A Quote by Ben Marcus

A self needed to spill out sometimes, a body should show evidence of what the hell went on inside it. — © Ben Marcus
A self needed to spill out sometimes, a body should show evidence of what the hell went on inside it.
The only difficulty is that I'm playing to two audiences, and it's too bad the noise detracts from the show, because it's a great show. I've seen my own self out there, and it's a very good musical show. Sometimes the show gets lost in the hysteria and sometimes it doesn't.
Sometimes, songs spill out of you very fast, and sometimes you have to wrangle them to the floor. But the same thing is true of comedy, where sometimes it really flows.
People sometimes say that you must believe in feelings deep inside, otherwise you'd never be confident of things like 'My wife loves me'. But this is a bad argument. There can be plenty of evidence that somebody loves you. All through the day when you are with somebody who loves you, you see and hear lots of little tidbits of evidence, and they all add up. It isn't purely inside feeling, like the feeling that priests call revelation. There are outside things to back up the inside feeling: looks in the eye, tender notes in the voice, little favors and kindnesses; this is all real evidence.
You think of it [voicing] as something where you not only don't //need// your body, but you don't even have it to use! There's nothing you can do with your body that's going to show in the final product. Maybe that's all the more reason I used my body so much to get whatever noise or sounds out of it I could. When it was needed to keep the energy up I found myself almost running in place! It is very physical.
Half the time, when I first run onstage, I can't look directly at the audience just because of self-consciousness. It's human nature. Sometimes you feel like the man, and sometimes you don't. But sometimes that self-conscious energy is good for the show, it draws people in more.
Sarah Palin is speaking out about the oil spill. She said, I'm not kidding, we should ask the Dutch for help with the spill because the Dutch have the world's best dikes. So let me get this straight. It is OK to cover lesbians in oil but you just can't let them get married.
I was about 15 years old, and I needed a job, and somebody I know - I don't even know who it was - said that there was a television show that needed a presenter and that I should go and audition for it, so I did. That was a show called 'The Word,' and I got that job.
No God is needed, no heaven and hell are needed. All that is needed is a simple understanding that mind is the source of negativities.
Until recent times, absence of evidence for his [Jehovah's] existence has not been sufficient to rule him out. However, we now have enough knowledge that we can identify many places where there should be evidence, but there is not. The absence of that evidence allows us to rule out the existence of this God beyond a reasonable doubt.
Sometimes even a well-rested steak will lose juices when you cut into it. Sometimes a completely un-rested steak won't spill a drop. But as a general rule, resting meat for about one-third of its total cooking time guarantees that more juices will stay inside than on your cutting board or plate.
To shut the door at the end of the workday, which does not spill over into evening. To throw away books after reading them so theydon't have to be dusted. To go through boxes on New Year's Eve and throw out half of what is inside. Sometimes for extravagance to pick a bunch of flowers for the one table. Other women besides me must have this daydream about a carefree life.
I have a box inside me now that never used to exist. I never needed it before. It's down in my deepest, darkest corner, and it's airtight, soundproofed and padlocked. It's where I keep the thoughts I don't know what to do with, that could get me into trouble. Eating Unseelie hammers on the inside of that lid incessantly. I try to keep kissing Barrons in that box, too, but it gets out sometimes.
I started doing yoga in college, so that has just become a staple of a self-care routine for my mind and my body. My body craves it at this point, so I do it two to three times a week, sometimes more. I practice Vinyasa style yoga and sometimes mix it up.
And when you try to live there, to live in a place where you're betraying yourself over and over, not only do you grow to resent the hell out of it, and resent the hell out of whomever you're betraying and censoring yourself for, but the very idea of your self begins slowly and inexorably to erode. Until you realize one day out of the clear blue that you have no idea who your self is, anymore.
Especially once those poetry events began, because, yeah, the stuff was still on the page, but the page was starting to spill into real space, spill into air, once you could hear it, once there was a typewriter, once there was a body of a typist, it was getting rid of the confines of the page.
He felt as if his heart had dried up. I needed her he thought. I needed someone like her to fill the void inside me. But I wasn’t able to fill the void inside her. Until the bitter end, the emptiness inside her was hers alone.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!