Fifteen Minute Quotes & Sayings

Time can be dissected easily: an hour can be cut up in many ways. Fifteen minutes on this memo, a five-minute walk to another meeting, 30 minutes at that meeting and then 10 minutes debriefing. Oh, and maybe a quick phone call on the walk to that meeting. The busy are expert at dissection: that's how they make it all fit. — Sendhil Mullainathan

To die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning while other people are frying eggs is not so rough unless it happens to you. — Charles Bukowski

One minute I was having a day like any other , and then Whack an this guy didn't have no head Lula Finger Lickin 15 — Janet Evanovich

Liberals love to strike generous, humanitarian poses with other people's lives. — Ann Coulter

In South Pasadena, artists were around but invisible somehow. Even though it was just a fifteen-minute drive from Downtown LA, it felt worlds apart. That suburban American experience can both protect and stunt you. I couldn't wait to move to New York to become the person I've always wanted to become. — Porochista Khakpour

If you go through life expecting nothing chances are you'll be content most of the time. — Mark W. Boyer

I think in high school there's so many cliques. You're never safe. — Blake Lively

One cowboy is never enough. — Vanessa Vale

I can't believe you're still mad at me," Ed says.
"You grabbed my arse."
"You broke my nose."
"You broke his nose?" Jazz asks. "You grabbed her arse?"
"It was two years ago-"
"Two years, four months, and eight days," I tell him.
"-and I was fifteen, and I slipped and she broke my nose."
"Wait a minute. How do you slip onto someone's arse?"
Jazz asks.
"I meant slipped up. I slipped up and she broke my nose."
"You're lucky that's all I broke," I say.
"You're lucky I didn't call the police."
Leo, Dylan, and Daisy slid into the booth. "Did you guys know that Lucy broke Ed's nose? Jazz asks.
Ed closes his eyes silently and bangs his head on the wall. — Cath Crowley

It may not have occurred to you kids that sex is more than a fifteen-minute trip to the backseat of a car. It's science. And what is science?"
"Boring. — Becca Fitzpatrick

Actually, time had always been passing. I had just managed to avoid thinking about it very much. It would be hard for me to recapture that feeling - life wasn't so easy anymore. Small things pricked my heart. In those early days, I lived in a world of overwhelming sensations; it was like I had just fallen out of love. — Banana Yoshimoto

Live your greatest dream. — Lailah Gifty Akita

When I was fifteen and had quit school forever, I went to work in a vineyard near Sanger with a number of Mexicans, one of whom was only a year or two older than myself, an earnest boy named Felipe. One gray, dismal, cold, dreary day in January, while we were pruning muscat vines, I said to this boy, simply in order to be talking, "If you had your wish, Felipe, what would you want to be? A doctor, a farmer, a singer, a painter, a matador, or what?" Felipe thought a minute, and then he said, "Passenger." This was exciting to hear, and definitely something to talk about at some length, which we did. He wanted to be a passenger on anything that was going anywhere, but most of all on a ship. — William, Saroyan

My early childhood equipped me really well for my portrait work: The quick encounter, where you are not going to know the subject for very long. These days I am much more comfortable with the fifteen minute relationship, than I am with a life long relationship. — Annie Leibovitz

Is there something I can do?"
"About what?" she snapped.
"About your problem," he persisted. "Does anybody's ass need kicking? I can take care of that for you. I kick good ass."
Her laughter rang out, sweet and bright and gorgeous. "Wow," she said. "You'd do that for me? After, what has it been now, a fifteen-minute acquaintance? Twenty, maybe, tops?"
He considered that, and opened his mouth, and the raw, uncut, uncensored truth just plopped right out. "Yeah," he said. "I would. — Shannon McKenna

If you're ever short on cash, you could set up a booth and charge the ladies to massage your bod."
"Oh yeah?" His voice was wary.
"Sure. Say, fifteen bucks for a two minute fondle. Strictly PG-13, above the waist, of course. I'll sell the tickets, if you give me a cut."
His hands stopped moving. She babbled on, dazed and thoughtless. "The gay guys would go for it, too. We'd rake in the dough."
"I'd let you do it for free," he said.
His voice was devoid of irony. Her eyes popped open in alarm.
She looked back over her shoulder. The hot glow in his eyes brought her feminine instincts to high alert. She pulled away.
She and her big dumb mouth. Sexy banter with a guy she barely knew, but no nerve to back it up. — Shannon McKenna

The length of exposure (one minute in sunlight) is still too long for the portrait. It was fifteen minutes when I first began my work. Progress may continue. — Gabriel Lippmann

It's one thing for a courier service transport letters and documents from one city to another at a cost that only big business can afford; but it's another thing to take a letter from an Indian boy studying at the University of Ottawa to his mother in Old Crow. — Jean Chretien

The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie, and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week
yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat day and night, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town. In fact, like any sex offender, it can leave permanent psychological scars. — Tom Robbins

I believe firmly in plodding. Productivity is more a matter of diligent, long-distance hiking than it is one-hundred-yard dashing. Doing a little bit now is far better than hoping to do a lot on the morrow. So redeem the fifteen minute spaces. Chip away at it. — Douglas Wilson

Along with better training, pediatricians need better pay. Paradoxically, physicians involved in the primary care of our children - the doctors on the front lines who receive tens of thousands of visits every day from parents and their children - are among the lowest paid of all physicians in the United States. Something is wrong with our system when the doctor who performs a brief diagnostic procedure - some form of X-ray, for example, or a fifteen-minute operation - is paid many times more than the doctors making crucial decisions about our children's health. — Martin J. Blaser

Anything could be endured, she had discovered, if she could only package the time into discrete little packets. She imagined taking the minutes, each one like a pellet, and wrapping them up - one minute, five minutes, fifteen, thirty. Once she had managed to survive a full hour, she could put the packets of time into a box, tie it with string, and push it down a conveyor belt. Just one more minute, one more hour, one more day. — Lynne Kutsukake

Elizabeth nodded, looking too dejected to do much more. "Can she just go back to him?" she pleaded. "He's dying. She's dying. They can't have a life together, but at least they could have this."
No, Kahlen is Mine. We'll fix her.
"With what?" Elizabeth demanded through tears. "There's nothing left."
"Please," I said, letting all the dams burst, exposing every last drop of love I had for Akinli. "You've seen how I feel now. I've shared everything . . . — Kiera Cass

Yes," Bitterblue said. "I suppose you could convert everything into minutes. Twelve times sixty is seven hundred twenty, and fifteen times fifty is seven hundred fifty. So our seven-hundred-twenty-minute half day equals its seven-hundred-fifty-minute half day. Let's see ... Right now, the watch reads a time of nearly twenty-five past two. That's one hundred twenty-five total minutes, which, divided by seven hundred fifty, should equal our time in minutes divided by seven hundred twenty ... so, seven hundred twenty times one hundred twenty-five is ... give me a moment ... ninety thousand ... divided by seven hundred fifty ... is one hundred twenty ... which means ... well! The numbers are quite neat, aren't they? It's just about two o'clock. I should go home. — Kristin Cashore

Running away from home is not a good idea. Unless, of course, you happen to be forty years old, and then your parents will probably shout, "Hurrah!" and change the locks the minute you've stepped off the front stoop. But in the case of Gwendolyn and Homer, ages fifteen and twelve, setting off in the middle of the night would only bring their parents immense heartache and worry. — Suzanne Selfors

And because they had mass, they became simpler," said Beatty. "Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books leveled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?" "I think so." Beatty peered at the smoke pattern he had put out on the air. "Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations. Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending." "Snap ending." Mildred nodded. "Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. — Ray Bradbury