A Quote by Billy Corgan

I went to see a shaman. He put his hands on me, and I cried like a baby for an hour. — © Billy Corgan
I went to see a shaman. He put his hands on me, and I cried like a baby for an hour.
Meeting Oprah Winfrey, I cried like a baby. Meeting Steven Spielberg, I cried like a baby. Meeting Denzel Washington, I gushed like a crazy woman. If I don't get excited or star struck by someone I've been dying to meet, it's time to retire.
When people see me on TV, they become very happy because they don't have to interact with me. When they start interacting with me, they ask me questions like I'm a baby or treat me like I'm a baby and hold me like I'm a baby, and that's what they do wrong, really.
When I was a baby, if I cried, my parents didn't give me a blanket. They gave me a ball and sent me to the little court in our backyard. I must have cried a lot because I was one of those kids who could dribble and shoot at 5 years old.
When a baby comes into the world, its hands are clenched, right? Like this?" He made a fist. "Why? Because a baby not knowing any better, wants to grab everything, to say the whole world is mine. But when an old person dies, how does he do so? With his hands open. Why? Because he has learned his lesson." "What lesson?" I asked. He stretched open his empty fingers. "We can take nothing with us.
I cried like a baby. When no one could see me or hear me. Not because I feared what cancer would do, but because I didn't want the disease. I wanted my life to be normal, which it could no longer be.
I was with him, coincidentally, on the evening in 1979 when they had buried John Wayne. My father cried like a baby when he went to see the Duke.
No one but me ever put a hand on me to feel that baby. No one wanted to put his ear against it and listen...You shouldn't have a baby if there's no one who wants to feel it kick or listen to it move.
I get this a lot: 'Oh, can you take a picture with my baby? Can you hold the baby?' I don't want to hold your baby! I'll hold my baby. I don't like holding someone else's baby. I'm serious! You never know what could happen. It's such an awkward position you're put in, and it's like, 'No, sorry.'
“There’s my baby!” I cried, quite carried away. “There’s my Poochiekins!” Ammit ran at me and leaped into my arms, nuzzling me with his rough snout. “My lord Osiris!” Disturber lost the bottom of his scroll again, which unraveled around his legs. “This is an outrage!” “Sadie,” Dad said firmly, “please do not refer to the Devourer of Souls as Poochiekins.”
I was adopted when I was a baby. My mother carried me for nine months and she held me for one hour, and didn't see me again.
Oh, I was sobbing, like, so bad when baby arrived. Like, I don't think people have seen a man sobbing like that. It was awful, but in the most joyful way. I mean, I was picking that baby up and putting him on me. And the baby, like, halfway opened his eyes and it just made me feel like, 'Oh my god, this is the most incredible thing.'
Some days, 24 hours is too much to stay put in, so I take the day hour by hour, moment by moment. I break the task, the challenge, the fear into small, bite-size pieces. I can handle a piece of fear, depression, anger, pain, sadness, loneliness, illness. I actually put my hands up to my face, one next to each eye, like blinders on a horse.
One of the first things they teach you in Driver's Ed is where to put your hands on the steering wheel. They tell you put 'em at ten o'clock and two o' clock. Never mind that . I put mine at 9:45 and 2:17. Gives me an extra half hour to get where I'm goin'.
Put your hands where I can see 'em, so they look like 12 PM On the dot, see this Glock? Don't make me give these shells freedom.
I feel like Black Jesus got his hands on me and guides me through life to put me where I'm supposed to be.
Relius looked away. "He said that you...cried," he said softly. "But not that he cried as well," said the queen, amused at the memory. "We were very lachrymose... would you like to hear more romance of the evening? He told me the Guard should be reduced by half, and I threw an ink jar at his head." "Is that when he cried?" "He ducked," said Attolia dryly. "I had not pictured you for a fishwife." "Lo, the transforming power of love.
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