Likes It Violent Quotes & Sayings

I have never directed anything for the stage. I studied for three years in the theater, and it was a very, very scary experience to direct live, being so vulnerable without the possibility to control things, to be so exposed. — Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu

He brought his lips and hot breath close to her ear. "And once I have you bound and helpless, how should I take you? Missionary? From behind? Against the wall?" He pulled back to face her. "Or all ways?"

She inched her legs further apart, and nodded. — Elizabeth SaFleur

I think film is the best medium to inspire people. It's a combination of image, dialogue, and music, which can make for a powerful message or a simple escape. — Martha Hunt

At that time, when I started, in the '50s, cinema was very classical in its aims. — Agnes Varda

Steroids build your muscles, but they don't build your tendons or ligaments. — Charlie Sheen

I do enjoy working with writers. — Neil Jordan

You ... you got rid of that dress fast," I pointed out between heavy breaths. "I thought you liked it."
"I do like it," he said. His breathing was as heavy as mine. "I love it."
And then he took me to the bed. — Richelle Mead

Whatever man may stand, whatever he may do, to whatever he may apply his hand - in agriculture, in commerce, and in industry, or his mind, in the world of art, and science - he is, in whatsoever it may be, constantly standing before the face of God. He is employed in the service of his God. He has strictly to obey his God. And above all, he has to aim at the glory of his God. — Abraham Kuyper

Man ... has an inborn religious sentiment that whispers of a God to his inmost soul, as a shell taken from the deep yet echoes forever the ocean's roar. — Horace Mann

When everything broken is broken,
and everything dead is dead,
and the hero has looked into the mirror with complete contempt,
and the heroine has studied her face and its defects
remorselessly, and the pain they thought might,
as a token of their earnestness, release them from themselves
has lost its novelty and not released them,
and they have begun to think, kindly and distantly,
watching the others go about their days
likes and dislikes, reasons, habits, fears
that self-love is the one weedy stalk
of every human blossoming, and understood,
therefore, why they had been, all their lives,
in such a fury to defend it, and that no one
except some almost inconceivable saint in his pool
of poverty and silence - can escape this violent, automatic
life's companion ever, maybe then, ordinary light,
faint music under things, a hovering like grace appears. — Robert Hass