Inspirational quotes with sputtering.
Ralston looked down his long, elegant nose at the vile creature at his feet, and said, “You just impugned the honor of my future marchioness. Choose your seconds. I will see you at dawn.”Leaving Oxford sputtering on the ground, Ralston spun on one elegant heel to face Benedick. “When I am done with him, I am coming for your sister. And, if you intend to keep me from her, you had better have an army at your side.
What is at work in this report is the reduction of language to code. Cliches, coined by the state, become the only acceptable vocabulary. Everyone knows what to say and how to respond. It is scripted. Vocabulary shrinks so that the tyranny of nationalist rhetoric leaves people sputtering state-sanctioned slogans.
There was still a bit of sunshine in the sky, not that it mattered. High treetops and reaching branches entombed us from above in a dark coffin. It was still in the afternoon. We had time to gather things together for camp, but the choked rays that permeated the living casket were sputtering their last bits of life. — Tyrus Savage narration from ORRLETH, Volume One of the Orrleth Young Adult Fantasy Paranormal Series
He poured a splash of liquid into a second cup. “Come in and warm yerself by the fire.” Ariana walked deeper into the room, toward the glow of the hearth. It’s heat enveloped her skin and eased away the chill with such expediency, she almost sighed. Connor appeared beside her with a metal cup extended. “I canna sleep often myself.” She closed her fingers around the cool surface and glanced at the dark liquid within. A sharp scent hit her nostrils. “Whisky,” Connor said. He was perfection in the firelight. Shadows etched his jaw while the light softened his face, his lips. The powerful lines of his chest were visible at the neck of his leine, as well as a dark peppering of small curling black hairs. “Whisky,” Ariana said with a forced stare at the cup instead of him. “Of course. I drink this all the time.” “Aye, I knew that about ye. When I first saw ye, I thought, ‘Now there’s a lass who can handle her whisky.’” Connor winked at her with disarming playfulness. “It’ll do ye some good. Take off the chill and settle yer thoughts.” “Why do you assume my thoughts are unsettled?” she asked. He took a swallow from his cup. “Because sleep comes easily to those without weight on their minds.” Ariana took a careful sip from her own cup, the way she’d seen men at the card tables drink. The liquid burned like sin down her throat and caught in her chest. She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard several times to keep from sputtering. Though she’d hoped to keep her reaction discreet, the grin on Connor’s face told her he saw through her guise. “It’s good.” Her voice came out in a croak and Connor laughed. It was a warm, rich sound and she found it terribly pleasing. His eyes crinkled. “Now that we’ve discovered yer love of whisky, why dinna ye tell me what’s got yer thoughts heavy?
Is that-am I looking at her beaver?"Mid-swig, I choke on the mouthful of beer, sputtering and coughing. After I recover, I ask jokingly, "'Beaver'? Are you Canadian or something?
He came up flailing and sputtering and began to thrash his way toward the line of willows that marked the submerged creek bank. He could not swim, but how would you drown him? His wrath seemed to buoy him up. Some halt in the way of things seems to work here. See him. You could say that he's sustained by his fellow men, like you. Has peopled the shore with them calling to him. A race that gives suck to the maimed and the crazed, that wants their wrong blood in its history and will have it. But they want this man's life. He has heard them in the night seeking him with lanterns and cries of execration. How then is he borne up? Or rather, why will not these waters take him?
A mighty porterhouse steak an inch and a half thick, hot and sputtering from the griddle; dusted with fragrant pepper; enriched with little melting bits of butter of the most impeachable freshness and genuineness; the precious juices of the meat trickling out and joining the gravy, archipelagoed with mushrooms; a township or two of tender, yellowish fat gracing an out-lying district of this ample county of beefsteak; the long white bone which divides the sirloin from the tenderloin still in its place.
My head cleared the water, and a strong arm wrapped around my middle as my lungs automatically sucked in air. I started coughing immediately, water sputtering out of my mouth. I blinked against my blurred vision as commotion erupted around me. “Help me, man,” a voice said. It was desperate and
That Reagan shaped mechanical gadget in the metal box that made you jump like a little sissy boy, Joe, that is the heart and soul of what the flag’n’Jebus crowd is scared of so bad they can’t even think about him existing.” He looked at Joe, waiting for an aha! that didn’t come. “That whole wing of modern conservatism lives for, on, about, with, in, and by the idea that everything is happening via supernatural powers and that the devil is powerful and has to be fought. Modern science totally spoils that because it gives people so much power but not from supernatural sources. No God in the instruments, you know?“So with modern tech we can make Ronald Reagan appear to come back from the grave, but to do it with modern tech leaves no need for spirits or sacred words or miracles or any other flavor of magic. Which only re emphasizes what they’re most afraid of: living in a world where nobody paints the sky blue every morning, or leaves quarters for teeth, or made platypi as a joke, or decided to sculpt the Grand Canyon, or took granny to heaven to make chocolate chip cookies for the angels. Nobody, nobody, nobody. So since their theology won’t let me bring in a Robo Jesus to call forth Robo Reagan, like sort of a Robo Lazarus, and they really want this, like so many people do…well, it can’t come from nobody, it has to come from somebody, and the somebody can’t be God.“Well, if the devil is anything, he’s somebody.”Joe was still sputtering. “But it…I mean, they’re going to think it’s coming out of Hell! Literal capital H real place Hell!”“Well, exactly. Think about how much that proves. If there’s a Hell and a Devil, there’s also a Heaven and a God. Once they have their Reagan back all they have to do is pray over him a little, drive the devil out, accept the blessing of a restored Reagan on behalf of God, and they’re good to go. God forgives crazier shit than that all the time.
A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering.
During the shoot in November 2003, I was vaguely aware of the stylist’s sulky demeanor and eye-rolling vibe, but I blocked her out. Some fashion people are snotty drama queens; this is not news. Whatever was going on with her, I was determined to be positive and not get infected by her energy. Later, Fiorella told me that the entire time I was in makeup, the stylist had been clomping up and down the hall, sputtering into her cell phone, “I can’t believe I have to style a FAT GIRL!” Believe it, bitch.
New York. The world's most dramatic city. Like a permanent short circuit, sputtering and sparking up into the night sky all night long. No place like it for living. And probably no place like it for dying.("New York Blues")
Cultural transformation announces itself in sputtering fits and starts sparked here and there by minor incidents warmed by new ideas that may smolder for decades. In many different places at different times the kindling is laid for the real conflagration-the one that will consume the old landmarks and alter the landscape forever.
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