Disco Ball Quotes

Life is beautiful and life is stupid. This is, in fact, widely regarded as a universal rule not less inviolable than the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the Uncertainty Principle, and No Post on Sundays. As long as you keep that in mind, and never give more weight to one than the other, the history of the galaxy is a simple tune with lyrics flashed on-screen and a helpful, friendly bouncing disco ball of all-annihilating flames to help you follow along.

Zombies are the middle children of the otherworldly family. Vampires are the oldest brother who gets to have a room in the attic, all tripped out with a disco ball and shag carpet. Werewolves are the youngest, the babies, always getting pinched and told they're cute. With all that attention stolen away from the middle child Zombie, no wonder she shuffles off grumbling, "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.

Hey! Sorry, lady, but nobody's staking anybody at this party! I hung a disco ball for this.

Life is beautiful and life is stupid. As long as you keep that in mind, and never give more weight to one than the other, the history of the galaxy, the history of a planet, the history of a person is a simple tune with lyrics flashed on-screen and a helpful, friendly bouncing disco ball of glittering, occasionally peaceful light to help you follow along. Cue the music. Cue the dancers. Cue tomorrow.

He called me an asshole and said, “I'll bury you!” like some comic book villain. I wanted to fucking scream my head off—I'm not your toy! Your puppet! Your whore! I'm a human goddamn being and I expect to be treated as such! Instead I told him I didn't want to be buried, I want to be cremated. And I want my ashes stored in a disco ball he can hang over his desk.

and tonight we held each other, one last time, like a dance to a slow song on an empty floor, underneath a single disco ball in front of no one at all

Wisps of arctic blue and green and purple buzzed and whirled within those sharp spikes, sending out a wild coruscation of coloured light. The aurora was mesmerizing and blinding at the same time, and little disco balls hoped that they could grow up to be half as brilliant one day.

When I see a cop’s lights behind me at two in the morning, and I have my disco ball dangling from my rearview mirror, it’s like, Hey, a party! Especially if I’ve been drinking.

A glittering disco ball spins from the ceiling, but the music is something I've never heard, discordant and haunting and insistent, the kind of music that demands you dance.

My pussy seems to start flashing like a disco ball whenever a bad guy is in the vicinity.

He’d thought about this, a slow dance with his lover, not a flashy tango or a writhing clash under a disco ball. But he’d never dreamed he would get one. It was possibly one of the most erotic, most loving things Ty had ever done for him. Neither

Life is short. Be a vibrant disco ball of love and energy, not a dimmed light in the corner.

On crack. It was as if the town had been placed in a blender with a giant disco ball, shaken with a Mardi Gras parade, and then had vomited a pile of glitter and tinsel all over itself.

inclined my head toward said friends. One of them, a curvy redhead in a gold skirt that made her look like a disco ball, chose that moment to hop onto the table and shake her ass to the rap song blasting through the speakers. Josh snorted. “Jules? She’s a liability, not help. Stella is as trusting as Ava, and Bridget…well, she has security, but she’s not around as much.

Madison sparkled like the words on her oversized chest. There was glitter embedded in her eye shadow, in her lip gloss, in her nail polish, hanging from her ears in shoulder grazing hoops, dangling from her wrists in blingy bracelets. If the lights went out in the hallway, she could light it up like a human disco ball.

Beyond our grim circle, the underground station looked like the aftermath of a nightclub bombing. Steam from burst pipes shrieked forth in ghostly curtains. Splintered monitors swung broken-necked from the ceiling. A sea of shattered glass spread all the way to the tracks, flashing in the hysterical strobe of red emergency lights like an acre-wide disco ball.

Time to be brutally honest with myself. The fictional jerks I was imagining weren’t the problem. I was the only one holding me back. So people might think I was too old to have some style—so what? I didn’t give two craps what people thought about me when I dressed like some sort of swamp monster. Why should I hesitate to wear the equivalent of a sexy disco ball?

Dear Sad Eyes, I’m sure my eyes look sad from the outside, but nobody knows the pain behind my eyes. Sad eyes, do you know how to smile? I’m sure you would know if you weren’t so tired all of the time. Sad eyes, do you know how to rest? No, I have to strain my eyes in the dark because who else would watch my back. Sad eyes, there’s no such thing as rest—that is only wishful thinking. A stranger spoke to me today. She noticed me, my smile, and my sad eyes. For once, I didn’t feel invisible. I felt like somebody. Ms. Brown doesn’t know me, but she made me feel special. She made me feel like I mattered. She tried to be nice, but I fucked that up. Sad eyes, you know just as well as I do that anger eats me up alive, and I do not know how to control it. The anger I have for others is destroying me piece by piece. If I let it destroy me, then I won’t be able to kiss the moon, and all of the stars are going to fall from the sky. I won’t be able to dance in the moonlight, and the stars will not be my disco ball. I am so empty inside. I make-believe and imagine the dragonflies have filled my empty arms of darkness with light. Sad eyes, do you think you will be able to rest tonight? I hope so. With the moon, stars, and dragonflies surrounding me with so much light, I feel at peace and protected. Let’s try to rest and try it again tomorrow. After all, it will be another day. Who knows what might happen? Counting the stars and kissing the moon.

Hey, Ben,” she says, ignoring the rest of us. “You want to dance?” Ben’s cheeks turn the same scarlet as Rosie’s dress. He and Ryder exchange a pointed look while Lucy and I just stand there gawking. “Go on, man,” Ryder says, nudging him. “You look great, Rosie,” he adds. “Nice dress.” She smiles up at him, her blue eyes seeming to glitter beneath the disco-ball lighting. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She glances from Ryder to me and back to Ryder again. “The two of you…You looked good together up there.” “I know, right?” Lucy nods, and I shoot her a “what are you doing?” glare. She ignores it. “Maybe these two should stop the hating and listen to their parents.” An awkward silence follows. Finally, Ben seems to remember why Rosie came over in the first place. “Um, you want to go dance?” “Yeah. I love this song.” Ben nods. “Okay. Catch you guys later.” Rosie’s smile seems genuine as she follows Ben to the dance floor. I hope that means she’s finally figured out what a sweetheart he is. As soon as they’re gone, Lucy lets out a low whistle. “Whoa, did that just happen?” “I think it did,” I say, watching as Rosie wraps her arms around Ben’s neck. She must have said something funny, because he throws his head back and laughs. Lucy shakes her head in amazement. “I swear, it’s like we’re in some kind of alternate universe tonight.” “Well, in that case, how about you and me, Luce?” Mason says with a cocky grin. “Think you can handle me on the dance floor?” “Oh, what the hell?” Lucy says with a shrug. “Why not!” She reaches for Mason’s hand and drags him toward the dance floor but stops a few feet away and turns back to face Ryder and me. “Hey, you two--behave!” In seconds, she and Mason are swallowed by the crowd. “And then there were two,” Ryder says, reaching for my hand. He leans down, his lips near my ear. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” he whispers. “Later,” I say with a shiver. It’s not an empty word. It’s a promise. He gives my hand a squeeze. “So…until then, I guess we dance.” “We dance,” I say as a slow song begins to play. Talk about good timing.

All the air-kissing. All the arse-kissing. All the tedious, performative debauchery. Men shouting. Women cackling. Annie dressed as a disco ball. Adam eyeing up every woman under thirty.

brace yourself for feline taxidermy, disco balls, crystal chandeliers, and other oddities of decor.

He really liked her—especially the way her femininity stimulated him. Alejandra was the type of girl that never let a boy entirely have her. If his lips tried to go for a random peck, she would turn the opposite way and smile a “no.” They would be seated at a restaurant and her peppy, shy voice would say, “Thank you for taking me here, but don’t expect anything.” He felt like he had her slippery heart in his hands, but never held it—instead her heart levitated, floating a few centimeters above his twitching fingertips, shining like a fickle disco ball, magnetized in the air by Alejandra’s masterfully crafted tension. She perfected this practice and learned it from her older sister. Except Alejandra felt that she was not as intelligent or gorgeous as other women, and that this prowess was all she had.

Do what lights up your soul like a disco ball in a dark room. Chase after joy like it’s the last slice of pizza at a party. Life’s too short for anything less than belly laughs, spontaneous adventures, and dancing like nobody’s watching. So, crank up the music, grab your sparkly shoes, and strut through life with a twinkle in your eye and a skip in your step. After all, the best moments happen when you follow the rhythm of your own happiness.

Don’t twist yourself into a pretzel just to be liked. Be your fabulous self so the right people will love you. Trying to fit into someone else’s mold is like wearing shoes two sizes too small—painful & pointless. Embrace your flaws, flaunt your true self, & let your true colors shine like a disco ball. The right people will be drawn to your authentic self, & they’re the ones worth keeping. So, drop the act & be unapologetically you—because that’s where the real magic happens.

Sometimes, the best way to shine is to step back, go off the radar, and focus on leveling up. Let them wonder where you went while you’re busy becoming your best self. When you reappear, you’ll be unstoppable, radiating success and leaving everyone in awe. So, keep it hush-hush, work in the shadows, and get ready to shine brighter than a disco ball at Studio 54. Glow up like a boss!

In a panic, Less’s mind races to put this man before a series of backgrounds—blue sky and beach, tall tree and river, lobster and wineglass, disco ball and drugs, bedsheets and sunrise—but nothing is coming to mind.

World’s hottest disco ball,

When they entered the gym, the loud blaring lyrics of Bee Gees hit “Staying Alive” and a blinding disco ball greeted them.

Among the dismissive was writer Tom Wolfe, who divined the zeitgeist of the era when he dubbed the seventies “The Me Decade” in his famous 1976 essay. Wolfe appropriately defamed the era as a time in which individual emancipation trumped the idea of the civic good, in which decadence looked liked politics, and glitter could be mistaken for substance. If the political revolution could not be realized in post-sixties America, Wolfe argued, the only thing left was the “alchemical dream” of revolutionizing the self. As if to confirm Wolfe’s analysis, the seventies would often be symbolized by a spinning mirrored disco ball reflecting a mosaic of “hundreds of little me’s”—swirling fragments of individualism that made a mockery of the antediluvian dream of solidarity.9

The apartments had probably been built back in the 70’s when the country was going through some ugly social times. Maybe the country was going through its adolescent phase and breaking out with a bad case of social acne. Cheesy professors were running around the country proclaiming “turn on, tune in, drop out.” A mean-spirited drunk from LA was cranking out poems about the low-life and reaching for another beer out of the refrigerator on stage as part of his performance. The porn industry was in its golden era. People proclaiming their individuality and uniqueness were all dressed the same. Mothers thought they were educating their kids by letting them watch Sesame Street, but they were just turning their kids into TV junkies and a future generation of pudding heads with blank faces ready to believe anything on the lamestream media. The Vietnam War eventually came to an end after Laos was clustered bombed, which had nothing to do with ending the war. Dominoes didn’t fall. A new war memorial went out for bid. Some crazy scientist found a way to make clothes out of chemicals - polyester. Dwarfs found their favorite hangout - the disco. The whole country seemed to be dancing to the disco beat, hypnotized by the flashing strobe lights off the big, shiny ball.

Four of the men peeled off the group and headed inside, leaving Bob alone with one guy. The guy was younger and wore a suit so shiny it looked like a disco ball. Bob seemed to be giving Shiny Suit instructions. Shiny Suit nodded a lot. When Bob was done, he headed into the funeral. Shiny Suit did not. Instead he swaggered with almost cartoon exaggeration in the other direction, toward a bright white Cadillac Escalade. I

The decorating scheme of Big World is simple in theme but complicated in execution. The theme is: things that shine and things that make noise. There are mirrors and glass railings and columns of polished steel; there are beeping lights and blaring loudspeakers; there are more reflective surfaces here than on a disco ball.

she scrutinized Alesha’s chrome dome. Great. She’s captivated by the drops of sweat covering it. They’re probably reflecting tiny rainbows all over the room. I’m a human disco ball, whee!

In the grand scope of things, glitter may not seem like much. But in a way, it’s everything: an offering, evidence of all our striving to shine, shrapnel of the sun itself. What we create from these scraps is how we heal the world, how we so love the world and restore its wholeness. Hand-in-hand in this snaking parade, a human community of broken shards upon a sphere, spinning.

Today I wish you to know that you can’t manipulate the Universe with your fake niceness, fake kindness, fake positivity or fake smiles… It might fool some, but the Universe sees right through it. Darling listen - Universe doesn’t care about your Instagram pictures or your forced cheer for that person you secretly loathe. So ditch the facade, Sweetheart. The Universe appreciates a natural sparkle, not a disco ball effect. *Sweetheart, be real, not fake...* May your journey be filled with real connections, uplifting spirits & heartfelt smiles. May it be filled with meaningful moments & substance, not just superficial shine! Blessings!

Winter took in her surroundings. There was a tacky disco ball hanging in the center of the room and multicolored strobe lights bouncing off it. Cheap pink and lime-green streamers hung all over the room, as well as sparkling tinsel left over from Christmas. There were remnants of every holiday strewn about and champagne bottles on every table. If this was what getting old looked like, winter might not mind it. Each person in that room had lived such a life. They had had kids and grandkids and heartache and happy times. They probably had seen every peak and every valley the world had to throw at them. If she was going to learn how to make the most of her life, rather than just survive it, it was going to be from them.

He might as well be showing me off like a fucking disco ball.

I'm just not a glitter person," I was telling her as she led me back out into the main space, but the words stopped short when she shoved me in front of the mirrors and there I was, glittering at angle after angle. I almost didn't recognize myself. The dress was another simple A-line in shape, gathered at the bust and flowing past my waist to the floor. Its sleeves were loops that circled around my upper arms, baring my shoulders so that my hair could tumble over them or be tied up high to showcase the elegant flow of my throat into my clavicle, which I'd only just now realized was elegant. The dress was black--- my favorite color--- and covered with tiny chips of what must have been rhinestones, small and subtle and scattered enough where I didn't glow like a disco ball under the lights but instead shimmered whenever I moved. I looked like a princess of the night sky.

Statistical surveying assumes a critical part in grasping business sector elements, customer conduct, and industry patterns, especially in arising economies like Myanmar. As organizations in Myanmar look to explore a quickly developing business sector scene, the administrations presented by statistical surveying firms become progressively important. In this article, we will investigate the universe of market research firms in Myanmar , with a particular spotlight on AMT Statistical surveying. From their administrations and industry experiences to their effect on business development, we will dive into the key viewpoints that make statistical surveying fundamental for progress in Myanmar's business climate. 1. 1. Prologue to Statistical surveying Firms in Myanmar Understanding the Statistical surveying Industry in Myanmar Welcome to the universe of market research firms in Myanmar! In a nation overflowing with potential and valuable learning experiences, statistical surveying firms assume a vital part in assisting organizations with exploring the unique scene. 2. Outline of AMT Statistical surveying in Myanmar Foundation and History of AMT Statistical surveying AMT Statistical surveying isn't your regular person in the business. With a set of experiences as brilliant as a rainbow and a standing that sparkles more splendid than a disco ball, AMT has cut its name as a believed accomplice for organizations looking for bits of knowledge in Myanmar. Key Differentiators of AMT Statistical surveying What separates AMT from the rest? Consider them the Sherlock Holmes of statistical surveying - sharp, clever, and consistently a stride ahead. Their mystery ingredient lies in their capacity to mix information with instinct, giving clients a triumphant edge on the lookout. 3. Administrations Presented by AMT Statistical surveying Statistical surveying and Investigation Administrations AMT doesn't simply do the math and regurgitate reports. They jump profound into the dim waters of market patterns, purchaser conduct, and contender experiences to present a platter of key suggestions that hit the bullseye without fail. Counseling and Warning Administrations Need a directing hand in the deceptive territory of the Myanmar market? AMT's counseling and warning administrations resemble a compass, pointing you in the correct heading and assisting you with avoiding entanglements. Think of them as your market whisperers. 4. Industry Bits of knowledge and Patterns in Myanmar Key Businesses in Myanmar's Market From the clamoring roads of Yangon to the quiet shores of Inle Lake, Myanmar's market is a blend of different businesses. Whether it's the roaring tech area or the customary rural industry, AMT Statistical surveying keeps a finger on the beat, all things considered, Arising Patterns and Potential open doors What's hot and what's not in Myanmar? AMT Statistical surveying has their radio wires up, scouring the skyline for arising patterns and once in a lifetime kinds of chances that could be a distinct advantage for organizations. Remain tuned with them to ride the flood of progress in Myanmar's always developing market.## 5. Significance of Statistical surveying in Myanmar's Business Scene Statistical surveying assumes a urgent part in assisting organizations with exploring the unique scene of Myanmar. By giving significant bits of knowledge into purchaser inclinations, market patterns, and contender techniques, statistical surveying engages organizations to pursue informed choices that drive development and achievement.

Maybe it was because of the speed and danger. Or the psychedelic disco ball and the Beatles. Or the 'Suicide' fountain drinks and the crowded boys bathroom. But Skateland on Lindsey Street was absolutely the place to be in the Sixties.

Maybe there’s something you can do to make your usual activities just a bit more memorable. Get matching T-shirts for a family excursion. Print up a silly photo for your desk, and switch it out frequently, or put a vignette outside your home office window (garden gnomes are the epitome of whimsy). Hang a disco ball or a string of lights

Not that Ethan would know. His eyes hadn’t slipped below her neck once. He was probably too busy thinking about world peace or the capacity for human suffering or something else equally righteous while she sat here shimmering like a horny disco ball.

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No fucking surprise there, though. My pussy seems to start flashing like a disco ball whenever a bad guy is in the vicinity.

Most of the night is a blur. What I remember: everything is loud and fast and thrilling. What I remember: the three of us dancing, jumping around and twisting our bodies with abandon. The reflections of the disco ball like a million pieces of colored glass. What I remember: Shawn coming up behind me, his sweaty skin sliding against mine, his voice low in my ear, Baby. What I remember: Annie, laughing, pulling me onto the dance floor and spinning me around like I was the girl. What I remember: feeling breathless and joyous and invincible. We loved the city, we loved each other.

Saucebox had the general feel of an upmarket gallery, although more mellow lighting. White walls, big art, black dance floor that was a bitch to clean, and mirrors everywhere. No disco balls for Saucebox. Xavier didn’t do kitsch, or cheap, or corny. The lighting was recessed and subtle, except over the bar where the bottles glowed in backlit glory. And everything that needed lighting had it, especially the till, because money and alcohol were taken seriously.

Hidden up there behind some branches sits one glaring squirrel. “I don’t know,” I say. “He looks pretty pissed, though.” “Good.” I see now that there are more of them in the tree. There’s a whole team of them up there hiding. One squirrel is wearing a yellow Zorro mask. Two others stand stock-still: one green, the other disco-ball silver. Three others have matching gold-covered bellies. Together they look like a creepy family of angry Christmas ornaments. “So,

I had a knack for sniffing out the rowdiest dive bars, the real ones, dark, loud, and rough around the edges, always with the distinct foul smell of old beer and urine. The Est Est Est was no different. The exterior of the building was lined with locals talking amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke. The interior was nearly pitch black, if it weren’t for the rainbow-colored disco ball spinning rays of light across the bar. I recognized a pair of patrons from the previous bar.