Dust Your Shoulders Off Quotes & Sayings

Actors," he says, "should only be superficial on the surface. — Johnny Rich

The breakup of my first marriage was my first failure; I had to learn to accept that and support the people involved. The court case brought against me by three of the band was awful, but learning how to let it go, move on, and come back together as friends and creative partners was a life lesson above any other. — Gary Kemp

Lunar Geology Rocks. — Homer Hickam

The desire for sudden change and the thought of their realization by force often appears among men like a disease and gains ground mainly in young brains; only these brains do not think as they should, do not amount to anything in the end and the heads that think thus do not remain long on their shoulders. For it is not human desires that dispose and administer the things of this world. Desire is like a wind, it sifts the dust from one place to another, sometimes darkens the whole horizon, but in the end calms down and leaves the old and eternal picture of the world. Lasting deeds are realized on this earth only by God's will, and man is only His humble and blind tool. — Ivo Andric

The notes danced through the June air; Vivi could feel them dust her hair and shoulders. She could feel the notes enter her and settle deep into her bones. — Rebecca Wells

She leaned in and hugged me. "I know. Thanks. I love you, too. And for the record, Cheyenne and Landon are soul mates and if they don't end up together, I want you to find a poltergeist to haunt the Easton Heights writers."
She pulled back, smiling at me, then reaching out to ruffle Lend's hair. "Take care of each other, you two obnoxious kids."
Then, throwing her shoulders back and staring straight forward, she walked through the gate. I watched, dreading seeing her turn into dust or something, but gasped in relief and joy as her ruined, unnaturally preserved body blossomed into something new, something strong and proud and undeniably alive.
She turned back, just once, and although she was nearly unrecognizable, I could see our Arianna in her smile that managed to maintain its trademark ironic twist.
"I'm going to miss her," I said.
"What?" Lend shouted.
"I said, I'm going to miss her!"
"I can't hear you! I'm going to miss her! — Kiersten White

Jamie, who had insisted on walking most of the way to spare the horse, was a disreputable sight indeed, hose stained to the knees with reddish dust, spare shirt torn by brambles and a week's growth of beard bristling fiercely from cheek and jaw. His hair had grown long enough in the last months to reach his shoulders. Usually clubbed into a queue or laced back, it was free now, thick and unruly, with small bits of leaf and stick caught in the disordered coppery locks. Face burned a deep ruddy bronze, boots cracked from walking, dirk and sword thrust through his belt, he looked a wild Highlander indeed. — Diana Gabaldon

I tossed my shoulders and swaggered away, whistling with pleasure. In the gutter I saw a long cigaret butt. I picked it up without shame, lit it as I stood with one foot in the gutter, puffed it and exhaled toward the stars. I was an American, and goddamn proud of it. — John Fante

Hey, Bubu, a bottle of good French wine ... Sip it slowly, do you most good. You'll sleep. Be happy. And if you want to come downstairs, dance and sing, talk, ok. Do what you want. Here's the wine. — Charles Bukowski

I thought maybe if she could express herself rather than suffer herself, if she had a way to relieve the burden, she lived for nothing more than living, with nothing to get inspired by, to care for, to call her own, she helped out at the store, then came home and sat in her big chair and stared at her magazines, not at them but through them, she let the dust accumulate on her shoulders. — Jonathan Safran Foer

A mere wilderness, as you see, even now in December; but in summer a complete nursery of briers, a forest of thistles, a plantation of nettles, without any live stock but goats, that have eaten up all the bark of the trees. Here you see is the pedestal of a statue, with only half a leg and four toes remaining: there were many here once. When I was a boy, I used to sit every day on the shoulders of Hercules: what became of him I have never been able to ascertain. Neptune has been lying these seven years in the dust-hole; Atlas had his head knocked off to fit him for propping a shed; and only the day before yesterday we fished Bacchus out of the horse-pond. — Thomas Love Peacock

I remember the Chillicothe ballplayers grappling the Long Island ball players in a sixteen-inning game ended by darkness. And the shoulders of the Chillicothe players were a red smoke against the sundown and the shoulders of the Rock Island players were a yellow smoke against the sundown. And the umpire's voice was hoarse calling balls and strikes and outs and the umpire's throat fought in the dust for a song. — Carl Sandburg

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. May as well sleep in. If you can. Our — Suzanne Collins

She ran and didn't slow until she came to a hallway that terminated in a multipaned window of thick, old-fashioned glass. Her breath rasped in her throat, but the dizziness and nausea eased enough that she stood steadier on her feet. She heard again the gentle ringing of metal sliding against metal. Musty air rose up with the same smell of leather and dust, an acrid undertone beneath. She whipped her head toward the end of the hall. At first she didn't see anything. The light shifted and swirled, and the swordsman materialized from the shadows. Gold and red emblazoned his tunic in a chevron against a cobalt background. The sword was back in its scabbard, strapped across his back. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, and he looked like Sebastian. Timed to the wind stirring the ivy outside, he vanished through the wall. — Carolyn Jewel

Nwella came up with a silver bowl and a big soft brush, and before Madrigal knew what was happening Nwella had dusted her chest, neck, and shoulders with something that glittered.
"What - ?"
"Sugar," she said, giggling.
"Nwella!" Madrigal tried to brush it off, but it was dust-fine and it clung: sugar powder, which girls wore when they planned to be tasted. If her rose petal lips and naked back were not enough invitation to Thiago, Madrigal thought, this certainly was. Its telltale shimmer might as well have been a sign that said LICK ME. — Laini Taylor

Jefferson's love of control was evident when he was at home. He was precise and demanding about his horses. When he was younger and his mount was brought to him, he would use a white cambric handkerchief to brush the horse's shoulders.63 If there were dust, the horse was returned to the stables. Only the perfect would suffice. His horses were sources of immense pleasure, but he also disliked animals with wills of their own, and his mask of equanimity could slip occasionally when it came to his horses. "The only impatience of temper he ever exhibited was with his horse, which he subdued to his will by a fearless application of the whip on the slightest manifestation of restiveness," said a grandson.64 — Jon Meacham

I do not know how long this machine has carried us when the roaring finally ceases. My back, my limbs - every bit of me aches. The master eagle lies quiet and still. I do not believe he sleeps. I sense his desperation with each shallow breath he takes. Perhaps he plots as I do. If I could move my lips I would whisper to him. I would tell him I have a plan.

The iron fist opens, and dust pours in stinging my eyes. It opens wider and tilts forward, forcing us to fall to the ground. We do not land with a crunch on jagged terrain. There is only the smooth thud of a sandy floor.

There is a quick, loud smash, like metal slamming into metal. Footsteps approach us - one set. The netting digs into my shoulders from my heaving breath. I close my eyes and try to suppress my panic, knowing that while my hands are bound, I am helpless. — Quoleena Sbrocca

During its first year of operation, Florida Virtual School had 77 students. The next year, it had 476 students; then 2,489 students the year after that. — Dan Webster

Love
My soul was a light-blue gown, sky-coloured;
I left it on a cliff by the sea
and naked I came to you, resembling a woman.
And like a woman I sat at your table
and drank a toast with wine and breathed in the scent of several roses.
You found me beautiful, resembling something you'd seen dreaming,
I forgot everything, I forgot my childhood and my homeland,
I knew only that your caresses held me captive.
And, smiling, you took up a mirror and bade me look.
I saw that my shoulders were made of dust and crumbled away,
I saw that my beauty was sick and had no desire other than to - disappear.
Oh, hold me close in your arms, so tightly that I need nothing. — Edith Sodergran