A Quote by Claire Cook

Maybe part of find what you wanted was recognizing what you didn't want. Maybe there was hope for me yet. — © Claire Cook
Maybe part of find what you wanted was recognizing what you didn't want. Maybe there was hope for me yet.
I recorded a lot of songs that I knew I didn't like just because maybe part of me wanted to be nice, maybe part of me just wanted to be in the studio, but I've been learning that it's really important to do what you want to do. Even though I might not write all of it, I am still picking out the songs that I want to do. A lot of people who are writing for me are people I have worked with for a while so they know who I am and what I want. I have a lot of opinions and I have learned that it is absolutely okay to express them and to say, "No, I don't want this."
Maybe Liz was right and she'd wanted someplace safe. Maybe Mr. Solomon really did understand that running was the only way Macey would find out if we'd run after her. Or maybe, like me, she just wanted to disappear for a little while
Maybe the heart is part of the mist. And that's all that there is or could ever exist. Maybe and maybe and maybe some more. Maybe's the exit that I'm looking for.
None of it seems real. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s actually happening to someone else. Maybe it’s something I imagined. Maybe soon I’m going to wake up and find everything fixed with Lissa and Dimitri. We’ll all be together, and he’ll be there to smile and hold me and tell me everything ‘s going to be okay. Maybe all of this really has been a dream. But I don’t think so.
I wanted to tell her everything, maybe if I'd been able to, we could have lived differently, maybe I'd be there with you now instead of here. Maybe... if I'd said, 'I'm so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything,' maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn't do it, I had buried too much too deeply inside me. And here I am, instead of there.
But maybe it's up the hills or under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is only part of the missing, and writing is the way the poet finds out what it is he found.
Everybody wants to be a better version of themselves - everybody. And I hope one day I can lose some weight. Maybe, who knows, I'll hire myself a trainer and a fancy cook. In five years, maybe I'll be an action hero. Then again, maybe I'll just be this guy. Who knows? But the fun part is embracing the human side of that.
The woman doesn't look up. It's as if she's deaf. Maybe she is. Maybe she's like the Cambodian women I've read about, the ones who witnessed so many atrocities that they have willed themselves blind. Maybe that's what you have to do sometimes to survive. You kill off part of yourself, your hearing or eyesight, your capacity for hope.
But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is always only part of the missing, and writing is the way the poet finds out what it is he found.
I don't really want to say need because to me--an aggressive, liberated woman--need sounds too pathetic. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe need and want sometimes go together. Maybe I do need and want a man. *************************************************************************************************************************************
You never answered my question, about what you want to do with your life. Maybe my dreams aren't that complicated. Maybe I think that a job is just a job. What does that mean? Maybe I don't want to be defined by what I do. Maybe I'd like to be defined by what I am.
I had a lot of nerves for a long time about career-oriented things, and I've slowly sort of let myself relax into it a bit. Part of me thinks that's maybe the effect of being on two hit shows. I like to think that maybe it's more: You do the things you do, and you do the best you can, and that's all you can hope for, and don't worry too much if it's not it.
I hope that people take away hope, maybe not in an obvious sense, but in the form of hearing somebody who's genuinely fighting to stay above water. And in that fight, there's hope. In that fight, maybe there's positivity.
I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everyone was, especially me.
I put out a lot of different kinds of material, and maybe people read that as egotistical. Or maybe, since a lot of it does involve some aspect of me, they find it self-aggrandizing. But there’s a long tradition of artists using themselves. Look, I know I’m not perfect. And, who knows, maybe a part of it has to do with self-obsession. But it’s also about using this weird thing that is a public persona as raw material for creative projects.
Maybe I could have loved you better. Maybe you should have loved me more. Maybe our hearts were just next in line. Maybe everything breaks sometime.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!