Best 62 quotes in «beat quotes» category

I have found a way to beat myself I win by losing, something like that I'm told that I'm stupid So ok, I'll be stupid If I can't register the pain Then it's not there I'm not so stupid after all I'll show them

It’s just a stupid stupid heart. They would break it again and again but it would beat still.

…love is by definition free and if he choose to go when I would have him stay perhaps I'll die a bit but I'd rather so than taste his absent minded kiss and lie uneasy in a masked embrace

Meeting new people is just remembering faces of God we've forgotten.

Miriam is upset. Her voice is stretched and I can't look at her. Perhaps they beat something out of her she didn't get back.

...music, if it really resonates, will beat somewhere right near your heartbeat. That music will make sense to you...because it's in rhythm with your soul.

Lovers are the coolest their hearts beat the best & they kiss magic as hell

Lured by smooth roads onto a new turnpike, he read with surprise the rules he was handed, don't stop, don't turn around, pay when you get there; he made his escape at the first exit he saw, for fiftyfive cents, and now he was on the old road buzzing the staid turnpike by turns over and under, teasing it crazy.

…of constipation of the brain & diarrhea of the mouth.

Nereden Gelip Geçer" Bazen pasaportumu çıkarır fotoğrafıma bakarım (çok iyi değil... vs.) sadece var olduğumu görmek için Tokyo 12 haziran 1976

Paradise!' he screamed. 'The one and only indispensable Paradise.

Poetry is alive because it is a medium of vision and experience. It is not necessarily comfortable. It is not necessarily safe.

Now you're going East with Sal," Galatea said, "and what do you think you're going to accomplish by that? Camille has to stay home and mind the baby now you're gone--how can she keep her job? and she never wants to see you again and I don't blame her. If you see Ed along the road you tell him to come back to me or I'll kill him." Just as flat as that. It was the saddest night. I felt as if I was with strange brothers and sisters in a pitiful dream. Then a complete silence fell over everybody; where once Dean would have talked his way out, he now fell silent himself, but standing in front of everybody, ragged and broken and idiotic, right under the lightbulbs, his bony mad face covered with sweat and throbbing veins, saying, "Yes, yes, yes," as though tremendous revelations were pouring into him all the time now, and I am convinced they were, and the others suspected as much and were frightened. He was BEAT--the root, the soul of Beatific.

Science can make a heart beat with ventilator, but there is only one power that makes it live, that is LOVE which is the purest form of FAITH.

...romantic weltschmerz, a state of feeling thought to be basically subversive yet in most cases, like 'beat' rebelliousness today, adolescent and harmless.

Once lively peonies now wind-weary, and ragged at the edges, hang their heavy crowns; rain on their backs, one final act, before detaching from the stem and falling down.

Shergahn and friend lay like poleaxed steers, and the Daranfelian's greasy hair was thick with potatoes, carrots, gravy, and chunks of beef. His companion had less stew in his hair, but an equally large lump was rising fast, and Brandark flipped his improvised club into the air, caught it in proper dipping position, and filled it once more from the pot without even glancing at them. He raised the ladle to his nose, inhaled deeply, and glanced at the cook with an impudent twitch of his ears. "Smells delicious," he said while the laughter started up all around the fire. "I imagine a bellyful of this should help a hungry man sleep. Why, just look what a single ladle of it did for Shergahn!

So I did something I've never done, and put your live above my own, because no matter how hard I try to convey it, I'm not heartless. I have a heart and... and it beats for you.

So yeah… I got beat up… then went in some kinda cell… THE SYSTEM HAS NEVER BEEN FAIR!

The atmosphere felt unexpectedly intense and the music was frantic. The beat made it both difficult to think straight and pleasant to move – like swimming almost.

The first passion not only makes the heart beat faster but also vibrates the mental eyes.

Suppose, before you beat the stuffing out of me, you tell me who you are and explain why. Then I may or may not take it like a man, depending on whether or not I agree with you.

The machines are too dull when we are lion-poems that move & breathe.

There are no barriers to poetry or prophecy; by their nature they are barrier-breakers, bursts of perceptions, lines into infinity. If the poet lies about his vision he lies about himself and in himself; this produces a true barrier.

There's nothing happy about love at all!! I would rather have not known real love... if it hurts this much.

Wake up. If your eyes are sleeping then wipe them gently. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up! If your mind is sleeping then shake it quickly. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up, I said! If your heart is sleeping then beat your chest! You need to be awake for life! You need to be awake for love! It is a matter of living and being alive.

We kissed and pressed up against each other, and I said to her “Ya know, my first kiss I ever had with anyone, it was with a boy, in the back of a school bus at night.” Lotty stopped kissing me for a second. “That’s disgusting,” she said. “What? It’s not like we had much choice in where we did it. Kinda had to sneak around in those days. Get it in when and where we could.” “No, I mean the fact that your first kiss was with a boy.” “What’s wrong with that?” “Boys are gross.

What's Your Road, Man?

Sung Win smiled to himself, enjoying the tension across his shoulders and the way his pulse beat in his veins. All life involved risk.

The problem with the 11:11 Phenomenon is getting anybody interested in it that hasn't experienced it themselves. Other phenomena, such as U.F.Os or crop circles, are able to be seen. We can debate them. But seeing and being guided by 11:11 is hard to convey to those uninitiated in its ways.

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

...this refinement and delicacy were what Cale adored; but Cale had been beaten into shape, hammered in dreadful fires of fear and pain. How could she be with him for long? A secret part of Arbell had been searching for some time for a way to leave her lover—although she was unaware of this, it is only fair to record. And so as Cale waited for her to save him while he worked out a way of saving her, she had already chosen the bitter but reasonable path of the good, of the many over the one...

To me, music isn't about rhyming on the beat or pleasing fans. It's about being true to who you are, your story and changing lives.

To vote or not... it really doesn't matter it = 1 vote... as for the others with one vote somebody could beat you.

Wesley was playing Soulcalibur IV. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I’d challenged him. My God, I had to find something I could beat him at! And you know, something about beating the shit out of an animated character really made me feel better. Before I knew it, I wasn’t even worried about Mom or Dad. Things would be okay. They had to be. I just had to be patient and let things happen. And in the meantime, I had to kick Wesley’s ass… or try, at least.

Whatever is language is poetic language and if the word required by the poet does not exist in his known language then it is up to him to discover it.

When we step in the name of love, we cannot rhyme if we don't have the same RHYTHM, and we cannot have the same rhythm if we are not listening to the same BEAT. It takes someone who understands the rhythm and melody of your "heartbeat" to dance to it.

When you are suffering from sexual starvation, a spank or even a hug seems like a porn scene.

Your heart and my heart are old mates. They talk, but they never speak, as they speak in holy silence. They beat, they never count, as they beat faster, more faster, as we meet.

Will you let me in, in to the heart of your life, the beat of your days?

America this is quite serious

A merciful heart beats contently stronger than many vengeful ones

A man cannot impart the true feeling of things to others unless he himself has experienced what he is trying to tell of.

A poet is a blind optimist. The world is against him for many reasons. But the poet persists. He believes that he is on the right track, no matter what any of his fellow men say. In his eternal search for truth, the poet is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society built on time.

Come on cats, let's go. Let's teach those old dog cheap trick beatniks some new kicks and bottle up and blow.

Bedtime is daytime, and we come into bloom after midnight.

...Cody is furiously explaining to his little son Tim 'Never let the right hand know what your left hand is doing'... Page 100.

Con la aparición de Dean Moriarty comenzó la parte de mi vida que podría llamarse mi vida en la carretera

Driving down deserted early morning roads. Round and round. Round downtown. Through naked streets. Lips pursed on two litre bottles of beer, but pursuing the lips of freedom's night. Swapping cars. Winding up at karaoke bars or Bolsi- the best place in town. For the food. For the folk. For the service. For the crema de papaya. And for that late night dawn's whiskey coffee.

Don't play to beat someone, play to win.