People waiting for an elevator don't know what to do, standing with strangers. There is nothing to do. Its an uneasy time. Some press the button repeatedly as though it would help.
Okay, okay, okay. I understood that pushing the elevator button over and over again would not make the elevator appear sooner. But I couldn't help myself
Do you press the "pause" button - the "until" button in life by saying "I can't be happy until..."? All this accomplishes is a delay in your entry into your innate state of happiness, which is independent of outer circumstances. So press the "play" button and rejoice in the now-ness of the moment!
Press the button, pump the water, build the pressure, push the piston, press the button. It's the perfect job.
I know that some of the folks in the press are uptight about this [moving the press corps out of the West Wing ], and I understand. What we're - the only thing that's been discussed is whether or not the initial press conferences are going to be in that small press - and for the people listening to this that don't know this, that the press room that people see on TV is very, very tiny. Forty-nine people fit in that press room.
All war must be just the killing of strangers against whom you feel no personal animosity; strangers whom, in other circumstances, you would help if you found them in trouble, and who would help you if you needed it.
What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to rill in and die for their entertainment?
I volunteered at UCLA's occupational therapy ward, where there are lots of kids with autism and emotional problems. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could not break down and cry at everything, and that I could just help somebody else. The one thing I really remember was that when we would take them out of the hospital for a walk around campus, they would freak out the most when we were waiting for the elevator. I remember the guy at the elevator said to himself, "Transitions are the hardest." And I said to myself, "Transitions are always the hardest."
If there were a button I could press, I would sacrifice myself without hesitating, if it meant millions of people would die.
…. Query: How contrive not to waste one's time? Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting-room; by remaining on one's balcony all of a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language on doesn't know; by traveling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theaters and then not buying a seat; and so forth.
The average person pushes an elevator button 6 or 7 minutes before realizing it's not working. I did a study on this, you know.
There are major challenges, when it comes to making a film in the Arctic. When you're filming wildlife and that wildlife doesn't necessarily take direction, you can spend a lot of time waiting, where you're debating whether or not you should press the record button because it costs a lot of money.
If nothing were left of an extinct race but a single button, I would be able to infer, form the shape of that button, how these people dressed, built their houses, how they lived, what was their religion, their art, their mentality.
Some things are just for private. It's like people thinking I'm cold or this or that. It's unfortunate, but I don't need strangers to know that I'm warm. I don't need strangers to know the real me.
When you do a play, you have all this time to rehearse and grow into the character. In television, even though you're waiting and waiting and waiting, once you're actually on set engaging in the scene with another actor, time is of the essence.
The next time you face a room full of strangers . . . you might tell yourself that some of them are just friends waiting to be found.
I would not sit waiting for some vague tomorrow, nor for something to happen. One could wait a lifetime, and find nothing at the end of the waiting. I would begin here, I would make something happen.