Quotes About Head

A water snake glided smoothly up the pool, twisting its periscope head from side to side; and it swam the length of the pool and came to the legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shadows. A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically.

Probably "Mrs. Potato Head" or "Training Wheels". "Mrs. Potato Head" because it was the hardest song to write and it took me a while to finish it and feel good about the lyrical content. But I've had that idea in my head for so long, especially the visuals - pulling apart a Mrs. Potato face and how that doubled as a meaning for plastic surgery. "Training Wheels" because it's the only love song on the album.

Sometimes... sometimes I think the Asylum is a head. We're inside a huge head that dreams us all into being. Perhaps it's your head, Batman. Arkham is a looking glass... and we are you.

Tessa had lain down beside him and slid her arm beneath his head, and put her head on his chest,listening to the ever-weakening beat of his heart. And in the shadows they'd whispered, reminding each other of the stories only they knew. Of the girl who had hit over the head with a water jug the boy who had come to rescue her, and how he had fallen in love with her in that instant. Of a ballroom and a balcony and the moon sailing like a ship untethered through the sky. Of the flutter of the wings of the clockwork Angel. Of holy water and blood.

I thought told you to watch where you put your feet," he said accusingly. Erak shrugged. I did," he replied ruefully. "But while I was busy watching the ground, I hit that branch with my head. Broke it clean in two." Halt raised his eyebrows. "I assume you're not talking about your head," he muttered. Erak frowned at the suggestion. Of course not," he replied. More's the pity," Halt told him.

You can hit a nail on the head, or cause a machine to do so, and get a fairly predictable result. Hit a dog on the head, and it will either dodge, bite back, or die, but it will never again react in the same way. We can predict only those things we set up to be predictable, not what we encounter in the real world of living and reactive processes.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

But like a gambler at a slot machine, hoping the next spin would change her life for the better, she closed in before she lost her nerve. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward her, near enough to feel his body against her. She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly as she leaned in. Mike, recognizing what was happening but still having trouble believing it, tilted his head and closed his eyes, their faces drawing near.

They took a baseball bat and whacked open his head. Mummy Boy fell to the ground; he finally was dead. Inside of his head were no candy or prizes, just a few stray beetles of various sizes.

I'm probably the most proud of "Mrs. Potato Head," because I had that idea in my head for so long, and I tried writing that song one time and I just couldn't tell the story the way I wanted to, and I couldn't figure it out.

At the very last moment, just before its lips claimed hers, its grip on her face relaxed slightly and she did the only thing she could think of: She head-butted it. Snapped her head back, then forward again, and bashed it square in the face as hard as she could. So hard, in fact, that it made her woozy and gave her an instant migraine, making her wonder how Jean-Claude Van Damme always managed to coolly continue fighting after such a stunt. Obviously, movies lied.

Amid the cheering of the crowds, he hardly heard his master's voice, but he saw the familiar head and shoulders, and the bright flag he was waving. He raced toward the seven-foot fence; without apparent effort he rose in the air and cleared the top with a good hand-breadth to spare; then dashed up to his master that he loved, and gamboled there and licked his hand in heart-full joy. Again the victor's crown was his, and the master, a man of dogs, caressed the head of shining black with the jewel eyes of gold.

The relation of patience to iman is like the relation of the head to the body. If the head is chopped off, the body becomes useless. Then he raised his voice and said: Certainly, the one who has no patience has no iman, and patience is like a riding-beast that nevers gets tired

Consider the generosity of our Savior: what He acquired by dying becomes ours by eating. As often as we receive this Sacrament with proper dispositions, we make our own the fruits of all the labors, injuries and sufferings of His life, especially those borne at the time of His passion and death. Just as the power and the sensations of the head reach all the members of the body, in the same way, because Christ is "the head of the Church which is His Body" (Eph. 1:23), the treasures of His grace are made abundantly available to all who through charity are one with Him as living members.

Things are going round and round in my head--or maybe my head is going round and round in things.

When you live with voices in your head, you are drawn inextricably to voices outside your head. Very often the voices work to confirm your worst suspicions. Or think of things you could never have imagined! There are only so many hours of the day to hate yourself.

I'm from Chicago, my family started a chain of movie theaters in Chicago that were around for 70 years and then one of them became the head of Paramount and the other was the head of production at MGM and we all came out of Chicago.

You don't need to make your heart and your head agree. Let your head make the decision, your heart will catch up eventually.

My first advice would be to read, read, read, which sounds interesting coming in a digital age, but it's so much easier to listen to a poem than it is to sit down and actually read it and to hear it in your head and that is something that every poet or aspiring poet needs to be able to do, I think to hear it in their head.

You rarely see one punch kill anybody. I mean, Davey Moore died, the first fight I ever worked for the title, my guy fought and was getting killed, and he hit Davey Moore. Davey Moore went down. There was no bottom rope to it. I then put bottom rope to it, when I got in power. Hit his head. One blow, hit his head and died.

If I'm writing about my life, I'm already thinking of anyone in my life who might be reading it, and I'm keeping that as a kind of censorship voice in my head. And then, commenters - I'm keeping that in my head, too.

If you listen to a song and get an image in your head, and then you go home and watch mtv and the image they're showing is the same as the one in your head, kill yourself. You're better off coming back as a lobster.

People say I talk slowly. I talk in a way sometimes called laconic. The phone rings, I answer, and people ask if they've woken me up. I lose my way in the middle of sentences, leaving people hanging for minutes. I have no control over it. I'll be talking, and will be interested in what I'm saying, but then someone-I'm convinced this what happens-someone-and I wish I knew who, because I would have words for this person-for a short time, borrows my head. Like a battery is borrowed from a calculator to power a remote control, someone, always, is borrowing my head.

As Kylie buried her head on the camp leader's shoulder, she heard Burnett scold, "I thought I told you to wait at the camp." Kylie felt Holiday tense at the reprimand, and then she raised her head. "And I thought you knew I don't follow anyone's orders." "Does anyone listen to me around here?" Burnett asked, his frustration making his tone sound almost comical. "Obviously not," one of the FRU agents said, and chuckled.

Why is Cloud 9 so amazing? What is wrong with Cloud 8? That joke came off the top of my head, and the top of my head ain't funny!

Perseverance is the most overrated of traits, if it is unaccompanied by talent; beating your head against a wall is more likely to produce a concussion in the head than a hole in the wall.

Stop a minute, right where you are. Relax your shoulders, shake your head and spine like a dog shaking off cold water. Tell that imperious voice in your head to be still.

I begged her, 'Please don't leave me stranded in the middle of some primitive zarking forest with no medical help and a head injury. I could be in serious trouble and so could she.'" "What did she say?" "She hit me on the head with the rock again," Ford responded curtly. "I think i can confirm that was my daughter." "Sweet kid." "You have to get to know her," said Arthur. "She eases up, does she?" "No, but you get a better sense of when to duck.

I know I have a big, big head. Hats, a lot of times, do not fit me. What is the average head size? Maybe like 16 inches. From the center of my forehead around to other side might be a foot, give or take four inches.

He who does something at the head of one Regiment, will eclipse him who does nothing at the head of a hundred.

Could you do such things when you were a dancer?' Tara asks her, as Tsukiko pulls a leg up impossibly far over her head. 'I would have had a much busier social calendar if I could,' Mme. Padva replies with a shake of her head.

I was quite intimidated by Ralph Fiennes. I didn't really talk to him while I was doing Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and the only thing I did with him was when he stepped on my head. Then I went to this play and he was there. And this girl said, “you've worked with Ralph Fiennes haven't you, Robert?” and I was like, “well, no...” and Ralph said, “yes, I stepped on your head.” And that was the extent of our conversation.

His mane was like a crest, mounting, then falling low. His neck was long and slender, and arched to the small, savagely beautiful head. The head was that of the wildest of all wild creatures- a stallion born wild- and it was beautiful, savage, splendid. A stallion with a wonderful physical perfection that matched his savage, ruthless spirit.

Strangely, although they may seem worlds apart, boxing and tennis have a certain kinship. Two individuals head-to-head, probing for weakness and attacking it. Footwork, timing and stamina are essential. Just you and your opponent until one of you is beaten. There's no brain damage in tennis - although sometimes I wonder.

I have music in my head constantly. I have to have a soundtrack in my head.

We're really friendly. The cool thing about skiing is you're competing against the clock. Even though you're competing against your teammates, it's not head-to-head. And we can all do better. You can always do better. You never really have a perfect run. And someone beats you. So you can't really blame anyone.

Obama's health care plan will be written by a committee whose head, John Conyers, says he doesn't understand it. It'll be passed by Congress that has not read it, signed by a president who smokes, funded by a Treasury chief who didn't pay his taxes, overseen by a Surgeon General who is obese, and financed by a country that's nearly broke. What could possibly go wrong?

Invariably, it is this for which I write: the joy ... of an argument firmly made, like a nail straightly driven, its head flush to the plank.

I think things through a lot, so I probably use my head more than my heart. That probably comes through in my acting.

If in madness of delusion, anyone shall lift his parricidal hand against this blessed union, the arms of thousands will be raised to save it, and the curse of millions will fall upon the head which may have plotted its destruction.

Being a head designer or art director or just even a designer, you need a certain level of experience and maturity.

In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.

I had a trainer during 'Spiderman,' and I discovered I have deep-seated rage when I'm holding heavy weights over my head. Whatever dormant anger I have in me, that's where it comes out. That's not the kind of working out I want to do.

The comedy gods are smiling on me tonight, because I have been saying, for the longest time, that president Bush must set a timetable for removing his head from his ass...and, by god, today they went in and looked for it... They didn't find it. So now we don't know where it is, but at least for once in my life, I get to see the words "Bush", "operation", and "success" in the same sentence.

I dont know," said Simon, "it doesn't sound so bad to me. I'd rather have someone mess around inside my head than chop it off." "Then you're a bigger idiot than you look.

If it wasn't for my trainer - who comes looking for me three times a week before 7 A.M. - I wouldn't get my butt out of bed and into the gym. There are many mornings when I think about faking a sprained ankle, but I just put it out of my head and make myself go.

The experience I learned was that … if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed… I felt really violated: they cut my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly 6 hours, as planned, I stood up and started walking toward the public. Everyone ran away, escaping an actual confrontation.

I was not self-destructive, though I almost destroyed myself. In the end, I turned away from stand-up with a tired swivel of my head...