A Quote by Bronson Pinchot

Everyone in show business makes these sweeping, "I'll never work with so-and-so again," because that's the way you feel at the moment. It's a business where there really is no point in ever saying never. There are people I've sworn that I would never go near again, and then you see an interesting role that would put you opposite that person and you think, "Well, we'll work together, maybe they were having a bad year."
Boxing is a business. I'm not going to say I would never work with people again because we have had disagreements in the past. So if it makes money it makes sense. That doesn't mean we won't agree again in the future.
I never had a doubt about wanting to be an actress, but certainly when there were periods of unemployment, I would think, "Oh, I'm never going to work again." The only thing I don't like about it is the business part of it - the negotiating and all this stuff that you don't learn in school. I'm not good with business.
A great deal; you are good to those who are good to you. It is all I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way; they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but would grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard; I am sure we should - so hard as to teach the person who struck us never to do it again.
I made the decision to quit show business. Give up the skintight dresses and manicured smiles. The false concern over sentimental lyrics. I would never again work to make people smile inanely and would take on the responsibility of making them think.
I'm fortunate that I'm employed. And if you're in show business, of course, every night you go to bed and go, oh my god, tomorrow I'll never, ever work again.
I don't think you should ever say, 'This is the last time'. Music isn't like that. You'll be sitting there not wishing to get onto a stage again for maybe two, three, four, five months, or maybe a year, then suddenly you'll wake up and feel like you've got to do it again. It's in the blood, and I never say never.
You think about when you're with your friend, and you hang out with your friend. And then you go do whatever you're doing, your life. You know, and then you see your friend again. But for us, we were friends that, we would be together, and then we would go to work, which was us still again, so we were always together.
You think to yourself, “If one drink feels really good and two feels really, really good, a hundred ought to feel fantastic.” As sane people know, it doesn't work that way. A hundred drinks feels terrible. Bad things happen. But the addict keeps at it, thinking at some point it's going to get good again The point is to not feel what you're feeling. The problem is, you become someone you never thought you would become, and you have no idea how you got there.
Maybe I'd never see him again... maybe he'd gone for good... swallowed up, body and soul, in the kind of stories you hear about... Ah, it's an awful thing... and being young doesn't help any... when you notice for the first time... the way you lose people as you go along ... the buddies you'll never see again... never again... when you notice that they've disappeared like dreams... that it's all over... finished... that you too will get lost someday... a long way off but inevitably... in the awful torrent of things and people... of the days and shapes... that pass... that never stop.
If the audience is responding very well to comedians that are hacks, and I don't do well, I don't feel as bad, because I feel like their taste is different than mine. They're laughing at somebody I would never laugh at, so that makes it okay, because obviously our tastes are not in the same place. And comedy is subjective, so I feel like maybe the failure wasn't all mine. I don't think they ever would have really enjoyed me. So sometimes that's a little easier, but not much.
We work in a business where you feel you always have to say yes because you never know when you will work again. But I found myself questioning that paranoia, which I'd grown up with ever since I started working in the theatre in my late teens.
If you mess up the performance on stage, you do it again the next night. You're like alright, you let yourself off the hook, and you've got to go back in there. Whereas, with a film, I would go home and be like, "Well, I've ruined the arc of the character forever. That scene is never going to work. I know because I can never shoot it again." So, it's all miserable, but in different ways.
I really would like to stop working forever–never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I’m doing now–and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I’d like to keep living with someone — maybe even a man — and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence.
I would remind people that this day of your life will never come again. Do not use one day of your life carelessly. It will never come again. You'll never see the person you're sitting across from in that light or in that way. You will never see the sunset twice. This day will never come again.
I think music can define our lives. It's interesting when we meet our heroes; sometimes they really let us down, and sometimes we realize that they're just other human beings like us, with the same drama and fears and everything else going into their lives. I've worked with lots of people at different stages of their careers - going up, going down. Some people I've worked with I would never want to work with again, and some people would probably say they never want to work with me again. But all in all, it was definitely cool.
We’re staying together,” he promised. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Only then did she understand what would happen. A one-way trip. A very hard fall. ”As long as we’re together,” she said. She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw sunlight far, far above- maybe the last sunlight she would ever see. Then Percy let go of his ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.
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