Forgotten Bits Of Paperwork Quotes

Bryant wanted to be outside digging up corpses and chasing (as much as his bad leg would allow) unscrupulous but fiendishly brilliant villains through the back alleys of the city. Instead he was meeting a clerk about forgotten bits of paperwork. ~ Christopher Fowler

The Big Dipper rested neatly in the sky, surrounded by lesser bits of light, and I understood how it all fit together. Some moments of our lives were vivid and strong, hanging among all the other memories, not to be forgotten. Our baby was that constellation for us, and no matter where we looked, no matter what other stars dotted our sky, he would always be there, the biggest and the brightest of them all. ~ Deanna Roy

F8 And Be There! For years, this was the cry of the photojournalist. It meant that 90% of a great photo was being in the right place at the right time. True, it was simplistic, but in the Age of Photoshop, this maxim is too often forgotten. No matter how much you play with the bits and bytes, the best images always start out with a great vision, clearly and cleanly seen. ~ Dewitt Jones

These days, everybody is supposed to be so intelligent: 'Isn't it terrible about Nixon getting elected?' 'Did you hear about the earthquake in Peru?' And you're supposed to have all the answers. But when it gets down to the nitty-gritty, like, 'What is bugging you, mister? Why can't you make it with your wife? Why do you lie awake all night staring at the ceiling? Why, why, why do you refuse to recognize you have problems and deal with them?'
The answer is that people have forgotten how to relate or respond. In this day of mass communications and instant communications, there is no communication between people. Instead it's long-winded stories or hostile bits, or laughter. But nobody's really laughing. It's more an hysterical, joyless kind of sound.
Translation: 'I am here and I don't know why. ~ John Cassavetes

The house had always been full of books, far too many for one person to get through in a lifetime. Her father didn't collect them to read, to own first editions or to keep those signed by the author; Gil collected them for the handwritten marginalia and doodles that marked the pages, for the forgotten ephemera used as bookmarks. Every time Flora came home he would show her his new discoveries: left-behind photographs, postcards and letters, bail slips, receipts, handwritten recipes and drawings, valentines and tickets, sympathy cards, excuse notes to teachers; bits of paper with which he could piece together other people's lives, other people who had read the same books he held and who had marked their place. ~ Claire Fuller

He had forgotten that anything could be so tender. He breaks the bun open, revealing glossy bits of pork and glaze, a secret red heart.

When he puts it to his mouth, it is like a kiss: sweet and salty and warm. ~ Celeste Ng

A new buoyancy took over, the buoyancy of arrival. It brings with it a renewed sense of being that blossoms just before the end of a journey. No matter how long or tiring the journey, the bothersome bits are shelved and forgotten in those final minutes. Impending arrival shifts the traveller's mindset into hopeful optimism that a new and unexplored phase is about to begin. ~ Monisha Rajesh

I wept for relationships not possible due to denial and dreams locked in the back of people's minds, all of the bits of life that lay dormant until the babblings of televisions and nursing homes sweep them away. It makes me wonder how many of the dreams we had originally have already been forgotten. ~ Christopher Hawke

I should get rid of those boxes, full of all that junk. Burn them all – make a bonfire in the garden and burn the bloody lot of it. All the captured bits of me, the scraps and pictures and notes and letters, burn it all, burn the lot of it – every last trace of me. Every last bit of me – up in flames and gone for good. Forgotten and gone. Rid me of these memories... Yes, that's something to do this afternoon. Get out into the garden, and burn the past... To ashes with. ~ Jonny Glynn

In each of us lies sleeping beauty, wasted potential, dying dreams. We sleep and live in dormant twilight, never knowing what it means to live, to love the bits of heaven that we can unearth deep in our hearts; not recognizing that our salvation is ever-present in those parts that we have disowned, denied, forgotten. The thorns of fear thwart faint attempt. The prince is courage, the kiss believing and then with these our life begins. ~ Kay Thompson

It's you, Tessa." He crawled up her body and levered her onto her side, his fingers a warm link he tunneled in under her hair. "Don't you see? For the first time, I know what's real. My life isn't about doing what everyone else thinks is right in order to be happy. Not anymore. Because I found my own happiness." The ball of his thumb swept her lips. "I found it with you." How could she not believe him, when his words were so filled with love? "Tell me what you're thinking," he said.

"I'd forgotten what it's like, you know? It's been so long…I'd just forgotten how incredible it all feels." When tears rushed her eyes, she blinked them away. So she could stay right in the moment, within the tenderness of his gaze. She placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. "I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you did for me, Dibs. You've become everything that's good and right in my life. And I'm sorry if I made things difficult for you." His eyes glistened, two sparkling bits of heaven over a thin crescent of tears.

"Rex, you're breaking my heart over here."

"I'm just so grateful, and its important to me you understand. You gave me a second chance at happiness. You know that, right? ~ A.J. Nuest

One day God felt he ought to give his workshop a spring-clean ... . It was amazing what ragged bits and pieces came out from under his workbench as he swept. Beginnings of creatures, bits that looked useful but had seemed wrong, ideas that he'd mislaid and forgotten ... . There was even a tiny lump of sun. He scratched his head. What could be done with all this rubbish? Ted Hughes, "Leftovers," from The Dreamfighter ~ Cornelia Funke

The nice thing about having a brain is that one can learn, that ignorance can be supplanted by knowledge, and that small bits of knowledge can gradually pile up into substantial heaps. ~ Douglas Hofstadter

Every hypothesis is a construction, and because of this it is an authentic theory. In so far as they merit that exigent name, ideas are never a mere reception of presumed realities, but they are constructions of possibilities; therefore they are pure bits of imagination, or fine ideas of our own ... ~ Jose Ortega Y Gasset

I prefer my prose evocative rather than simply effective, with a bit of poetry to it. ~ Gemma Files

Politicians also have a love affair with the 'small business exemption.' Too much paperwork? Too heavy a burden? Not enough time? Just exempt small businesses from the rule. It sounds so pro-growth. Instead it's an admission that the costs of a regulation just can't be justified. ~ John Sununu

What - in other words - would modern boredom be without terror? One of the most boring documents of all time is the thick volume of Hitler's Table Talk. He too had people watching movies, eating pastries, and drinking coffee with Schlag while he bored them, while he discoursed theorized expounded. Everyone was perishing of staleness and fear, afraid to go to the toilet. This combination of power and boredom has never been properly examined. Boredom is an instrument of social control. Power is the power to impose boredom, to command stasis, to combine this stasis with anguish. The real tedium, deep tedium, is seasoned with terror and with death.

There were even profounder questions. For instance, the history of the universe would be very boring if one tried to think of it in the ordinary way of human experience. All that time without events! Gases over and over again, and heat and particles of matter, the sun tides and winds, again this creeping development, bits added to bits, chemical accidents - whole ages in which almost nothing happens, lifeless seas, only a few crystals, a few protein compounds developing. The tardiness of evolution is so irritating to contemplate. The clumsy mistakes you see in museum fossils. How could such bones crawl, walk, run? It is agony to think of the groping of the species - all this fumbling, swamp-creeping, munching, preying, and reproduction, the boring slowness with which tissues, organs, and members developed. And then the bored ~ Saul Bellow

I was shocked when they told me congratulations, you won, that's the good news. Then the bad news is that you have six battles next week. That was a bit of a shocker. I was exhausted. And I had Chopped shooting that same week. I didn't have a sous chef lined up; I thought that was bad karma to try to think ahead. So I scrambled. I scrambled the jets, took off and we bombed our target. I think it's gone well. ~ Geoffrey Zakarian

He stared at her a moment, and then one side of his mouth turned up. "You are a harsh negotiator, Mrs. Ackerley - forgive me - Lady Ian. Do the decadent Mackenzies know what has descended among them?"
"I find the decadent Mackenzies quite gentlemanly.
They care deeply about one another, have been kind to me, and love their dogs."
Fellows looked unimpressed. "Are you certain you wish to hear the story? Some bits are gruesome."
"Be remorseless, Inspector. ~ Jennifer Ashley

I don't really understand the natural world, I admire it and am a little bit afraid of its power. ~ Julia Kent

I'm actually kind of more adventurous. I like to go out on the floors and try to be incognito. Because it's more fun to be out there. So - when people do recognize you it's a little bit scarier. ~ Hayden Panettiere

If we all had a little bit of Michael Jackson in us, I think it would make the world a better place. ~ Tracy Morgan

Silicon Valley builds its bridges on abundance. Abundant bits of information floating out there, writing great programs to process it, then giving people a lot of useful tools to use it. ~ Robert Kyncl

My body is a little bit sore from all of the practicing and playing and training ~ Tiger Woods

When I am getting ready to cross a street, I look both ways before crossing. My bones, my muscles, are not what they used to be, so I am careful when I go up and down stairs, because I've heard stories of older people falling and having very disabling injuries. I have enough things that begin to go a little bit wrong as I get a little bit older. ~ Buzz Aldrin

Outside in the yard, Arsinoe follows Jules past the chicken coops as she and Camden stretch their sore limbs in the sun. Then she darts off into the woodpile.

"What are you digging for?" Jules asks.

"Nothing." But Arsinoe returns with a book, brushing bits of bark off the soft green cover. She holds it up and Jules frowns. It is a book of poison plants, lifted discreetly from one of the shelves in Luke's bookshop.

"You shouldn't be messing about with that," Jules says. "And what if someone sees you with it?"

"Then they'll think I'm trying to get revenge, for what was done to you."

"That won't work. Reading a book to out-poison the poisoners? You can't even poison a poisoner, can you?"

"Say 'poison' one more time, Jules. ~ Kendare Blake

Poet's Note: Kindly do not use my poem without giving me due credit. Do not use bits and pieces to suit your agenda of Kashmir whatever it may be. I, Srividya Srinivasan as the creator of this poem own the right to what I have chosen to feel about the issue and have represented all sides to a complex problem that involves people. I do not believe in war or violence of any kind and this is my compassionate side speaking from all angles to human beings thinking they own only their side to the story. THIS POEM IS THE ORIGINAL WORK OF SRIVIDYA SRINIVASAN and any misuse by you shall be considered as a violation of my copyrights and legally actionable. This poem is dedicated to all those who have suffered in Kashmir and through Kashmir and to not be sliced and interpreted to each one's convenience.

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Weep softly O mother,
the walls have ears you know...
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him anymore.

The streets are awash o mother
with blood and tears, pellets and screams.
that silently remain locked in the air,
while they seal our soulless dreams.

The guns are out, O mother,
while our boys go armed with stones,
I cannot go looking for him O mother,
I have no courage to face what I will find.
For, I need to tend to this little one beside,
with bound eyes that see no more.

-----

Weep for the home we lost O mother,< ~ Srividya Srinivasan

When we sleep on someone else's pillow, we sometimes find ourselves having that person's dreams. If a married couple switches sides of the bed, for example, he will have her dreams for a while and she will have his. Nothing of the sort occurs in a hotel bed, naturally, for the simple reason that no one person has slept there long enough to leave a psychic imprint. Is the connection to the bedding place or to the space below it? Perhaps we draw up trans-neurological info-bits from the underworld to form dreams the way that exposed metal draws down oxygen molecules from the air to form rust. Dreams, the, may be a form of psychic oxidation. Each morning, the greasy rag of wakefulness wipes us clean. Sooner or later, however, we rust completely through, at which point we lose tensility, conductivity, and clear definition; turn senile or go bonkers; fade away. If we applied the rag more rigorously, this might not happen. which is why the message of Miho's Zen monks-the message of mystic masters everywhere-was and is, "Wake up! Wake up! ~ Tom Robbins

The decline of geography in academia is easy to understand: we live in an age of ever-increasing specialization, and geography is a generalist's discipline. Imagine the poor geographer trying to explain to someone at a campus cocktail party (or even to an unsympathetic adminitrator) exactly what it is he or she studies.
"Geography is Greek for 'writing about the earth.' We study the Earth."
"Right, like geologists."
"Well, yes, but we're interested in the whole world, not just the rocky bits. Geographers also study oceans, lakes, the water cycle..."
"So, it's like oceanography or hydrology."
"And the atmosphere."
"Meteorology, climatology..."
"It's broader than just physical geography. We're also interested in how humans relate to their planet."
"How is that different from ecology or environmental science?"
"Well, it encompasses them. Aspects of them. But we also study the social and economic and cultural and geopolitical sides of--"
"Sociology, economics, cultural studies, poli sci."
"Some geographers specialize in different world regions."
"Ah, right, we have Asian and African and Latin American studies programs here. But I didn't know they were part of the geography department."
"They're not."
(Long pause.)
"So, uh, what is it that do study then? ~ Ken Jennings

I'm still getting used to changing earrings - It still feels really weird to be pushing bits of metal through holes in my earlobes that weren't there a few weeks back, and actually seeing and feeling the holes in my lobes is still a bit freaky. ~ Mischa Barton

I have to put myself back in the audience's shoes and figure out what they would know and not know. But, there are also times when I do know what's coming up and I maybe need to hint at it, though not in a big way. It's a little bit of both. It's an interesting tightrope to walk. ~ Joseph Trapanese

Once anyone who has a sense of humor can do what they want, they want to do funny bits as much as possible. ~ Gavin McInnes

You always need a bit of low-tech.You always need a pair of scissors, it seems to me. You can do better things ... The high-tech, somehow, you do have to combine it with low-tech things. ~ David Hockney

To say, 'well done' to any bit of good work is to take hold of the powers which have made the effort and strengthen them beyond our knowledge. ~ Phillips Brooks

She was feeling reckless; nothing that she did mattered. She walked to the window and twitched the curtain apart. There were the stars pricked in little holes in the blue-black sky. There was a row of chimney-pots against the sky. Then the stars. Inscrutable, eternal, indifferent - those were the words; the right words. But I don't feel it, she said, looking at the stars. So why pretend to? What they're really like, she thought, screwing up her eyes to look at them, is little bits of frosty steel. And the moon - there it was - is a polished dish-cover. But she felt nothing, even when she had reduced moon and stars to that. ~ Virginia Woolf

When I was a kid, I thought my dad was a little bit harsh with me at times. Sometimes I needed an arm around me instead of my dad telling me what I did wrong, but it obviously worked. ~ David Beckham

Creativity is a lot like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. You look at a set of elements, the same ones everyone else sees, but then reassemble those floating bits and pieces into an enticing new possibility. ~ Rosabeth Moss Kanter

The only things that moved in the neighbourhood were bits and bobs of bafflingly pointless machinery, whittling the hours busily doing nothing. Waiting to be freed from flesh. It was an oppressive reality come home to roost. This house here contained dead people. And that one, and that one there. The same all the way down the block, horrible, inexplicable, and so quiet. ~ B.P. Gregory