We live in a flash of light; evening comes and it is night forever. It's only a flash and we waste it. We waste it with our anxiety, our worries, our concerns, our burdens.
We are not that flash, me or the missus. In fact, we are quite low-maintenance.
I thought of rap I thought of Grand Master Flash and I thought of about what they went through.
[A]s if life were a thunder-storm wherein you can see by a flash the horizon, and then cannot see your hand.
to give life to sculpture I found it must have a pulse, a breathing quality that could change in a flash, and it must never appear static, hard, or unrevealing. All these demands formed themslves in my thoughts, and became like an endless obsession.
To get the right word in the right place is a rare achievement. To condense the diffused light of a page of thought into the luminous flash of a single sentence, is worthy to rank as a prize composition just by itself. . . Anybody can have ideas--the difficulty is to express them without squandering a quire of paper on an idea that ought to be reduced to one glittering paragraph.
But just before they cut back to the main newscaster, I see the unmistakable flash of that same mockingjay's wing. The reporter has simply been incorporated into the old footage. She's not in District 13 at all. Which begs the question, What is?
I thought it was all a flash in the pan. It wasn't until Broadway came along that I felt I had really made it.
I flash him number seventeen of my thirty-five Looks of Death.
My books come to me in images, and sometimes the image is at the beginning of the book, and sometimes it's simply a flash somewhere in the middle.
My brief flash of relief and confidence melted away. Good thing it did, too. I'm sure the world would come to an end if I were allowed to feel a sense of relief and well-being for any length of time.
In Russia one can be as pure as can be and still lose everything in a flash and end up in prison.
All truth has to be expressed in sentences. . . the type of sentence in nature is a flash of lightning.
I was supposed to have a script, and had mislaid it. I was supposed to hear cues, and no longer did. I was meant to know the plot, but all I knew was what I saw: flash pictures in variable sequence, images with no 'meaning' beyond their temporary arrangement, not a movie but a cutting-room experience.
It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.
What are the sources of an illumination? To me, they come after hours of searching and keeping my soul ready. Yet they come in a flash, as a religious phenomenon. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter had such an illumination, beginning my long search for the truth of the story and flashing light into the long two years ahead.
Every time somebody tries to go in and reinvent what we do, it always ends up being more about technology and sets, and flash and dash, forgetting the main thing, which is interesting people saying interesting, important things.
Give me romance. Flash. Give me denial.
The healing power of even the most microscopic exchange with someone who knows in a flash precisely what you're talking about because she experienced that thing too cannot be overestimated.
Teaching and editing have helped me enormously, and brought wonderful people into my life. When I see an author I'm editing struggling to bring a flash of an idea to the page, or notice a student's hands shaking as they read something they wrote out loud for the first time, it keeps things in perspective. How vulnerable we all are. How hard it can be to open the door.