Scissored Quotes & Sayings

My hits are not hits. — John Mayer

She scissored the curls away, and - toms, grow easily sentimental over their haircuts, but I remember this sensation very vividly - it was not like she was cutting hair, it was as if I had a pair of wings beneath my shoulder-blades, that the flesh had all grown over, and she was slicing free ... — Sarah Waters

Roman ignored her and took her ankles and flipped them purposefully, but because of her hands she could not turn all the way and ended up with her legs scissored unintuitively, and suddenly things were different. Ashley had heard girls tell stories of getting into situations and changing their minds as though this made them victims of what happened next, like that was how it worked, that you got so far and it switched off just like that and they were not themselves to blame for being little sluts and cock teases in the first place. But now she understood: it was not like that. Changing your mind was not the thing that happened at all, what changed was your body telling you what was right and what was wrong and before now she had never known the way things can just like that go all wrong. — Brian McGreevy

This is where his life - his remade life - has brought him. Each strange juncture has led to the next and now he is here. He is here, and it is nowhere. — J.J. Abrams

Hanging from every corner, above every window, standing on every shelf and tabletop, were dozens of handmade birdcages. Nomi had crafted them all, mostly out of old fishing twine, scraps of nets, and chicken wire. Woven in between the bars of the cages were bits of seashells, crab shells, pebbles, and driftwood she had scavenged along the beach. In a pinch she had made a few out of old clothes hangers she had scissored apart and woven together with strips of a negligee or shirt. Each one was personal, each one was unique, each one was a story — Brooke Warra

I feel overwhelmingly grateful to them, but I don't know what to do with their invisible gifts. — J.D. Salinger

Have it compose a poem- a poem about a haircut! But lofty, tragic, timeless, full of love, treachery, retribution, quiet heroism in the face of certain doom! Six lines, cleverly rhymed, and every word beginning with the letter S!!" [sic] ... .
Seduced, shaggy Samson snored.
She scissored short. Sorely shorn,
Soon shackled slave, Samson sighed,
Silently scheming
Sightlessly seeking
Some savage, spectacular suicide."
("The First Sally (A) or The Electronic Bard"
THE CYBERIAD) — Stanislaw Lem

Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain. — John Dryden

Maria Edgeworth grumbled against vandals who ruined immortal works by quoting the life out of them. "How far our literature may in future suffer from these blighting swarms, will best be conceived by a glance at what they have already withered and blasted of the favourite productions of our most popular poets." Shakespeare, Milton, and Dryden, scissored, patched, and frayed. — Willis Regier

It's believing in those dreams and facing our fears head on that allows us to live our lives beyond our limits. — Amy Purdy

My parents stayed together for forty years. But that was out of spite. — Woody Allen

I don't think you can have pain and soul-searching doing the right thing for your child. — Diane Abbott

Seduced, shaggy Samson snored. She scissored short. Sorely shorn, Soon shackled slave, Samson sighed, Silently scheming, Sightlessly seeking Some savage, spectacular suicide. — Stanislaw Lem

The Wistful A shirt is for unbuttoning. A name is for forgetting. Drunk is for getting. And hillocks are for sitting on and sighing, when, struck numb by the sun's delinquent shining, you resign to a strychnine indecisiveness that's meant to discredit you. You don't know what to do. Or how. Or who. Or if it even matters, now, to boot. And it suits you absolutely, this languor, this drag. Such as they were, your lusts have been scissored in half. And your heart. That blood-blue slab of vena cava and ventricle, receptacle of kept loves, villain, vile, and trivial - it will take a final beating then throw in its towel. Then brake. Then coast. Then slow to an almost stock-still throb. Then - if you're lucky - it stops. — Jill Alexander Essbaum

Poetry is cathartic only for the unserious, for in front of the rush of expressive need stands the barrier of form, and when the hurdler's scissored legs and outstretched arms carry him over the bars, the limp in his life, the headache in his heart, the emptiness he's full of, are as absent as his street-shoes, which will pinch and scrape his feet in all the old leathery ways once the race is over and he has to walk through the front door of his future like a brushman with some feckless patter and a chintzy plastic prize. — William H Gass

My anger is ebbing away now, replace with a crazy grief for the stupid, dumb, trysting animal, who was running too fast and didn't look where it was going and still -even after its leg was scissored in the trap- believed it might escape. Stupid, stupid, stupid. — Lauren Oliver