A Quote by Christine McVie

I had the feeling every time I was on a plane everyone was going to die. It was a horrible phobia. A stupid one. — © Christine McVie
I had the feeling every time I was on a plane everyone was going to die. It was a horrible phobia. A stupid one.
No, there's going to be no even tenor with me. The more uneven it is the happier I shall be. And when my time comes to die, I'll be able to die happy, for I will have done and seen and heard and experienced all the joy, pain, thrills — every emotion that any human ever had — and I'll be especially happy if I am spared a stupid, common death in bed.
Okay, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I'm a very superstitious person. I'm walking onto the plane as we speak. I'm putting my hands on the outside of the plane and my feet are on the lip of the plane. I have to do it every time before I fly.
All that waiting around for a glimmer of stage time, just getting angry every week... It was just an oppressive, horrible, horrible place to be. I went to work feeling nauseous.
Some time ago we heard a strange story. The pilot of a small plane said that he had been caught in a one hundred fifty mile gale, which held his plane perfectly still. The motor was roaring, he claimed, but the plane was not moving. "It was weird," he said , "to be going one hundred fifty miles an hour and yet not be going anywhere at all."
I'm not going to please everyone; not everyone's going to like me. I accepted that a long time ago, and if I had to shed a tear every time I got a hate email, believe me, I'd be severely dehydrated.
On the plane was a Time magazine and there was a 30 page article on diabetes, and I read every page. By the time that plane landed, I had diabetes.
In Paris, AIDS was dismissed as an American phobia until French people started dying; then everyone said, 'Well, you have to die some way or another.' If Americans were hysterical and pragmatic, the French were fatalistic: depressed but determined to keep the party going.
I am terrified of plane landing. It's a phobia for me.
But clever people all make one mistake. They all think everyone else is stupid. And everyone isn't stupid. They just take a bit more time, that's all.
Every time I'm feeling anxious, I go to my little meditation corner in my room and write down whatever I'm feeling. If I'm feeling terrible, I write that I'm feeling terrible and I accept that and I keep going, but I'm not going to wallow in that moment.
When I get on a plane, I kiss the plane and I tap it three times. If I don't do it... I have to do it. One time I sat in my seat and I had to get back up to touch the plane.
The first time I ever saw platform shoes in the '70s, I knew they'd been revived from the '40s, and I felt sickened. And for whatever reason, they keep getting revived. They've come back four times. I wish we could let them die. They want to die. They were horrible then, they're horrible now.
If you had a job, and every day you're going back home and telling all your friends how horrible your job is and how horrible your employer is, after a while, they're going to start believing you. And then at some point, they're going to start questioning you and say, 'Why, if it's so bad, are you doing it?'
In all my life I'd never been approached this way, the car pulling up, the Where you going? It was something I wish had happened hundreds of times. I was a looker - someone who looked over at every car at every traffic light, hoping something would happen, and almost never finding anyone looking back - always everyone looking forwards, and every time I felt stupid. Why should people look at you? Why should they care?
Everybody is going to die, so people are enthralled by the possibility that they don't have to completely die, that there is something that comes afterward. It's like if you're going to France for the summer, you're going to read up on it. Everyone just wants to know where they're going, or if they're going anywhere.
She hissed, right there behind my ear, and I had the horrible idea she was spitting maggots into my hair. Why maggots were a problem when I was about to be dead, I didn’t know, but the idea completely grossed me out. “In the womb I heard you die, for no one lives when a banshee cries.” I wasn’t just going to die. I was going to be rhymed to death. That simply wasn’t fair.
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