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Pump Quotes - page 2 - Quotesdtb.com
Pump Quotes - page 2
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.
Dylan Thomas
I'm trying to figure out, let's see, I'm in my room, in New York city, and I want to put a little spray, so I can, you know [mimes spraying] right, right, but I hear they don't want me to use the hairspray, they want me to use the pump, because the other one, which I really like better than going [mimes pumping] bang, bang, bang, and then it comes out in big globs, right, and it's stuck in your hair and you say, "Oh my god I've got to take a shower again, my hair's all screwed up", right, I want to use hairspray, but they say "Don't use hairspray, it's bad for the ozone", so I'm sitting in this concealed [sic] apartment, this concealed unit (you know I do live in a very apartment, right) but it's sealed (it's beautiful) I don't think anything gets out, and I'm not supposed to be using hairspray!
Donald Trump
I do play with minor knocks at times. I'm not saying I'm a Braveheart compared to others, but I do just get on with it. And I do a lot of extra work, not so much gym work, I won't go in and pump iron, but I do like to do as much as I can on the training pitch. I'll practise my finishing, my passing, my dribbling and my sprints. Maybe that all contributes to that bit of luck I have staying fit. It's something my old man (his father, Frank Sr, formerly of West Ham and England) has instilled in me since I was a kid. Now, if I don't do that bit extra, I don't go into a game feeling I've prepared right.
Frank Lampard
Most motor-cars are conglomerations (this is a long word for bundles) of steel and wire and rubber and plastic, and electricity and oil and petrol and water, and the toffee papers you pushed down the crack in the back seat last Sunday. Smoke comes out of the back of them and horn-squawks out of the front, and they have white lights like big eyes in front, and red lights behind. And that is about that - just motor-cars, tin boxes on wheels for running about in.
But some motorcars - mine, for instance, and perhaps yours - are different. If you get to like them and understand them, if you are kind to them and don't scratch their paint and bang their doors, if you fill them up and pump them up when they need it, of you keep them clean and polish and out the rain and snow as much as possible, you will find, you MAY find, that they become almost like persons - MORE than just ordinary persons - MAGICAL PERSONS!!!
Ian Fleming
I'm amazed by how compliant people are in this country. They go into service stations - 'cathedrals of despair', as I call them - where baseball-capped ghouls of the night lord it over their congealed bean kingdoms, their fried-bread twilights, their neon demi-mondes, tempting you to enter to become them, undead. "Ooh, beans on toast, £18.95, very reasonable. Oh no, I'm not going to complain. They probably pump them up from London in special tubes." God, £18.95? If that was the price, for my money, each bean would have to be carried over in a heron's beak and laid on an orchid and then placed on a very rare train set and carried all the way to my table on the train set and then pinged off by a tiny little rare vole and it rolls onto a beautiful silk leaf and I eat it with a Fabergé egg. Then you'd get your money's worth.
Ch. 16, 26:40.
Bill Bailey