Sick Quotes
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Veal, by definition, is the product of a sick, anemic, deliberately malnourished calf, a newborn dragged away from his mother in the first hours of life. Veal calves are dealt the harshest of punishments for the least essential of meats.
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When my father died, I was 21, and he'd been sick for a few years. He changed during his illness. He kind of softened during it.
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The sick do not ask if the hand that smoothes their pillow is pure, nor the dying care if the lips that touch their brow have known the kiss of sin.
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He had that faint sick look in his eyes, as if he wanted to give her something, charity for instance.
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it was the period I think of as the age of the pillow.. .What I wanted to bring out - is that which cannot be measured - I wanted to bring out the tired movement in the eyelids - the lips must look as though they are whispering - she must look as though she is breathing - I want life - what is alive. on his painting 'The sick Child'
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I do this thing where I think I'm real sick but I won't go to the doctor to find out about it cause they make you stay real still in a real small space as they chart up your insides and put them on display. They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it; All the good that won't come out of me...
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Do I care about clothes and stuff? Not much. It's a bit sick, isn't it, people spending all that money on clothes? I'm too stingy. I wouldn't pay £100 for a shirt.
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Every single one of us who has been a 'Woman in Film' for more than five minutes is sick of the phrase 'Women in Film.'
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You can't worry if it's cold; you can't worry if it's hot; you only worry if you get sick. Because then if you don't get well, you die.
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See an old unhappy bull, / Sick in soul and body both.
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I never planned to be a model at all. I moved to Paris to study art, and I was there working as an artist, taking classes, and I had a little sick dog that I was using up all of my money to try and heal. It was right at that point that this photographer, Errol Sawyer, saw me at the phoning office and convinced me to let him take my photo.
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There are precedents for what happens when societies allow the divide between rich and poor to get so huge that it stops being funny and starts becoming a sick, blood-boiling joke. If you had a Tardis, you could go back to 1917 and ask the Russian royal family how it was all going.
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I had bulimia for a few years. I was really sick. I don't know that person; I can't believe that was me.
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I think if you go from show to show without doing that big PR blitz it's helpful because people can get pretty sick of your face if you're just out there all the time. And keep a low profile, hold in your stomach and be a good sport.
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A monomaniac is a sick person whose mentality is perfectly healthy in all respects but one; he has a single flaw, clearly localized. At times, for example, he has an unreasonable and absurd desire to drink or steal or use abusive language; but all his other acts and all his other thoughts are strictly correct.
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'Democratic socialism' is awful as a slogan and catastrophic as a policy. And 'social democracy' - a term that better fits the belief of more ordinary liberals who want, say, Medicare for all - is a politically dying force. Democrats who aren't yet sick of all their losing should feel free to embrace them both.
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This whole social media scene makes me sick.
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I don't like LA. The majority just seem to be so artificial. Look at how they worship everything they think is fashionable. Isn't it sick?
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It's amazing being on tour with a group of 50, but when one person gets sick, it goes through the whole company. We take care of each other - we're well stocked on Mucinex. When everything stays healthy, it's a joyful experience for everyone.
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I take care of everybody. I'm either hugging you or making sure that you're not sick, because my backpack has every kind of medicine in it.
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I remember playing John Wayne Gacy, serial killer, very sick, neurotic, screwed-up guy. You know what? There's a part of me there, too, and you explore that.
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I live in a fantasy world where I think I'm immune to all disease. I don't get sick and haven't had anything major go wrong.
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Oh, who would have dared believe that half-crazed I, I, sick with grief for the buried past, I, smoldering on a slow fire, having lost everything and forgotten all, would be fated to commemorate a man so full of strength and will and bright inventions, who only yesterday it seems, chatted with me, hiding the tremor of his mortal pain.
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Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting thingsAnd crawl back into bed to dream of a timeWhen your heart was open wide and you love things just becauseLike the sick and dying
