Best 28 of Blur quotes - MyQuotes
That’s quite all right,” I said. Sfumato, that was what the painters called it; a blurring or elision of the lines, the kind Leonardo had used to give his Mona Lisa her beguiling flux.
It's the beauty in her, But when the makeup occur, I don't see it, All i see is a blur
The memory of Cumshewa is of a great lonesomeness smothered in a blur of rain.
It's great to do small plays in the theatre and then go off with Blur and play in front of thousands of people.
I have to say that anger is the blanket that comes around me, and that blunts and blurs my sense of proportion.
Emile M. Cioran
The universal view melts things into a blur.
It was quite a sad thing, the way I watched you sleep like nothing could go wrong and I did not want to harm it, I did not want to blur it, but how could I not when everything I’ve ever known has slowly gone away.
Some things are best left a blur. Births and Visa Bills.
Before thou reprehend another, take heed thou art not culpable in what thou goest about to reprehend. He that cleanses a blot with blotted fingers makes a greater blur.
Joyce Carol Oates
Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's courage to do things again, again, again, that tear you apart.
Wordiness is a sickness of American writing. Too many words dilute and blur ideas.
We meditate so we can see miracles unfolding. Without stillness life is a blur.
Having power and being in a position of power can really blur your judgement, and it's not always that clear.
The days blur into one, and the backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.
Nothing can be done well at a speed of forty miles a day. The multitude of mixed, novel impressions rapidly piled on one another make only a dreamy, bewildering, swirling blur, most of which is unrememberable.
She wondered if, when human souls try to get too near each other, they do not inevitably become mere blurs to each other's vision.
Poetry is an act of distillation. It takes contingency samples, is selective. It telescopes time. It focuses what most often floods past us in a polite blur.
Perfecting the past blurs your focus of the future.
I was raised on pop music. Anything classical ran together in a complicated blur.
In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.
I go through life now reminding myself to remember something, and I do this while that something is happening. I'll be experiencing a moment and I'll say to myself, "Remember this!" Otherwise my whole life just blurs by.
Procrastination and excuses really have the energy to make your picture small and blurred if you offer them that image!
I liked playing Morph in Mash and Peas and doing Phil Daniels in the Blur Rock Profile was a giggle too.
Poetry is a finikin thing of air That lives uncertainly and not for long Yet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.
Michael Bassey Johnson
These are the attributes of Bullshit people; they will...blur your imagination, take your endowments for a piece of debris, make you ridiculous, and most importantly, you got to send them to the recycle bin.
Being a lad is what I'm about. I can tell you who isn't a lad - anyone from Blur.
A blur of great magic is still just a blur.
Thomas had no concept of time as he went through the Changing. It started much like his first memory of the Box—dark and cold. But this time he had no sensation of anything touching his feet or body. He floated in emptiness, stared into a void of black. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if someone had stolen his five senses, leaving him in a vacuum. Time stretched on. And on. Fear turned into curiosity, which turned into boredom. Finally, after an interminable wait, things began to change. A distant wind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirling mist of whiteness appeared far in the distance—a spinning tornado of smoke that formed into a long funnel, stretching out until he could see neither the top nor the bottom of the white whirlwind. He felt the gales then, sucking into the cyclone so that it blew past him from behind, ripping at his clothes and hair like they were shredded flags caught in a storm. The tower of thick mist began to move toward him—or he was moving toward it, he couldn’t tell—increasing its speed at an alarming rate. Where seconds before he’d been able to see the distinct form of the funnel, he now could see only a flat expanse of white. And then it consumed him; he felt his mind taken by the mist, felt memories flood into his thoughts. Everything else turned into pain.