Hairpin Desk Quotes

I even presume to sit at his desk while I write this book, hoping some magical transference will take place and I'll be gifted, if only for this moment, with his way with words. I feel like a boy trying to fit into his dad's running shoes. ~ Erin Lee Carr

The missing remained missing and the portraits couldn't change that. But when Akhmed slid the finished portrait across the desk and the family saw the shape of that beloved nose, the air would flee the room, replaced by the miracle of recognition as mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, and cousin found in that nose the son, brother, nephew, and cousin that had been, would have been, could have been, and they might race after the possibility like cartoon characters dashing off a cliff, held by the certainty of the road until they looked down -- and plummeted is the word used by the youngest brother who, at the age of sixteen, is tired of being the youngest and hopes his older brother will return for many reasons, not least so he will marry and have a child and the youngest brother will no longer be youngest; that youngest brother, the one who has nothing to say about the nose because he remembers his older brother's nose and doesn't need the nose to mean what his parents need it to mean, is the one who six months later would be disappeared in the back of a truck, as his older brother was, who would know the Landfill through his blindfold and gag by the rich scent of clay, as his older brother had known, whose fingers would be wound with the electrical wires that had welded to his older brother's bones, who would stand above a mass grave his brother had dug and would fall in it as his older brother had, though taking six more minutes and four more bullets to die, would be bur ~ Anthony Marra

In fact, Lig never formally resigned his editorship - he merely left his office late one morning, and has never returned since. Though well over a century has now passed, many members of the Guide staff still retain the romantic notion that he has simply popped out for a sandwich and will yet return to put in a solid afternoon's work.
Strictly speaking, all editors since Lig Lury Jr., have therefore been designated acting editors, and Lig's desk is still preserved the way he left it, with the addition of a small sign that says LIG LURY, JR., EDITOR, MISSING, PRESUMED FED. ~ Douglas Adams

He dropped his pile of papers onto the desk and indicated the sheet on top. "Here is the common I nominate in all the fires, Carl." "You what?" "The common I nominate." "Common denominator, Assad. A compound noun. What common denominator? ~ Jussi Adler-Olsen

It's not easy to strap yourself down to a desk and bash on a keyboard when you know you can direct lots of films, because directing films is fun and interactive and gregarious. Writing isn't. ~ Guy Ritchie

I'm really glad that I'm not Anna because I don't want to be there again. I've been there. But when something does happen to me, whether it's that movie or whether it's actually happened to me, I feel that it's my duty to actually share that with all of you guys. I want to immediately go to my desk and start writing about it. ~ Stevie Nicks

Writing can be a very solitary profession, and when deadlines are looming, it's tempting to glue myself to my desk, but I try to make sure I get out a few times a month with friends just so I don't forget what it means to be social. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

I try to get seven hours of sleep every night; I always walk or bike to work; I make a point to eat well and take my vitamins; I drink tons of water; and I always spend a portion of my day at a standing desk. ~ Jessica Scorpio

I soon forgot about my bedraggled appearance. Until, that is, an old man shuffled in and propped himself, hunched and wheezing, over the check-in desk. Karen asked him if he needed assistance.
"No," he grunted sucking on his teeth, "your wet-T-shirt librarian with the punk rock hair is helping me out just fine. ~ Suzanne Kelman

There was also a great absence of people, including behind the mahogany-topped reception desk. Now, there's a time when an unlocked premises is a positive boon to a police officer as in – I was just looking to ascertain the whereabouts of the proprietor when I stumbled across the Class A controlled substances which were in plain sight in the bottom drawer of a locked desk in an upstairs office, M'lord. ~ Ben Aaronovitch

The baby intern scaled the walls of her crib and spent most of the weekend getting up to speed on the negotiations with Senecorp so you'd have it first thing this morning. You'll find her sucking her thumb at Alice's desk. ~ Joey W. Hill

Why won't you leave me alone?" I whispered one night as he hovered behind me while I tried to work at my desk.
Long minutes passed. I didn't think he would answer. I even had time to hope he might have gone, until I felt his hand on my shoulder.
"Then I'd be alone, too," he said, and he stayed the whole night through, till the lamps burned down to nothing. ~ Leigh Bardugo

Harry seized the wand lying beside his camp bed, pointed it at the cluttered desk where he had left his glasses, and said, "Accio Glasses!" Although they were only around a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing them zoom toward him, at least until they poked him in the eye. "Slick," snorted Ron. ~ J.K. Rowling

Albert and I would spend hours and hours looking at them. Cleo had this big magnifying glass on his desk, and we'd find centipedes and grasshoppers and beetles and potato bugs, ants ... and put them in a jar and look at them. They have the sweetest little faces and the cutest expressions. After we'd looked at them all we wanted to, we'd put them in the yard and let them go on about their business. ~ Fannie Flagg

Suppose Watergate had not been uncovered? I'd still be on the City Desk. ~ Bob Woodward

This ain't over yet." Fourteen Captain Tripp was at his desk when the sun came up. He firmly believed that if you got up before the criminals, it was that much easier to stay one step ahead of them. He picked up the phone and left a terse message for Lt. Hayward. Twenty minutes later, Phil Hayward was at his office door. "You want to see me?" "Come in," Tripp said. "Close the door." Lt. Hayward closed the door and sat in Tripp's only guest chair. He waited for Tripp to put down his pen and address him. Eventually, Tripp looked up and regarded Hayward over his reading ~ T.A. Clark

An aptitude test established architecture as an alternative [career]. But what decided the matter for [Teddy Cruz] was the sight of a fourth-year architecture student sitting at his desk at a window, drawing and nursing a cup of coffee as rain fell outside. 'I don't know, I just liked the idea of having this relationship to the paper and the adventure of imagining the spaces. That was the first image that captured me. ~ Rebecca Solnit

Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk-away from any open flames-to remind yourself that if you don't write daily, you will get rusty. ~ George Singleton

So I started to relax and would work on my act eight hours a day, sitting at a desk writing at my grandmother's house, and I would put on Richard Pryor Live on Long Beach and would play it like a loop and think and write. ~ George Lopez

You've got to create a dream. You've got to uphold the dream. If you can't, go back to the factory or go back to the desk. ~ Eric Burdon

The cemetery watchman left the room and returned with a tray holding three small skulls and a large one. I could feel the short hairs on the back of my neck standing up of their own accord. None of them were real though; they were wood or celluloid imitations. They all had flaps that opened at the top; one was a jug and the other three steins.

The man behind the desk named the toast. 'To our Friend!' I thought he meant myself at first; he meant that shadowy enemy of all mankind, the Grim Reaper.

'We are called The Friends of Death,' he explained to me when the grisly containers had been emptied. 'To outline our creed and purpose briefly, it is this: That death is life, and life is death. We have mastered death, and no member of the Friends of Death need ever fear it. They 'die,' it is true, but after death they are buried in special graves in our private cemetery - graves having air vents, such as you discovered. Also, our graves are equipped with electric signals, so that after the bodies of our buried members begin to respond to the secret treatment our scientists have given them before internment, we are warned. Then we come and release them - and they live again. Moreover, they are released, freed of their thralldom; from then on death is an old familiar friend instead of an enemy. They no longer fear it. Do you not see what a wonderful boon this would be in your case, Brother Bud; you who have suffered so from that fear?' ("Graves For The Living") ~ Cornell Woolrich

The thing is, work has simply swamped my whole existence. Slowly but surely it's robbed me of my mother, my wife, and everything that meant anything to me. It's like a germ planted in the skull that devours the brain, spreads to the trunk and the limbs, and destroys the entire body in time. No sooner am I out of bed in the morning than work clamps down on me and pins me to my desk before I've even had a breath of fresh air. It follows me to lunch and I find myself chewing over sentences as I'm chewing my food. It goes with me when I go out, eats out of my plate at dinner and shares my pillow in bed at night. It's so extremely merciless that once the process of creation is started, it's impossible for me to stop it, and it goes on growing and working even when I'm asleep. ... Outside that, nothing, nobody exists. ~ Emile Zola

I don't know if I've ever really touched him. Maybe once or twice when passing papers back. You know, even shorter, his hair looks so soft. Maybe it's time I rub it a little. So I can give more concrete details.
I stretch my hand across my desk, but stop when I realize the horror of what I was about to do. Pet Sean. Have I lost my mind? ~ Lindsey Leavitt

I went to university for a couple of years and I didn't enjoy university. The studying and the accountancy, economics, I just hated that stuff. Now the irony is here I am lawyer, accountant, I do it all day every day and sit at a desk. So I've never ended up where I wanted to be in many ways. I always wanted to be a farmer. ~ Gerry Harvey

I find writing extremely difficult. I usually have to drag myself to my desk, mainly because I doubt myself. And it's getting harder because I want to improve with every book. ~ Markus Zusak

Oranges and unicorns say the bells of St. . . ." She looked to Harriet for inspiration.
"Clunicorns?"
"Somehow I don't think so."
"Moonicorns."
Sarah cocked her head to the side. "Better," she judged.
"Spoonicorns? Zoomicorns."
And . . . that was enough. Sarah turned back to her book. "We're done now, Harriet."
"Parunicorns."
Sarah couldn't even imagine where that one had come from. But still, she found herself humming as she read.
Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clements.
Meanwhile, Harriet was muttering to herself at the desk. "Pontoonicorns xyloonicorns . . ."
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martins.
"Oh, oh, oh, I have it! Hughnicorns!"
Sarah froze. This she could not ignore. With great deliberation, she placed her index finger in her book to mark her place and looked up. "What did you just say?"
"Hughnicorns," Harriet replied, as if nothing could have been more ordinary. She gave Sarah a sly look. "Named for Lord Hugh, of course. He does seem to be a frequent topic of conversation. ~ Julia Quinn

With novels, you're sitting at a desk, alone, going slightly crazy, for anywhere from six months to a year with zero feedback. ~ Duane Swierczynski

I sit at a table close to his desk. Ivy is in this class. She sits by the door. I keep staring at her, trying to make her look at me. That happens in movies
people can feel it when oother people stare at them and they just have to turn around and say something. Either Ivy has a great force field, or my lazer vision isn't very strong ... ~ Laurie Halse Anderson

Some writers are the kind of solo violinists who need complete silence to tune their instruments. Others want to hear every member of the orchestra - they'll take a cue from a clarinet, from an oboe, even. I am one of those. My writing desk is covered in open novels. I read lines to swim in a certain sensibility, to strike a particular note, to encourage rigour when I'm too sentimental, to bring verbal ease when I'm syntactically uptight. I think of reading like a balanced diet; if your sentences are baggy, too baroque, cut back on fatty Foster Wallace, say, and pick up Kafka, as roughage. If your aesthetic has become so refined it is stopping you from placing a single black mark on white paper, stop worrying so much about what Nabokov would say; pick up Dostoyevsky, patron saint of substance over style. ~ Zadie Smith

Oh god, Anabeth," Ellie muttered. "Your whole life is based around sex." "So?" she shot back. "It's better than having sex with fictional characters!" Ellie shot up out of my desk chair. "I do not have sex with fictional characters!" "Oh puh-lease, I've seen the books you read, all big muscley men and virginal women and steamy sex. Why else would you read that crap if not to get off? ~ Madeline Sheehan

The words of his various writing instructors and professional mentors over the years came back to him at times like these, and he found a new understanding in their advice: Writing is rewriting. The rough draft is just that. You can't polish what you haven't written.

Things that made for a normal life - like a daily routine that followed the sun - took a back seat to times like these, and he exulted in that change because it served as proof that his writing was indeed the most important thing in his life. It wasn't a conscious choice on his part, like deciding to repaint the bathroom or go buy the groceries, but an overarching reallocation of his existence that was as undeniable as breathing. Day turned into night, breakfast turned into dinner, and the laptop or the writing tablet beckoned even when he was asleep.

He would often awake with a new idea - as if he'd merely been on a break and not unconscious - and he would see the empty seat before the desk not as his station in some pointless assembly line, but as the pilot's seat in a ship that could go anywhere. ~ Vincent H. O'Neil

She was sitting behind a black glass desk that looked like Napoleon's tomb and she was smoking a cigarette in a black holder that was not quite as long as a rolled umbrella. ~ Raymond Chandler

About five years ago, I fainted from exhaustion. I hit my head on my desk. I broke my cheekbone and got four stitches on my right eye. It started me on this journey of rediscovering sleep and balance and integrating my life. I think everyone should stop and reassess their lives before you hit your head on your desk. ~ Arianna Huffington

And Andy, gloomy and self-devouring, sat at his desk and chewed the cud of memory. ~ May Sarton