Sling Shot Quotes

Grief was not a line, carrying you infinitely further from loss. You never knew when you would be sling-shot backward into its grip. —

Waddya want me to do? through my sling shot at him?

Grief was not a line, carrying you infinitely further from loss. You never knew when you would be sling-shot backward into its grip.

A dehoy who was terribly hobble, Cast only stones that were cobble And bats that were ding, From a shot that was sling, But never hit inks that were bobble.

Royce saw to his horse’s needs; then, finding a suitable place, he unrolled his blanket and lay down. “I take it we’re camping here, then?” Royce said nothing, still refusing to acknowledge his existence. “You could have said, ‘We’re going to bed down here for the rest of the night.’ No, wait, you’re right, too much. How about ‘sleeping here’? Two words. Even you could manage that, right? I mean, I know you can talk. You had plenty to say back in Arcadius’s office. Couldn’t keep the words from coming out then, but no, utterly impossible to indicate in any way that we’ll be stopping here for the night.” Hadrian dismounted and began unloading Dancer. “How long were we on the road?” He paused to look up at the moon. “What? Five, six hours? Not a damn word. Getting chilly out, don’t you think, Hadrian? Moon looks like a fingernail, ain’t that right, Hadrian? That tree looks like a goddamn bear, don’t it, Hadrian? Nothing. By the way, in case you hadn’t noticed, I was attacked by a goshawk and a pig-riding dwarf that shot eggs at me with a sling. I was knocked from my horse and wrestled with the dwarf, the hawk, and the pig for what had to be half an hour. The dwarf kept smashing eggs in my face, and that ruddy pig pinned me down, licking them off. I only got away because the dwarf ran out of eggs. Then the hawk turned into a moth that became distracted by the light of the moon.” Royce shifted to his side, hood up. “Yeah, well … thank Maribor and Novron I didn’t need your help that time.” “Didn’t care for my help too much in the stable,” Royce said. “It speaks!

As inexplicable as the accidents that set it off, our imagination is a crucial privilege. I've tried my whole life simply to accept the images that present themselves to me without trying to analyze them. I remember when we were shooting That Obscure Object of Desire in Seville and I suddenly found myself telling Fernando Rey, at the end of a scene, to pick up a big sack filled with tools lying on a bench, sling it over his shoulder, and walk away. The action was completely irrational, yet it seemed absolutely right to me. Still, I was worried about it, so I shot two versions of the scene: one with the sack, one without. But during the rushes the following day, the whole crew agreed that the scene was much better with the sack. Why? I can't explain it, and I don't enjoy rummaging around in the cliches of psychoanalysis.

She's not always bad, but she can be so strict. You use her bra once as a sling shot and she holds it against you forever.

Either you slinging crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot.” – Biggie

This Proto-Indo-European term ghosti (from which we get the words guest, host and ghost) referred to a kind of unspoken etiquette, a notion that on seeing strangers on the horizon, rather than choose to fell them with spears or sling-shots, instead we should take the risk of welcoming them across our threshold – on the chance that they might bring new notions, new goods, fresh blood with them. Over time this word-idea evolved into the Greek xenia – ritualised guest–host friendship, an understanding that stitched together the ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern worlds.

I’ve learned that even when life drags you down into the deepest pit of despair, that’s the most important time to keep believing, because you never know when you’re going to sling-shot upwards, straight out of there.

You ready? And PS, the next time you want someone to mark a hundred acres of territory, that’s all you.” Denver shot him a hostile glare before slinging his legs off the sofa and getting up, then walking barefoot toward the bedrooms.

Malvery snapped his fingers at Pinn. 'Come here. I need that sling.' 'It´s my sling!' Pinn whined. 'You´re wearing a sling ´cause you shot yourself like an idiot. She just saved Silo´s life. See the difference?´ 'No,´Pinn said stubbornly, but he let Malvery undo the sling anyway.

Then she said, "Thorfinn!" quickly, and moved to him; but had hardly got to his side before he loosed his fingers and thumbs and plunged them down to the mattress like spear-points. "No!Macbeth. Macbeth. Macbeth!" the name reached her like sling-shot. Groa said, "They are the same man. I should know. I married both.

Early on the first morning at the rifle range, we began what was probably the most thorough and the most effective rifle marksmanship training given to any troops of any nation during World War II. We were divided into two-man teams the first week for dry firing, or “snapping-in.” We concentrated on proper sight setting, trigger squeeze, calling of shots, use of the leather sling as a shooting aid, and other fundamentals. It soon became obvious why we all received thick pads to be sewn onto the elbows and right shoulders of our dungaree jackets: during this snapping-in, each man and his buddy practiced together, one in the proper position (standing, kneeling, sitting,

Her hand shot out, gripped his arm. "M.J. and Bailey?" "Your friends are fine." He felt her grip go limp. "They've had an eventful holiday weekend, all of which could have been avoided if they'd contacted and cooperated with the police. And it's cooperation I'll have from you now, one way or the other." She tossed her hair back. "Where are they? What did you do,toss them in a cell? My lawyer will have them out and your butt in a sling before you can finish reciting the Miranda." She started toward the phone, saw it wasn't on the Queen Anne table. "No,they're not in a cell." It goaded him, the way she snapped into gear, ready to buck the rules. "I imagine they're planning your funeral right about now.

All night the fighting had been furious, with no let-up. Fur and Freedom Fighters had battled against flaming shafts with their bare paws and sand. Four lay dead and three wounded. Smoke-grimed and bleary-eyed, they had plucked burning arrows from the wood, strung them on their bows and returned them to stick blazing in the gates of Marshank. The javelin supply was depleted, one shaft being retained for each creature in the event that paw-to-paw combat would be their final stand. There were still plenty of rocks to sling, Keyla and Tullgrew taking charge of the slingers whilst Ballaw managed a frugal breakfast. The hare sat wearily against one of the sandbanks that had been shorn up either side of the cart, Rowanoak slumped beside him. Both were singed and smoke-grimed. Rowanoak drank half her water, passing the rest on to Brome, who distributed it among the wounded. The badger wiped a sandy paw across her scorched muzzle. ‘Well, Ballaw De Quincewold, what’s to report?’ The irrepressible hare wiped dust from his half-scone ration and looked up at the sky. ‘Report? Er, nothin’ much really, except that it looks like being another nice sunny day, wot!’ A flaming arrow extinguished itself in the sand close by Rowanoak. She tossed it on to a pile of other shafts waiting to be shot. ‘A nice day indeed. D’you think we’ll be around to see the sunset?’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘I wonder if that owl – Boldred, wasn’t it – I wonder if she ever managed to get through to this Martin the Warrior creature.’ Ballaw picked dried blood from a wound on his narrow chest. ‘Doesn’t look like it, does it? No, old Rowan me badger oak, I think the stage is all ours and it’ll be our duty to give the best performance we can before the curtain falls for the last time.

Hadrian dismounted and began unloading Dancer. "How long were we on the road?" He paused to look up at the moon. "What? Five, six hours? Not a damn word. Getting chilly out, don't you think, Hadrian? The moon looks like a fingernail, ain't that right, Hadrian? The tree looks like a goddamn bear, don't it, Hadrian? Nothing. By the way, in case you haven't noticed, I was attacked by a goshawk and a pig-riding dwarf that shot eggs at me with a sling. I was knocked from my horse and wrestled with the dwarf, the hawk, and the pig for what had to be half an hour. The dwarf kept smashing eggs in my face, and the ruddy pig pinned me down, licking them off. I only got away because the dwarf ran out of eggs. Then the hawk turned into a moth that became distracted by the light of the moon." Royce shifted to his side, hood up. "Yeah, well...thank Maribor and Novron I didn't need your help THAT time.

Thank you for the advice, but I know how to comport myself with Maria.” “That remains to be seen.” Jarret rose, then bent to plant his hands on the desk. “But know this-none of us will stand by and let you ruin a young woman just to provoke Gran.” Oliver shot to his feet. That his brother thought him capable of such a thing infuriated him, as did being lectured by him. It had never happened before, and he wasn’t about to allow it now. Leaning forward until he and Jarret were eye to eye over the desk, he growled, “And what the deuce do you think you can do to stop me from acting as I please?” A grim smile touched Jarret’s lips. “I could attempt to steal her from you.” Somewhere in the recesses of his sanity, Oliver knew he was being baited, yet it made no difference. Just the idea of Jarret seeking to engage Maria’s affections crushed his usual control. “If you lay a hand on her,” he ground out, “Gabe won’t be the only one wearing a sling in this family.” With an enigmatic look, Jarret pushed back from the desk. “Fine.” His eyes turned to ice. “But be warned-the rest of us intend to make sure that you never lay a hand on her, either.” Without waiting for a response, he strode from the room.

I hurt my hip, too.” “Let me see.” She made a face and yelped when her cheek protested even that slight movement. “You don’t need to see my hip. It’s fine.” “If the skin’s broken, it’ll need cleaning, too,” he said, unbuckling her belt. “Stop that.” “Think of me as your doctor,” he said, as he unsnapped and then unzipped her jeans. “My doctor doesn’t usually undress me,” she snapped. “And my patients already come undressed.” He laughed. “Life your hips,” he said. “Up!” he ordered, when she hesitated. She put her one good hand on his shoulder to brace herself and lifted her hips as he pulled her torn jeans down. To her surprise, her bikini underwear was shredded, and the skin underneath was bloody. “Uh-oh.” She was still staring at the injury on her hip when she felt him pulling off her boots. She started to protest, saw the warning look in his eyes, and shut her mouth. He pulled her jeans off, leaving her legs bare above her white boot socks. “Was that really necessary?” “You’re decent,” he said, straightening the tails of her Western shirt over her shredded bikini underwear. “I can put your boots back on if you like.” Bay shook her head and laughed. “Just get the first-aid kit, and let me take care of myself.” He grimaced. “If I’m not mistaken, you packed the first-aid kit in your saddlebags.” Bay winced. “You’re right.” She stared down the canyon as far as she could see. There was no sign of her horse. “How long do you think it’ll take him to stop running?” “He won’t have gone far. But I need to set up camp before it gets dark. And I’m not hunting for your horse in the dark, for the same reason I’m not hunting for your brother in the dark.” “Where am I supposed to sleep? My bedroll and tent are with my horse.” “You should have thought of that before you started that little striptease of yours.” “You’re the one who shouted and scared me half to death. I was only trying to cool off.” “And heating me up in the process!” “I can’t help it if you have a vivid imagination.” “It didn’t take much to imagine to see your breasts,” he shot back. “You opened your blouse right up and bent over and flapped your shirt like you were waving a red flag at a bull” “I was getting some air!” “You slid your butt around that saddle like you were sitting right on my lap.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Then you lifted your arms to hold your hair up and those perfect little breasts of yours—” “That’s enough,” she interrupted. “You’re crazy if you think—” “You mean you weren’t inviting me to kiss my way around those wispy curls at your nape?” “I most certainly was not!” “Could’ve fooled me.” She searched for the worst insult she could think of to sling at him. “You—you—Bullying Blackthorne!” “Damned contentious Creed!

Who knows? Tyler’s hot. Did you see those abs?” I nodded, biting my lip to hold back my laughter. “He’d be a solid eight without those frosted tips. He looks like a nineties boyband member.” “I hope you’re not talking about me,” Seth’s voice made my heart nearly stop. I looked up, finding him standing at the end of the tunnel. Caleb stepped up beside him and they both started smiling. Like actually smiling. Before I answered, Seth broke into song, “You are...my fire, the one...desire, believe...when I say, I want it that waaay.” Caleb picked up the Backstreet Boys classic on cue. “Tell me why!” “Ain’t nothing but a heart ache,” Seth sang, clicking his fingers. “Tell me why!” Caleb started dancing. “Ain’t nothing but a mistake.” “Tell me why!” “I never wanna hear you say.” Seth looked to Caleb and they both belted out the last line together with their hands on their hearts. “I want it that waaaay.” “Oh my god, puke,” Tory said and I blew out a laugh. “If you keep singing at us I’ll throat punch you like I did to Max.” Caleb shot to her side in a blur of motion, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Ohh what beautiful poetry you weave for me, sweetheart. Gets me so hard.” (darcy)

Grief is not a line, carrying you infinitely further from loss. You never knew when you would be sling-shot backward into its grip.

He assumed a good prone, legs splayed and bent a little, right leg pulled up a bit more than the left, both feet turned out with the heels down. He rested the forestock on his pack, wrapping the sling around his left arm. There was some debate about this technique, but Mick was squarely in the two-wrap camp. He didn’t slip his left hand under the buttstock but instead slid it along the forestock until it reached that old familiar spot, and he tucked the rifle into his shoulder good. You wanted to get it tucked in just right, because that big magnum was one rifle that spoke with authority. You pull the trigger on a .338 Win Mag, especially from the prone with Mick’s bear loads, and it’ll make a man out of you right then and there. … Mick kept still for just a second, taking the weight of the rifle in his bones and letting gravity take him and make him part of the Earth itself. He put the crosshairs exactly where he wanted them, paused his breathing at the natural break after a normal exhale, then simply willed that beautiful custom trigger to break. Break it did, crisp and clean like always, and the 225 grain bullet flew downrange at almost three thousand feet per second. It reached the deck in less than half a second, about a half second before the sound of the shot. The Very Last War WH Hawthorne

I don’t really comprehend time’s passing, at least not in the way that I used to, when time was available to me. So when the door opens again and Peter walks into my cell, I don’t know how much time has gone by, only that I am exhausted. “Let’s go, Stiff,” he says. “I’m not Abnegation.” I stretch my arms above my head so they brush against the wall. “And now that you’re an Erudite lackey, you can’t call me ‘Stiff.’ It’s inaccurate.” “I said, let’s go.” “What, no snide comments?” I look up at him with mock surprise. “No ‘You’re an idiot for coming here; your brain must be deficient as well as Divergent’?” “That really goes without saying, doesn’t it?” he says. “You can either get up or I can drag you down the hallway. Your choice.” I feel calmer. Peter is always mean to me; this is familiar. I stand and walk out of the room. I notice as I walk that Peter’s arm, the one I shot, is no longer in a sling. “Did they fix up your bullet wound?” “Yeah,” he says. “Now you’ll need to find a different weakness to exploit. Too bad I’m fresh out of them.” He grabs my good arm and walks faster, pulling me along beside him. “We’re late.

Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant aren’t friends,” Henry said seriously, and placed a pretzel carefully on his tongue. He looked at his now empty glass despondently. “No? Why not?” I asked, refilling his Sprite. “Giants don’t make good friends.” “Are you talking about Shaq or Kobe? They’re both pretty big.” I tried not to laugh because Henry wasn’t laughing. “Giants don’t like when someone is bigger than they are.” “I don’t know about that. Look at me and Axel. We’re both pretty big.” “Who’s the biggest?” Henry asked. “I am,” I said firmly, and at the same time Axel thumped his chest. Henry looked at me owlishly, as if I had just proven his point. Axel started to laugh, and I laughed with him, but Henry didn’t laugh at all. He just wrapped his swollen lips around his straw and drank his Sprite like he was dying of thirst. I waited until Axel turned his attention to Stormy, who had stopped to flirt as she waited tables. “Henry? Are you having problems with a giant?” I touched my lip and looked pointedly at his mouth. “The Giants won the World Series in 2012,” he said softly. “In 2010 too. They’re very popular right now.” I wasn’t sure if there was a hidden message in the popularity of the Giants or if Henry just wanted to change the subject. I tried again, using a different approach. “You know the story of David and Goliath, right? David’s just a little guy, Goliath’s a huge warrior. David ends up killing him with just a sling-shot and Goliath’s own sword.” “Your name is David,” Henry said, his eyes on the game. “It is. Do you need me to slay a giant for you?” “The Giants’ bench is deep.” I narrowed my eyes at Henry. He didn’t look away from the television. It was like conversing with Yoda. Or R2D2.

In what is one of the most bizarre and ecologically damaging episodes of the Great Leap Forward, the country was mobilised in an all-out war against the birds. Banging on drums, clashing pots or beating gongs, a giant din was raised to keep the sparrows flying till they were so exhausted that they simply dropped from the sky. Eggs were broken and nestlings destroyed; the birds were also shot out of the air. Timing was of the essence, as the entire country was made to march in lockstep in the battle against the enemy, making sure that the sparrows had nowhere to escape. In cities people took to the roofs, while in the countryside farmers dispersed to the hillsides and climbed trees in the forests, all at the same hour to ensure complete victory. Soviet expert Mikhail Klochko witnessed the beginning of the campaign in Beijing. He was awakened in the early morning by the bloodcurdling screams of a woman running to and fro on the roof of a building next to his hotel. A drum started beating, as the woman frantically waved a large sheet tied to a bamboo pole. For three days the entire hotel was mobilised in the campaign to do away with sparrows, from bellboys and maids to the official interpreters. Children came out with slings, shooting at any kind of winged creature.77 Accidents happened as people fell from roofs, poles and ladders. In Nanjing, Li Haodong climbed on the roof of a school building to get at a sparrow’s nest, only to lose his footing and tumble down three floors. Local cadre He Delin, furiously waving a sheet to scare the birds, tripped and fell from a rooftop, breaking his back. Guns were deployed to shoot at birds, also resulting in accidents. In Nanjing some 330 kilos of gunpowder were used in a mere two days, indicating the extent of the campaign. But the real victim was the environment, as guns were taken to any kind of feathered creature. The extent of damage was exacerbated by the indiscriminate use of farm poison: in Nanjing, bait killed wolves, rabbits, snakes, lambs, chicken, ducks, dogs and pigeons, some in large quantities.

You don’t have to have big resources, big talent, big connections. God will take your sling shot, what seems small, and put His favor on it. You will defeat great giants. It’s not so much what you have; it’s the blessing on what you have; it’s the favor on what you have.

Still, be careful out there. I don’t want you getting shot. I love you or whatever.” “Awww,” I tease, a faint smile forming on my lips. “Say it again.” He tries to suppress a smile, but I can still make out the corners of his lips twitching. “Never mind. I take it back. I hope they shoot your dick off.” I sling an arm around his shoulder, leaning onto Dante so he can support my weight. “I love you too, brother.

The local White Citizens’ Council organized the meeting and circulated a leaflet that began: “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to abolish the Negro race, proper methods should be used. Among these are guns, bows and arrows, sling shots and knives.

His super seed. I’m starting to think he could get me pregnant from across the room with a sling shot.

The Palestine laboratory can only thrive if enough nations believe in its underlying premise. It’s unsurprising that repressive regimes want to mimic Israeli repression, using Israeli technology to oppress their own unwanted or restive populations, but the Jewish state craves Western approval to fully realize its diplomatic and military potential. Aside from the US, Germany is arguably the greatest prize of all. Israel helped Germany rehabilitate its shattered image after World War II, while Berlin grants legitimacy to a country that brutally occupies the Palestinians (a nonpeople in the eyes of successive German governments). Germany purchasing increasing amounts of Israeli defense equipment is just one way it can atone for its historical guilt. When Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas visited Germany in August 2022 and spoke alongside Chancellor Olaf Scholz, he accused Israel of committing “fifty Holocausts” against his people. The German establishment expressed outrage over the comment but the hypocrisy was clear; the Palestinians are under endless occupation but it’s only they who have to apologize. Germany has taken its love affair with Israel to dangerous, even absurd heights. The Deutsche Welle media organization updated its code of conduct in 2022 and insisted that all employees, when speaking on behalf of the organization or even in a personal capacity, must “support the right of Israel to exist” or face punishment, likely dismissal.40 After the Israeli military shot dead Palestinian journalist Shireen Abu Akleh in the West Bank city of Jenin in May 2022, German police banned a peaceful public vigil in Berlin because of what German authorities called an “immediate risk” of violence and anti-Semitic messaging. When protestors ignored this request and took to the streets to both commemorate Abu Akleh and Nakba Day, police arrested 170 people for expressing solidarity with Palestine. A Palestinian in Germany, Majed Abusalama, tweeted that he had been assaulted by the police. “I just left the hospital an hour ago with an arm sling to hold my shoulder after the German racist police almost dislocated my shoulder with their violent actions to us wearing Palestine Kuffiyas,” he wrote. “This is the new wave of anti-Palestinian everything in Berlin. Insane, right?” This followed years of anti-Palestinian incitement by the German political elite, from the German Parliament designating the BDS movement as anti-Semitic in 2019 to pressuring German institutions to refuse any space for pro-Palestinian voices, Jewish or Palestinian.41 The Palestinian intellectual Tariq Baconi gave a powerful speech in Berlin in May 2022 at a conference titled “Hijacking Memory: The Holocaust and the New Right.” He noted that “states like Germany have once again accepted Palestinians as collateral. Their oppression and colonization is a fair price to pay to allow Germany to atone for its past crimes.

even when life drags you down into the deepest pit of despair, that’s the most important time to keep believing, because you never know when you’re going to sling-shot upwards, straight out of there.

Her stomach leapt, like she’d missed a stair. Grief was not a line, carrying you infinitely further from loss. You never knew when you would be sling-shot backward into its grip.

micro second, I could see Mishy and I doing an aerial somersault and being pinged like a sling shot off the bike, landing ungracefully  in the gutter, probably head first into a steaming pile of dog poo. Miraculously, (well not really, because I used my witch craft) Mishy was able to steer the bike to safety as her tyres magically ploughed through the bike on the ground. She kept saying over and over, “What just happened, what just happened? I thought we were dead!” I said to her, “Its ok Mish, you saved our lives.” “Sorry guys,” a timid voice popped out from behind the tree. “It was kind of lying against the tree when I left it. It must have fallen down. I hope you’re both ok.” As soon as I saw Kaitlyn sheepishly step out from behind the tree, it suddenly clicked as to what had been missing back at Koolbar. It was Kaitlyn. She wasn’t there and she was always dutifully there with Tiffany. Kaitlyn Ramsay was part of the princess gang, though she wasn’t as fake as the rest of them. Every Friday the four of them always sat in a corner of Koolbar, slurping on their shakes and getting guys to slurp on their every word. I don’t think I’ve ever been there on a Friday when the four of them weren’t huddled up together batting eyelids and preening themselves, whispering and fussing. Which is why it seemed so strange when I didn’t see her. As she stood under the branches, the sun sprinkling filtered light onto her face, I could see that her normally creamy colored complexion was blotchy, and her eyes were red and hazy. Her makeup was streaky under her eye’s with smudges of black casting shadows. She looked a little bit like Dracula’s daughter meets prom queen Barbie, but she put on this big phony smile as though nothing was wrong. As if! Did she think we were born under a rock? “So what’s happening guys?” She tried to sound cheery. “Nothing much, we’re just on the way home from Koolbar,” Mishy replied. “What about you? What are you doing hanging around a tree?” “Yeah Kaitlyn, we didn’t see you at Koolbar. What’s the deal? You’re always there on a Friday with the others.” Kaitlyn’s face crumpled momentarily when I questioned her, then just as quickly went a fake shade of happy again. “Agh, I didn’t really want to go today. I have aghh ….some other things I want to do,” she stuttered, searching for words. “Like bird watching?” Mishy giggled. “You didn’t want to go? That’s not like you Kaitlyn.” I added. “So are you two going straight home now?” Obvious change of subject from Kaitlyn. “Yeah I have to babysit my kid brother while my mom and dad go out on their date night. “Aren’t your parents married?” “Yes, they just like to have a date night once a week where they don’t have to be bothered by us kids. Apparently