There is no easy off button for your brain.It would be really really nice if there were.
The typical review makes a Teletubby look like a sabre-toothed tiger. You can economize by reading online rather than squandering $4.95, yes, but all you get is people pusillanimously Favoriting and Liking and Friending. Why is there no Hate button? Why?
I'm not Catholic, but I gave up picking my belly button for lint.
The flow of people in a setting, their changing relationships to each other and their environment, and their constantly changing expressions and movements - all combine to create dynamic situations that provide the photographer with limitless choices of when to push the button. By choosing a precise intersection between subject and time, he may transform the ordinary into the extraordinary and the real into the surreal.
An (emotional) vampire goes in for the kill by stirring up your emotions. Pushing your buttons throws you off center, which renders you easier to drain. Of all the emotional types, empaths are often the most devestated.
I write everything as a wake-up call to myself and others, to anyone who may have gotten tired of hitting the snooze button.
Hit the 'delete' button when you have unrighteous thoughts.
I wanted this to be a movie on TV so I could press the off button and make it all go away.
With a click of the Post Comment button, Netizens can quickly bring down the level of dialogue. Bloggers lob zingers, commenters trade barbs, and bullies target kids in the cyber schoolyard. Mudslinging - a time-honored political tradition - thrives on the Web.
They say our mothers really know how to push our buttons - because they installed them
...dreadful birds, dressed in red with breasts of silver buttons, and cocked heads and sharp mouths, looking for guilt like berries on a bush.
What exists beneath the sea?I'd always pictured it in colors of emerald and aquamarine, where black velvet fish with sequined eyes swim among plankton.But, when my eyes adjust, I see gray stones, lost anchors, wet wood, buttons, hooks, and eyes, the salem witches who wouldn't float, stars and stripes, missing vessels, windup toys, the souls of Romeo and Juliet, peaches, cream, pistons, screams, cages of ribs and birds, tunnels, nutcracker soldiers, satin bows, drugstore signs, Pandora box ripped open at its hinges.
I just need to do something new.... I've got the big remote control of life in my hands, and I'm ready to start pushing some buttons.
I can make your girlfriend scream louder than you ever could just by pressing her follow button.
But now we got weapons Of the chemical dust If fire them we're forced to Then fire them we must One push of the button And a shot the world wide And you never ask questions When God's on your side
Comedy always pushes some buttons, because it wouldn't be comedy if it didn't.
I like shirts and sweaters that fall off the shoulder or plaid button-ups.
Publishing isn't a job anymore. It's a button.
Listening is the hard part. Listening is the important part. The hot button is in the prospect's response.
When I start to play a game I try to forget about previous games and try to concentrate on this game. This game is now the most important to me. But of course I am not a computer and you cannot simply press a button, delete, and everything you want to forget disappears automatically. But if you want to play well, it's important to concentrate on the now.
Marriage changes things because there's a lot more at stake. You can't get too toxic because you have to live together. No one can reach for the nuclear button too quickly.
Someone invent a NO LIFE alert so you can push a button and tons of people show up and hang out with you.
Dear Nintendo, We need a new Mario game, where you rescue the princess in the first ten minutes, and for the rest of the game you try and push down that sick feeling in your stomach that she’s ‘damaged goods’, a concept detailed again and again in the profoundly sex negative instruction booklet, and when Luigi makes a crack about her and Bowser, you break his nose and immediately regret it. When Peach asks you, in the quiet of her mushroom castle bedroom ‘do you still love me?’ you pretend to be asleep. You press the A button rhythmically, to control your breath, keep it even.
He'd been so angry at her -always pushing his buttons, that girl. But then he'd taken her into his arms, and all that anger had blazed into a darker, hotly possessive need that had urged him to bend his head, bite down on the throbbing pulse in her neck, leave a mark.
If there is a next life, I hope it's in the past; I don't think the future will be any more handleable. I think it's a little harsh how the END button is red.
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