Squash is boxing with racquets.Quoted in Colin Jarman The Guinness Dictionary of Sports Quotations (1990).
Squashthat's not exercise, it's flagellation.Sir Noe« l Peirce Coward: Quoted in Colin Jarman The Guinness Dictionary of Sports Quotations (1990).
Saturday is a dismayingly bad book. The numerous set pieces—brain operations, squash game, the encounters with Baxter, etc. — are hinged together with the subtlety of a child's Erector Set. The characters too, for all the nuzzling and cuddling and punching and manhandling in which they are made to indulge, drift in their separate spheres, together but never touching, like the dim stars of a lost galaxy. The politics of the book is banal, of the sort that is to be heard at any middle-class Saturday-night dinner party, before the talk moves on to property prices and recipes for fish stew. There are good things here, for instance the scene when Perowne visits his senile mother in an old-folks' home, in which the writing is genuinely affecting in its simplicity and empathetic force. Overall, however, Saturday has the feel of a neoliberal polemic gone badly wrong; if Tony Blair — who makes a fleeting personal appearance in the book, oozing insincerity — were to appoint a committee to produce a "novel for our time," the result would surely be something like this.john banville: Banville on Saturday, from The New York Review of Books (source dated 10 May 2005) Original source
He had been haunted his whole life by a mild case of claustrophobia the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overcome. Langdon’s aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating, but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways. He avoided enclosed sports like racquetball or squash, and he had gladly paid a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily available. Langdon had often suspected his attraction to the art world as a young boy sprang from his love of museums’ wide open spaces.Dan Brown, in Angels And Demons: (Robert Langdon Book 1) p.19
Don't bother answering back. Anything said to me at this point might as well be written on a decomposing squash. The brain goes first, you know -- except the portions dedicated to pain, which are apparently immune.robert patrick: "Pouf Positive"
So knives out Catch the mouse Squash his head Put him in the potthom yorke: Knives Out (Amnesiac (2001))
Get up in the morning and you like your tea milky, You fumble for your glasses coz without 'em you cant see, It's funny how I come round your house and I'm 20 and I still have to wear all the presents you sent me. I walk into your kitchen everything's got a label, you done your Christmas shopping and we're only in April. And you wont leave the house unless your wearing your thermals, you're covered all in cat hair and you're stinking like Strepsils, Your heading down the Bowls Club, have another orange squash. Balls are rollin rollin rollin. You can't walk right coz things aren't what they were, your ankles are swollen swollen swollen.lily allen: Nan You're A Window Shopper
He is interested in the feelings of the squash ball, and of the champagne bottle that launches the ship. In a football match his sympathy is not with either of the teams but with the ball, or, in a match ending nil-nil, with the hunger of the goalmouth.Alan Bennett: "Kafka in Las Vegas", p. 336
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As to all the outward signs that awaken within us feelings of sympathy and compassion, the blind are only affected by crying; I suspect them in general of lacking humanity. What difference is there for a blind man, between a man who is urinating, and man who, without crying out, is bleeding? And we ourselves, do we not cease to commiserate, when the distance or the smallness of the objects in question produce the same effect on us as the lack of sight produces in the blind man? All our virtues depend on the faculty of the senses, and on the degree to which external things affect us. Thus I do not doubt that, except for the fear of punishment, many people would not feel any remorse for killing a man from a distance at which he appeared no larger than a swallow. No more, at any rate, than they would for slaughtering a cow up close. If we feel compassion for a horse that suffers, but if we squash an ant without any scruple, isn’t the same principle at work?Denis Diderot: Lettre sur les aveugles [Letter on the Blind] (1749)