One Handed Catch Quotes & Sayings

Over-optimism - in that she thinks men are better than they are, she doesn't really understand them and is generous about it. Over-confidence - in that she thinks she can do more than an individual actually can. She thinks she can run a railroad (or the world) single-handed, she can make people do what she wants or needs, what is right, by the sheer force of her own talent; not by forcing them, of course, not by enslaving them and giving orders - but by the sheer over-abundance of her own energy; she will show them how, she can teach them and persuade them, she is so able that they'll catch it from her. — Ayn Rand

Riley found her friend studying the contents of one of the store's display windows. It was full of sparkle. "How do you catch this thing?" he asked.
She dug in her bag, pulled out a sippy cup, and handed it to him.
"You're joking, right?" he said. "You trap demons with cups that have dancing bears on them?"
She glowered at him. "See the glitter in the bottom? Klepto-Fiends can't resist it."
He held up the sippy cup and compared it to the exquisitely cut diamonds in the store window.
"Wanna bet?"
And I brought him along why? — Jana Oliver

Mr. Roddis: [Outraged at the presence of two apparent burglars (actually his in-laws) having tea in his suburban home] - And they've opened a pot of my raspberry jam."
Uncle Fred: [Architect of the above missunderstanding] Ah, then you will be able to catch them red-handed. I should fetch a policman. — P.G. Wodehouse

That is life, isn't it? Fate. Luck. Chance. A long series of what-if's that lead from one moment to the next, time never pausing for you to catch your breath, to make sense of the cards that have been handed to you. And all you can do is play your cards and hope for the best, because in the end, it all comes back to those three basics.
Fate. Luck. Chance. — Kelseyleigh Reber

He could galvanize the dead with his talk. It was a sort of devouring process: when he described a place he ate into it, like a goat at tacking a carpet. If he described a person he ate him alive from head to toe. If it were an event he would devour every detail, like an army of white ants descending upon a forest. He was everywhere at once, in his talk. He attacked from above and below, from the front, rear and flanks. If he couldn't dispose of a thing at once, for lack of a phrase or an image, he would spike it temporarily and move on, coming back to it later and devouring it piecemeal. Or like a juggler,- he would toss it in the air arid, just when you thought he had forgotten it, that it would fall and break, he would deftly put an-arm behind his back and catch it in his palm without even turning his eye. It wasn't just talk he handed out, but language - food and beast language. He always talked against a landscape, like the protagonist of a lost world. — Henry Miller