The great American game should be an unrelenting war of nerves.
I don't have half the nerves there that I have anywhere else.
He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper.
He that struggles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper.
But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.
My nerves before a gig got worse; I had terrible bad nerves all the time. Once we started... I was fine.
In our story logic which we're making up, if we're saying he's alive, then like a quadriplegic who's in bed he can move his head and shoulders, but he can't move his arms. If he could just turn on that power to his legs and arms, the nerves could get through and he could walk.
I used to tremble from nerves so badly that the only way I could hold my head steady was to lower my chin practically to my chest and look up at Bogie. That was the beginning of The Look.