives ideologues license to misuse our work.— Stephanie Coontz
Did I read The New Yorker? This question had a dangerous urgency. It wasn't any one writer or article he was worried about, but the font. The meaning embedded, at a preconscious level, by the look of the magazine; the seal, as he described it, that the typography and layout put on dialectical thought. According to Perkus, to read The New Yorker was to find that you always already agreed, not with The New Yorker but, much more dismayingly, with yourself. I tried hard to understand. Apparently here was the paranoia Susan Eldred had warned me of: The New Yorker's font was controlling, perhaps assailing, Perkus Tooth's mind. To defend himself he frequently retyped their articles and printed them out in simple Courier, an attempt to dissolve the magazine's oppressive context. Once I'd enter his apartment to find him on his carpet with a pair of scissors, furiously slicing up and rearranging an issue of the magazine, trying to shatter its spell on his brain.— Jonathan Lethem
I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly.— J.K. Rowling
Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.
Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.
"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."
He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.
"Cool, sir!" said Dean Thomas in amazement.
"Thank you, Dean," said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?
Critical sobriety is out of the question so long as this master of terror-in-the-commonplace exerts his spell.— Anthony Boucher
I'm not trying to spell out a story. I still think you feel the painting, and the reason you read the mark is because you also feel the mark.— Julie Mehretu
Indian summer comes gently, folds over the hills and valleys as softly as the fall of a leaf on a windless day. It is always unexpected. After a sharp cold spell, we wake one morning and look out and the very air is golden. The sky has a delicate dreamy color, and the yet unfallen leaves on the bravest trees have a secure look, as if they would never, never fall.— Gladys Taber
Just play it cool," Dax says.— Bree Despain
He has forced me to don a pair of dark gray slacks and a white button-up shirt. Contrary to his protests, I have pushed the sleeves of the shirt up past my elbows, but I make sure the scars on my arm, which spell out Daphne's name, are covered. I feel overly warm and suffocated in these clothes. "I don't understand. You want me to pretend to be cold?" I fake a shiver. "Like this? What's the point?"
Dax tries to stifle a laugh - not very well - and I realize I've been tripped up by another one of these "figures of speech" that I keep running into. I'm beginning to hate the English language.
This plague ... This curse ... I have an idea where it came from. I don't think it's from any spell or virus or nuclear rays. I think it's from a deeper place. I think we brought it here. I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some ... dark place. We released it. We poked through the seabed and the oil erupted, painted us black, pulled our inner sickness out for everyone to see. Now here we are in this dry corpse of a world, rotting on our feet till there's nothing left but bones and the buzz of flies.— Isaac Marion
. . .poetry by Eliot. There's a lulling thing in his voice that makes me feel as if a spell has been cast that shall wake us all so that we might fly out of the mirror and speak to each other clearly at last.— Louisa Hall
It would be easier if they named jeans for celebrities so you'd know exactly what you were getting without even having to try them on. 'Mary-Kate' for itty-bitty jeans that come with a cartoonishly oversized caramel latte cup; 'Angelina Jolie' for jeans that are sold with two tiny Cambodian orphans stitched right into the back pockets; 'Katie Holmes', jeans which spell out 'help me!' in the fabric if you look very closesly; and 'Dina Lohan', self-promoting stage mom of Lindsay, for jeans that look OK from a distance, but when you get closer, are actually transparent.— Celia Rivenbark
For men, there could be 'David Hasselhoff' jeans, made entirely of cheese, and 'John Mayer' jeans which, when removed, become instantly bored and walk themselves to to the house of next 'it' girl in Hollywood.
I have found that most young people really want us to spell out a moral code. They may not accept it or believe it, but they want to hear it, clearly and without compromise.— Billy Graham
And then a silver hare, a boar, and a fox soared past Harry, Ron, and Hermione's heads: The dementors fell back before the creatures' approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie, and Seamus.— J.K. Rowling
"That's right," said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the D.A. "That's right, Harry ... come on, think of something happy ... "
"Something happy?" he said, his voice cracked.
"We're all still here," she whispered, "we're still fighting. Come on, now ... "
There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, the stag burst from the end of Harry's wand.
Knyghtwood, though the gales had stripped away most of its leaves, had not lost its fascination for Ben and the twins. Indeed, its spell seemed deeper than before. The trees all had faces now, the twins said, and fingers and toes. They dug their toes in hard when the wind blew, and stretched up their arms to the sky, and pulled down the clouds with their long, grey fingers, and made purple cloaks out of them that they wrapped about their bare limbs when the night fell coldly.— Elizabeth Goudge
It's my earliest memory: arranging my brother's marbles into words. It is summer, and I am beneath the oak that stands in the back corner of the work yard. Thomas, ten, whom I love above all the others, has taught me nine words: SARAH, GIRL, BOY, GO, STOP, JUMP, RUN, UP, DOWN. He has written them on a parchment and given me a pouch of forty-eight glass marbles with which to spell them out, enough to shape two words at a time.— Sue Monk Kidd
The spread of democracy, the new foundation of the rule of law, and the creation of fledgling representative governments that honor and respect human rights-together these actions spell out the increasing marginalization of the terrorists, as they have fewer and fewer places to run and hide.— John Cornyn
Allow me to spell it out for you," I said calmly. "I am still absolutely terrified of marriage, but I would marry you tonight if it was a way for me to prove how much I believe that you're the guy for me.— Monica Alexander
People flock in, nevertheless, in search of answers to those questions only librarians are considered to be able to answer, such as "Is this the laundry?" "How do you spell surreptitious?" and, on a regular basis, "Do you have a book I remember reading once? It had a red cover and it turned out they were twins.— Terry Pratchett
Any film I see at two o'clock in afternoon with my mother seems to cast a strange spell that means we both come out sobbing.— Jane Birkin
About ten days ago I got started on a new book, and am completely, brazenly devoted to it: my hair is uncut, my letters are unwritten, the house is a shambles, and I sit here as happy as Mrs. Jellaby, though I am in 1836, not Africa. It won't go on like this, I shall fall over some obstacle, and wake out of my dreams with a black eye and broken shins: but while it does last, I daren't interrupt it. I haven't had such a spell of writing for nearly three years.— Sylvia Townsend Warner
The warm, pulsing breath of the sweet grass surged through the open windows in a fashion to turn the head of a stone image. It was exotic, too sweet, exaggerated, like everything else in this climate! Cornelis turned over again, seeking a cool place on the broad bed. Then he sat up in bed, impatiently throwing off the sheet. A thin streak of moonlight edged the bed below his feet. He slipped out of bed, walked over to a window. He leaned out, looking down at the acres of undulating grass. There seemed to be some strange, hypnotic rhythm to it, some vague magic, as it swayed in the night wind. The scent poured over him in great, pulsing breaths. He shut his eves and drew it in, abandoning his senses to its effect.— Henry S. Whitehead
("Sweet Grass")
Grandma smiled brightly. "How lovely! It seems your whore has arrived."— Rachel Van Dyken
Jake groaned and covered his face with his hands. There was no way out of it. His grandmother was going to get him shot.
A&E women scorned, here I come.
"Excuse me?" Aileen put her hands on her hips and did a weird head nod at Grandma, and nearly teetered off her high heels. Oh, this wasn't good. Not good at all.
Grandma reached out and patted Aileen's arm. "Sweetheart, I'm the one with hearing aids, not you. I called you a whore. Would you like me to spell it for you, too?" She nudged Jake. "What did you do? Find her at a high school career fair?" And then in a horrifyingly loud voice she began spelling. "W-H-O-R-E.
You think I'm with you out of guilt?"— Josh Lanyon
"No, you ass. Of course not. I just mean - "
"You're a nut, MacAllister. I'm with you because I love you."
There it was, out. Three little words. Three of the most common words in the world, but string them together and they were more powerful than any warrant, any extradition papers, or even treaty. Stronger than any magical spell. Had he really never said them aloud to Taylor?
BRUCE STERLING Homo sapiens declared extinct, Nature, November 11, 1999:— Bruce Sterling
Since I've been asked to offer an epitaph," the highly distributed poetware continued, "I believe that we should rearrange the Great Wall of China to spell out (in Chinese of course, since most of them were always Chinese)
'THEY WERE VERY, VERY CURIOUS, BUT NOT AT ALL FAR-SIGHTED.
Intuition is like reading a word without having to spell it out. A child can't do that because it has had so little experience. A grown-up person knows the word because they've seen it often before.— Agatha Christie
All the same, we ought to point out that if the kinds of poetry and representation which are designed merely to give pleasure can come up with a rational argument for their inclusion in a well-governed community, we'd be delighted— Plato
short of compromising the truth as we see it, which wouldn't be right
to bring them back from exile: after all, we know from our own experience all about their spell. I mean haven't you ever fallen under the spell of poetry, Glaucon, especially when the spectacle is provided by Homer?
But out under the Moon, Chestnut Ridge and Cheat behind them, and Monongahela to cross, into an Overture of meadow to the Horizon, low-lands become to them a dream whilst under a Spell, the way it gives back the Light, the way it withholds its Shadows, - who might not come to believe in an Eternal West? In a Momentum that bears all away? "Men are remov'd by it, and women, from where they were, - as if surrender'd to a great current of Westering. You will hear of gold cities, marble cities, men that fly, women that fight, fantastickal creatures never dream'd in Europe, - something always to take and draw you that way,— Thomas Pynchon
But if you must know, your moon here is rather more powerful than the ones around my own world."— Terry Pratchett
"The moon?" said Twoflower. "I don't under-"
"If I've got to spell it out," said the troll, testily, "I'm suffering from chronic tides.
PLUTO is the limit for me.— Me
Someday they will spell victory with my T. That day is Today. Don't wait for the green light. Rise, poise, beauty, youth, wear a smile, put some style, straighten those shoulders and walk out BOLD.
Ash told me you threw his tracking spell into the river. Why?" She cringed slightly. "Yeah, that. It's hard to explain ..." "Try." The command was firm but his voice was gentle. "I watched him die," she said, her eyes dropping to the sidewalk. "I saw the daggers go into his chest. I saw him fall over the edge. And I thought that was it. I thought he was dead and that it was my fault. When I found out he was alive, I knew I could never let that happen again. I couldn't let him die for me - die fighting my battles. It's not his responsibility to make sure that I survive to the next day.— Annette Marie
Non-violence ... is the only thing that the atom bomb cannot destroy. I did not move a muscle when I first heard that the atom bomb had wiped out Hiroshima. On the contrary, I said to myself, Unless now the world adopts non-violence, it will spell certain suicide for mankind.— Mahatma Gandhi
I've learned that I need to spell out, even in cases seemingly so blatant, that in fact I am not taking this at face value and am being 'sarcastic.'— James Fallows
He did just spell out the particulars of an incestuous menage a trois in the same breath he used to order wine.— Michelle Gable
Derek lunged. He hit me in the shoulder and knocked me to the floor, landing on top of me. His body jerked, like he'd been hit with the spell, and I let out a yelp, struggling to get up, but he held me down, whispering "I'm okay, it's okay" until the words penetrated.— Kelley Armstrong
Lists only spell out the things that can be taken away from us by moths and rust and thieves. If something is valuable, don't put it in a list. Don't even say the words.— Douglas Coupland
I heard the man and woman cry a warning as I frantically racked my brain for some sort of throat-repairing spell, which I was clearly about to need. Of course the only words that I actually managed to yell at the werewolf as he ran at me were, 'BAD DOG!'— Rachel Hawkins
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of blue light on my left. Suddenly, the werewolf seemed to smack into an invisible wall just inches in front of me ...
"You know," someone said off to my left, "I usually find a blocking spell to be a lot more effective than yelling 'Bad dog,' but maybe that's just me.
Strength, Confidence— Lawren Leo
Original Thought
I Seek You Out
Until Your Caught
At schools, the children who are too stupid or lazy to learn languages, mathematics and elementary science can be set to doing the things that children used to do in their spare time. Let them, for example, make mud pies and call it modelling. But all the time there must be no faintest hint that they are inferior to the children who are at work. Whatever nonsense they are engaged in must have - I believe the English already use the phrase - "parity of esteem." An even more drastic scheme is not impossible. Children who are fit to proceed to a higher class may be artificially kept back, because the others would get a trauma - Beelzebub, what a useful word! - by being left behind. The bright pupil thus remains democratically fettered to his own age group throughout his school career, and a boy who would be capable of tackling Aeschylus or Dante sits listening to his coeval's attempts to spell out 'A Cat Sat On A Mat'.— C.S. Lewis
I understand that each one of us works at a different speed, and has a slightly different process. I understand that these writers are painstaking, wanting each sentence-each word-to carry weight ... I know it's not laziness, but respect for the work, and I understand from my own work that haste makes waste. But I also understand that life is short, and that in the end, none of us is prolific. The creative spark dims, and then death puts it out. William Shakespeare, for instance, hasn't produced a new play for 400 years. That, my friends, is a long dry spell.— Stephen King
Sunday 11:05 AM— Anne Tyler
Hi Kate I text you!
Hi.
U r home now?
Spell things out, for heaven's sake. You're not some teenager.
You are home now?
No.
She imagined how in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out, would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public. What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored?— Virginia Woolf
You can get in a lot of trouble mixing up words or just not knowing how to spell them. If we ever get out of here, I'm going to make sure to learn all about them.— Norton Juster
Norway did not even have a revolution at the time the rest of Europe was busy figuring out human rights and stuff, because we were busy fighting over how to spell it.— Erik Naggum
I closed my eyes and took more of those deep breaths Dad was so fond of, thinking that it was no wonder Prodigium were always getting their asses handed to them by humans. I mean, every time I had to do an intense spell, there was all this focusing, and relaxing, and picturing, and breathing...It wasn't exactly the most effective battle strategy against something like The Eye.— Rachel Hawkins
I should've known better than to think about The Eye,though. As soon as the name popped into my head, my control shattered.
And so did the terra-cotta pot.
Black soil rained down on my feet, and the purple flower drooped even further. I could have sworn it actually bobbed accusingly at me.
"Ugh," I groaned, as Cal quickly scooped the jagged pot out of my hands. "Sorry,but I warned you I was destructo-girl.
Here's the conundrum: We want to tell our stories! But if condensation is the language of wishes - especially the most verboten and destructive ones - the more you spell the story out, the less aesthetically charged it becomes. The question is whether untransformed experience can ever be aesthetically powerful, or whether it's simply interesting. Literary language is one solution, with its habits of duality - metaphor, irony - and other techniques for saying opposing things at once. For haunting the reader with ghosts of buried meanings.— Laura Kipnis
Your story may be interesting, but what if, paradoxically, it's what you can't say that makes it lasting?
Spell-Cleaver. That was his title. She surveyed him with her usual disdain. But Helion gave her the same bow he'd offered me - though his smile was edged with enough sensuality that even my heart raced a bit. No wonder the Lady of Autumn hadn't stood a chance. "I don't think we were introduced properly earlier," he crooned to Nesta. "I'm - " "I don't care," Nesta said with a snap of her wrist, striding right past him and up to my side. "I'd like a word," she said. "Now." Cassian was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing - at the utter surprise and shock on Helion's face. It wasn't every day, I supposed, that anyone of either sex dismissed him so thoroughly. I threw the High Lord a semi-apologetic glance and led my sister out of the room.— Sarah J. Maas
I'm not saying you're wrong, Declan," Gansey said. His ear throbbed where it had been boxed. He could feel Ronan's pulse crashing in his arm where he restrained him. His vow to consider his words more carefully came back to him, so he framed the rest of the statement in his head before saying it out loud.— Maggie Stiefvater
"But you are not Niall Lynch, and you won't ever be. And you'd get ahead a lot faster if you stopped trying."
Gansey released Ronan.
Ronan didn't move, though, and neither did Declan, as if by saying their father's name, Gansey had cast a spell. They wore matching raw expressions. Different wounds inflicted by the same weapon.
The unnatural beast plummeted to the ground, vainly attempting to keep his entrails in and put out the fire that covered him. Morfyd spewed another spell at the retreating form and Hefaidd-Hen burst into pieces.— G.A. Aiken
Fearghus glanced at his sister. "That was a bit much, don't you think?"
She gave an innocent shrug. "I like to be certain.
