A Quote by Barbara Corcoran

Sex appeal is in the workplace every day of the week. I'm not saying that's the only calling card, but it's a whole crayon box. — © Barbara Corcoran
Sex appeal is in the workplace every day of the week. I'm not saying that's the only calling card, but it's a whole crayon box.
The whole point is to live life and be - to use all the colors in the crayon box.
The bass is just the crayon that I picked out of the box. I'd probably be writing similar stuff if I played guitar or trumpet. The pictures I want to draw I do with this crayon I chose, which is the bass.
I received rejection letters for ten years (one on a napkin, written in crayon.) I had all my rejection notices stored in a box. When the box was finally full I took it to the curb and set it on fire. The next day I went out and got a temp job.
But Donald heard on Radio Disney that they were giving a Nintendo 64 away to the ninetieth caller every day for a week. He listened all week and kept calling in until he gauged the perfect time, and one day he ran upstairs and said, 'I won it!' He's always been able to will what he wants.
There's rampant sexism, of course there is! It just goes without saying. Every woman in the workplace knows this; [every woman] in the workplace has to work harder than a man to prove themselves.
I don't know what sex appeal is. I don't think you can have sex appeal knowingly. The people who seduce me personally are the people who seem not to know they're seductive, and not to know they have sex appeal.
To me, Dan Evans is an example of somebody that puts the clock back a little bit and tells everybody: 'Listen, tennis is not a freak sport where you need to have rich parents, who sit in your players' box for every single week of the whole year, and you need to talk to your coaches' box between every shot.'
I make films about working class people. All my films have always been about that. For example, the brothel is a workplace. It's aberrant, but a workplace nonetheless. I was more interested as opposed to glamorizing and saying, oh, this is a great erotic place, it's a place of business. The commodity is sex.
Sex in marriage is like medicine. Three times a day for the first week. Then once a day for another week. Then once every three or four days till the condition clears up.
Imagine a crime series in which, every week, there is a white suspect and a black suspect. And every week, lo and behold, the black one turns out to have done it. Unpardonable, of course. And my point is that you could not defend it by saying: "But it's only fiction, only entertainment."
Someone stole my wallet last week. The guy called me up and he was mad at me. He was like 'you gotta get your finances together. You got no cash, your credit cards are maxed out. You don't even have minutes on your calling card. I had to use my card to call you.'
Right afterwards there was a whole, whole lot of press to do, so the week after, all day, every day, was press so I didn't really get a chance to celebrate.
There is more to sex appeal than just measurements. I don't need a bedroom to prove my womanliness. I can convey just as much sex appeal, picking apples off a tree or standing in the rain.
I think sex appeal is something that's fun. But I'd guess any man with any conscious consideration or understanding of his own sex appeal is one of the least sexy men you might meet.
I'm bringing raw sex appeal. That's my whole thing.
Sex-appeal is the keynote of our whole civilization.
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