Cold With Nausea Quotes & Sayings

The sky was so heartless and dark, and her body, her head, and particularly those damned thirsty trousers, felt clogged with Oceanus Nox, n,o,x. At every slap and splash of cold wild salt, she heaved with anise-flavored nausea and there was an increasing number, okay, or numbness in her neck and arms. As she began losing track of herself, she thought it proper to inform a series of receding Lucettes
telling them to pass it on and on in a trick-crystal regression
that what death amounted to was only a more complete assortment of the infinite fractions of solitude. — Vladimir Nabokov

Forget narrative, backstory, characterisation, exposition, all of that. Just make the audience want to know what happens next. — David Mamet

One of my favorite passages in 'Leaves of Grass,' that breathless, exuberant poem so rich and full of innocence and joy and generosity and compassion, is 'Mannahatta.' — Cathleen Schine

If you're gonna tell your life story, you gotta be honest, or don't do it. — R. Kelly

If your book doesn't keep you up nights when you are writing it, it won't keep anyone up nights reading it. — James A. Michener

An ongoing challenge for Australia is ensuring equity of access to technology. Since the decline in federal funding, many schools are reverting to bring Your Own Device (BYOD) programs and this puts the onus back on families to fund devices. — Susan Mann

The black vote is always important, and the reason is it serves as a tremendous base for the Democratic Party. On the national level, Democrats traditionally receive at least 90 percent of the black vote. — Roland Martin

Unfortunately, I think I'm going to be typecast in Hollywood as the kid who can cry. I don't like putting audiences through those emotional ups and downs. I don't want people to think Dana Hill is so depressing all she does is cry. But the parts are so good, I can't turn them down. — Dana Hill

The Nausea has stayed down there, in the yellow light. I am happy: this cold is so pure, this night so pure: am I myself not a wave of icy air? With neither blood, nor lymph, nor flesh. Flowing down this long canal towards the pallor down there. To be nothing but coldness. — Jean-Paul Sartre