Hell of a life. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Puts a man in one confounded bind, I’d say. McMurphy
Hell of a life. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Puts a man in one confounded bind, I’d say.
He throws the torn paper from his window into the October breeze and returns to bed. He falls asleep watching the little fragment of light vibrate across his wall, thinking how much more efficient it...
Billy here has been talkin' about slicin' his wrists again, so is there seven of you guys who'd like to join him and make it therapeutic?
Я их видел огромное количество, старых и молодых, мужчин и женщин. Видел их и на улице, и у них дома — людей, которые пытаются сделать тебя слабым, заставить следовать их правилам, заставить жить так,...
Uboga siedziba mej zmarnowanej mlodosci.
You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help somebody, he leaves himself wide open.
Which is just another way of blaming, and perhaps the best way, because there is solace and a certain stoical peace in blaming everything on the rain, and then blaming something as uncontrollable as t...
We are lunatics from the hospital up the highway, psycho-ceramics, the cracked pots of mankind.
Tudja, hogy az embernek nevetni kell a fájó dolgokat, mert másképp oda az ép ész, és az őrületbe hajtja az embert a világ.
They can't tell so much about you if you got your eyes closed.
Then—as he was talking—a set of tail-lights going past lit up McMurphy's face, and the windshield reflected an expression that was allowed only because he figured it'd be too dark for anybody in the c...
The most work he did on [the urinals] was to run a brush once or twice apiece, singing some song as loud as he could in time to the swishing brush; then he'd splash in some Clorox and he'd be through....
That aunt of mine; boy, she used to wear make-up all week long so terrible thick that - well, she started about Wednesday layering it on, and she never washed, and every day she slapped down a new lay...
Take what you can use and let the rest go by.
Sometimes—after futile all-nights—deserts fill my work-house and smoking sand gets in my eyes . . . and I must split the swollen cabin to check the dawn, to find: the creek still parties with the moon...
Si-aproape ca zaresc masinaria din ei preluand cuvintele pe care tocmai le-am rostit si-incercand sa le potriveasca ici sau colo, intr-un loc sau altul, si cand constata ca acele cuvinte n-au un loc d...
She got to where she was tripping me and beating me to the floor.
One flew east, one flew west, one flew over the cuckoo's nest.
Nobody complains about all the fog. I know why, now: as bad as it is, you can slip back in it and feel safe. That’s what McMurphy can’t understand, us wanting to be safe. He keeps trying to drag us ou...