Best 268 quotes in «distraction quotes» category

I have two factories in my mind. One that manufactures bullshit, and another one that buys it.

Hello there, cutie," he drawled. "I thought I smelled you." "How's the leg?" His grin turned a little less friendly, more bared teeth than smile. "Hurt like a son of a b*tch." "Sorry about that." "I bet you are." He stepped closer. I stepped back. "Don't worry," he said. "I forgive you for the leg. I like a little spirit in my fillies." His look sent a shiver through me. "Makes them more fun to break. Now where's that big ox of a boyfriend?" He moved toward me, I sidestepped, leading him away. "You wanna play chase, cutie? I'm really good at it. How about we let your boyfriend and Ramon have their fun while we have ours and—?

Imagining your ideal life success story is LESS about WHAT you want to do and MORE about WHO you want to become.

I'm gonna go put my earplugs in and practice piano for hours until my fingers bleed. I practice the piano with the focus of Helen Keller—and nothing can distract me from the scent of the music. -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

I need a drink. Now.” After tossing—fine, throwing—my purse and keys on the couch, I march straight into the kitchen. No more delays; it's time to forget tonight. It’s been yet another night like all the other first dates that never meet a second one. When you begin to lose count, that's when it's really time for a drink. Adrian stands there, leaning against the counter in an unbuttoned dress shirt and dark wash jeans. He glances at me as I walk in. “How was your date?” he asks, taking a swig of his scotch. I brush past him on my mission, opening the cupboard and moving a couple bottles around. I reiterate, “I need alcohol.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him hiding a smile before he says, “That bad?” My face twitches as I ignore his line of questioning. It is more like a statement he wants me to clarify, even though he already knows the answer. Instead, I ask, “I have vodka left, don't I?” I stand on my tiptoes in hopes of spotting something in the very back. Nothing. He waltzes over and looks with me, his chin almost touching my shoulder. “I think you polished that one off after last week's date.” His voice is low right next to my ear, very nearly causing a shiver.

Increasingly we confused the pursuit of happiness with the pursuit of pleasure.

I needed a distraction. A drink, a good tumble, anything—even this sure-to-be- trouble punk show.

I needed something to distract me-anything far away from my parents’ drama-just for a second. And when I saw my chance I didn’t stop to think about how much I’d regret it later. An opportunity sat on the bar stool beside me, and I lunged at it. Literally. I kissed Wesley Rush. One second his hand lay on my shoulder, and his gray eyes rested, for once, on my face, and the next my mouth was on his. My lips were fierce with bottled emotion, and he seemed to tense, his body frozen in shock. That didn’t last very long. An instant later, he returned the aggression, his hands flying to my sides and pulling me toward him. It felt like a battle between our mouths. My hands clawed into his curly hair, tugging it way harder than necessary, and his fingertips dug into my waist. It worked better than punching someone would have. Not only did it help me release the agonizing pressure, but it definitely distracted me. I mean, it’s hard to think about your dad when you’re making out with somebody. And as disturbing as it sounds, Wesley was a really good kisser. He leaned into me, and I tugged at him so hard that he nearly fell off his bar stool. In that moment, we just couldn’t get close enough to each other. Our separate seats seemed like they were miles apart. All of my thoughts vanished, and I became a sort of physical being. Emotions disappeared. Nothing existed but our bodies, and our warring lips were at the center of everything. It was bliss! It was amazing not to think. Nothing! Nothing… until he screwed it up.

In such an admirable position of the New World, man has no other enemy than himself.

In politics, nothing good ever comes from the unexpected.

Is everybody in? Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. The entertainment for this evening is not new, you've seen this entertainment through and through you have seen your birth, your life, your death....you may recall all the rest. Did you have a good world when you died? -enough to base a movie on??

I regarded homework as a form of torture that the teachers would unleash on me.

Is daydreaming a distraction from work, or work a distraction from daydreaming?

I should have learned mindfulness, and it’s too late now because it’s no good learning it when you’re already in crisis: you have to start when things are good. But only the very, very oddest would think, Hey, my life is perfect. I know! I’ll sit and waste twenty minutes Observing My Thoughts without Judgement.

It's alright to keep and open mind, but at a certain point—once you have thoroughly completed your homework—you have to learn how to stop and focus on intensely and passionately executing these goals step by step. You have to repel the distractions.

It must be emphasized that hygge entails commitment to the present moment and a readiness to set distractions aside.

I was quite possibly in the midst of losing my mind. I needed to get away from people until I figured out if I actually was losing my mind.

It's only fiction until it happens.

Oh, don't go on like that!" cried the poor Queen, wringing her hands in despair. "Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come today. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only don't cry!" Alice could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of her tears. "Can you keep from crying by considering things?" she asked. "That's that way it's done," the Queen said with great decision: "nobody can do two things at once, you know.

Maybe you get caught up in the little things because you are really trying to distract yourself from having to deal with the big things. Maybe it's avoidance.

Meanwhile, the extraordinary measures we take to stay abreast of each minuscule change to the data stream end up magnifying the relative importance of these blips to the real scheme of things. Investors trade, politicians respond, and friends judge based on the micromovements of virtual needles. By dividing our attention between our digital extensions, we sacrifice our connection to the truer present in which we are living. The tension between the faux present of digital bombardment and the true now of a coherently living human generated the second kind of present shock, what we're calling digiphrenia—digi for "digital," and phrenia for "disordered condition of mental activity.

More voices means less trust in any given voice.

Most people are too busy thinking to notice what's going on right in front of their eyes.

My insanity begged for a distraction. (Eric)

Nothing calms an anxious mind like a little mindless entertainment.

Nothing distracts one from one's true purpose in life more than following the crowd mentality.

One cannot underestimate boredom as an incentive to write.

Murder was a fascination as always.

My temptation is to tackle everything at once, or nothing at all.

One man's distraction is another man's refuge.

Our digital devices and the outlooks they inspired allowed us to break free of the often repressive timelines of our storytellers, turning us from creatures led about by future expectations into more fully present-oriented human beings. The actual experience of this now-ness, however, is a bit more distracted, peripheral, even schizophrenic than that of being fully present. For many, the collapse of narrative led initially to a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder—a disillusionment, and the vague unease of having no direction from above, no plan or story. But like a dose of adrenaline or a double shot of espresso, our digital technologies compensate for this goalless drifting with an onslaught of simultaneous demands. We may not know where we're going anymore, but we're going to get there a whole lot faster. Yes, we may be in the midst of some great existential crisis, but we're simply too busy to notice.

Only in sleep, where there's nothing but mind, can the mind clearly process all of the day's experiences/memories - without distraction. And, perhaps, only in sleep, where there's nothing but mind, can the mind truly understand the meaning of these memories, as well, and assimilate them with all the other memories you've accumulated over time, forming greater meanings - unintelligible in the light of day - building, perhaps, to some ultimate meaning at the culmination of life - unintelligible in the light of living.

On your way to accomplish greatness, you will hear a lot of noise. Listen to your inner voice and never let the distraction of the crowd discolour your poise.

Our feelings of anxiety are genuine but confused signals that something is amiss, and so need to be listened to and patiently interpreted -- processes which are unlikely to be completed when we have to hand, in the computer, one of the most powerful tools of distraction ever invented. The entire internet is in a sense pornographic, a deliverer of a constant excitement that we have no innate capacity to resist, a seducer that leads us down paths that for the most part do nothing to answer our real needs.

Our moral frailty is a strange consolation.

Our enslavement to distraction inhibits our action.

Potential was a red herring to plot a life of wandering curiosity.

People who are distracted by door money, neglect the production and the audience. Money becomes their god. They sacrifice their reputation in favor of building revenue. Believe me; the former is more difficult to recover if lost.

People won't admit it, they're too busy grabbing to see that the lights have fused. They can't see the darkness and the spider-face beyond and the great web of it all. That there's always this if you scratch at the surface of happiness and goodness. The black and the black and the black.

Priscilla is in hell. Well, we all are. Life is torture, consciousness is torture. All our little devices are just morphia to stop us from screaming . . . We're each of us screaming away in our own private padded cell.

Previously, leaving the couch and walking up to the television to change the channel might cost more effort than merely enduring the awful advertisement and associated anxiety. But with a remote in hand, the viewer can click a button and move away effortlessly. Add cable television and the ability to change channels without returning the set (not to mention hundreds of channels to watch instead of just three), and the audience's orientation to the program has utterly changed. The child armed with the remote control is no longer watching a television program, but watching television—moving away from anxiety states and into more pleasurable ones. Take note of yourself as you operate a remote control. You don't click the channel button because you are bored, but because you are mad: Someone you don't trust is attempting to make you anxious. You understand that it is an advertiser trying to make you feel bad about your hair (or lack of it), your relationship, or your current SSRI medication, and you click away in anger. Or you simply refuse to be dragged still further into a comedy or drama when the protagonist makes just too many poor decisions. Your tolerance for his complications goes down as your ability to escape becomes increasingly easy. And so today's television viewer moves from show to show, capturing important moments on the fly. Surf away from the science fiction show's long commercial break to catch the end of a basketball game's second quarter, make it over to the first important murder on the cop show, and then back to the science fiction show before the aliens show up.

Procrasdemon is fighting hard to feed off of distractions and pleasures.

Sand was dribbling out of the bag of her attention, faster and faster.

Samuel FB Morse's SECOND question over the telegraph was, "Have you any news?

Security is by far the city's predominant business.

See every distraction as a clarion call back to prayer.

She welcomed the opportunity for some lighthearted humor in the dark times they were experiencing. It almost made her forget her current predicament. Almost.

...shiny trinkets and frivolous spending make people forget what world they're living in.

She feared that she would become a slave to superficial, symbolic duties.

She told me she loved me. She told me a lot of things. Some of those things were true, and some of those may or may not have been true. It’s kind of hard to tell, because to be honest, I wasn’t listening.