A Quote by Bernard Berenson

I would I could stand on a busy corner, hat in hand, and beg people to throw me all their wasted hours. — © Bernard Berenson
I would I could stand on a busy corner, hat in hand, and beg people to throw me all their wasted hours.
I wish I could stand on a busy corner, hat in hand and beg people to throw me all their wasted hours. If all you can see is your shadow, you're blocking your own light. If I had my life to live over, I would perhaps have more actual troubles but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.
I would willingly stand at street corners, hat in hand, begging passerby to drop their unused minutes into it.
If I could throw my phone away, I would probably do it. It's always on silent, and I don't like when it rings and people are calling. We could live without those things in the past when we just had a phone on the street somewhere, on the corner or at the house. I have no interest in telling all the people what I do every day and where I am.
Because I could throw so hard when I got to college, they made me a pitcher. If I had to it all over again, I would have stuck to playing in the outfield. I loved running. I can catch everything in the outfield. I could throw people out from the fence.
From my perspective, if I say that I'm done, I would hope - and I trust - that my corner would throw in the towel for me.
I always wore a hat. They were gonna throw me out of high school because I wouldn't take my hat off. But it was just a deep insecurity about my awful hair.
For one week, all I could think about was drinking margaritas--well, that and running my tongue along Reyes's teeth--but I didn't have salt--or Reyes's teeth. I'd also lacked the energy to leave my apartment to get some--or the desire to stoop low enough to beg Reyes to let me lick his teeth after what he did--so I could only wish for a margarita. And dream of Reyes's teeth. I'd secretly hoped a margarita would magically appear in my hand, but that would mean I would have to put down the remote, and God knew that was not going to happen.
When I was little I was always getting hit. Kids would take my hat and throw it around, and it upset me. So I got to be very revengeful.
I'm an introvert somewhat. There could be a room full of people, I'll go stand in the corner.
I even reject and condemn in the strongest terms the idea, the consideration of a military coup. If I had the chance I would stand in front of the people who would attempt such a thing and open my arms and beg them to stop.
The hollow horn plays wasted words, proves to warn that he not busy being born is busy dying.
Even if people censure me, they should do so hat in hand.
If you look up, and you see that all of a sudden the world is really coming down on people with brown hair, I would think the people with black hair would look at that and go, 'Well, that could be me, and so, I shouldn't stand for that any more than those people with brown hair stand for it.'
I always could go into restaurants in Chicago, and nobody would throw anything at me. There are people there who might not like me, but I think they respect me.
It was the hat. He looked sweet in the hat. How could a man in a fuzzy blue hat have used human bones to pave his roads?
If I've written five pages by hand, out of those five pages, one page might be worth saving. The rest is crap. I have to throw it away. It's like I need eight hours to do two hours' work.
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