A Quote by George Ade
When Wealth walks in at the Door, the Press Agent comes in through the Window.
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At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door and open the love-window. The moon won't use the door, only the window.
Prose is like a window; fiction is like a door. But it is not uncommon that he who should come in through the door jumps in through the window.
With each door one women walks through it is incumbent to bring another woman through it with her.
If I see a door comin' my way, I'm knockin' it down. And if I can't knock down the door, I'm sliding through the window.
The world has been busy for some centuries in shutting and locking every door through which a woman could step into wealth, except the door of marriage.
I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
Those who enter through the back door can expect to be shown out through the window
Reality can be entered through the main door or it can be slipped into through a window, which is much more fun.
Anyone who watches even the slightest amount of TV is familiar with the scene: An agent knocks on the door of some seemingly ordinary home or office. The door opens, and the person holding the knob is asked to identify himself. The agent then says, "I'm going to ask you to come with me.
When one door closes, find another." Kylie gazed back up. "And what if there isn't another door?" "Then you try the window." "And if there's not a window?" Kylie asked. "Then you find a sledgehammer and make a window.
Shut the door, they're coming through the window, shut the window, they're coming through the door," are the words to an old song. They fit my lifestyle with newly arriving butcher/censors every month. Only six weeks ago, I discovered that, over the years, some cubby-hole editors at Ballantine Books, fearful of contaminating the young, had, bit by bit, censored some 75 separate sections from the novel. Students, reading the novel which, after all, deals with censorship and book-burning in the future, write to tell me of this exquisite irony.
Glory never arrives through the front door. She sneaks in uninvited round the back or through an upstairs window while you are sleeping.
A founder plays a magical role at the company: they invented or, as in my case, co-invented it. If and when a founder walks out the door, there is something spiritual that walks out the door, too.
Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.
Close a door, and you'd still feel a breeze through the window.
There is no one, says another, whom fortune does not visit once in his life; but when she does not find him ready to receive her, she walks in at the door, and flies out at the window.
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