Best 12 quotes in «dali quotes» category

Siri ya mafanikio yako ni chumba chako. Dali linasema anga ndicho kipimo cha kufikiria; Dirisha linasema utazame nje uone fursa zilizopo ulimwenguni; Feni linasema uwe mtulivu usikurupuke kufanya lolote; Kalenda inasema uwe mtu anayekwenda na wakati; Kioo kinasema ujitazame na ujiamini kabla ya kutenda lolote; Kitabu cha dini kinasema unapaswa kumwamini Mungu ili uishi; Kitanda kinasema ujifunze kuwa na likizo; Mlango unasema usipitwe na fursa ya aina yoyote ile hapa duniani; Saa inasema kila sekunde ina thamani sana katika maisha yako hivyo tumia muda wako vizuri. Amka uishi.

Four shapeshifters are missing, the office smells like blood, you see some weird woman in a transparent gown who clearly shouldn't be in the building, and you run after her?" "It's my job to run after her." "Without backup?" "I am the backup.

Dalí painted melting clocks. I suppose if he'd asked around first, quizzed people if they wanted to see a picture of a melting clock, the answer might have been something obvious, like 'Clocks don't melt!' But, lucky for us, Salvador didn't care what anyone else thought. You use what moves you.

I didn't like Dali: now, like you, I do. Like you, I began to drink my Coke with a pinch of salt . Like you, I stopped bothering about ironed clothes. Like you, I sit with a dictionary while reading the papers. Like you, I sit on the compound wall after a bath.

Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies. If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.

My point is, I would never hurt you or your family.” I raised my chin at him. “If you tried to hurt my mother, I would totally kick your ass.” “Aha.” “Yes. You would be lying on the ground, crying, ‘No more, no more,’ and I would be kicking you in the stomach, wham, wham, wham!” He laughed softly.

New skin, a new land! And a land of liberty, if that is possible! I chose the geology of a land that was new to me, and that was young, virgin, and without drama, that of America. I traveled in America, but instead of romantically and directly rubbing the snakeskin of my body against the asperities of its terrain, I preferred to peel protected within the armor of the gleaming black crustacean of a Cadillac which I gave Gala as a present. Nevertheless all the men who admire and the women who are in love with my old skin will easily be able to find its remnants in shredded pieces of various sizes scattered to the winds along the roads from New York via Pittsburgh to California. I have peeled with every wind; pieces of my skin have remained caught here and there along my way, scattered through that "promised land" which is America; certain pieces of this skin have remained hanging in the spiny vegetation of the Arizona desert, along the trails where I galloped on horseback, where I got rid of all my former Aristotelian "planetary notions." Other pieces of my skin have remained spread out like tablecloths without food on the summits of the rocky masses by which one reaches the Salt Lake, in which the hard passion of the Mormons saluted in me the European phantom of Apollinaire. Still other pieces have remained suspended along the "antediluvian" bridge of San Francisco, where I saw in passing the ten thousand most beautiful virgins in America, completely naked, standing in line on each side of me as I passed, like two rows of organ-pipes of angelic flesh with cowrie-shell sea vulvas.

The one thing the world will never have enough of is the outrageous.

That's what dreams are really like, you know? They're not full of melting clocks or floating roses or people made out of rocks. Most of the time, dreams look just like the normal world. It's your feelings that tell you something's off. Not your mind, not your intellect, not something as obvious as that. The only part of you that really knows what's going on is the part of you that's most a mystery. If that's not Surrealism, I don't know what is.

There was no sign of life round the domed emplacement of the Moonraker, and the concrete, already beginning to shimmer in the early morning sun, stretched emptily away towards Deal. It looked like a newly laid aerodome or rather, he thought, with its three disparate concrete 'things', the beehive dome,the flat-iron blast-wall, and the distant cube of the firing point, each casting black pools of shadow towards him in the early sun, like a Dali desert landscape in which three objets trouves reposed at carefully calculated random.

You need to neuter him. Otherwise he’ll spray all over the house. The stench is awful. And when he isn’t out catting around, little female cats in heat will show up and wail under the windows.” Kill me, please. “He is a nice cat. He’s not like that.” “It’s instinct, Dali. Before you know it, you’ll be running a feline whorehouse.

You want me to go back into that house protected by a magic sticky note?” “Don’t even start,” I told him. “It’s working. If it weren’t working, you couldn’t drag me into that place.” “What did you write on here? ‘Don’t die’?” “No, I wrote, ‘Don’t be an a-hole!’” I headed for the house. “On yours or mine?” “On yours.” “Well, in that case, your magic isn’t working. I’m still an asshole.