A Quote by Damien Hirst
There was a point I could have just churned out the spot and spin paintings for ever and laughed all the way to the bank.
Related Quotes
The spot paintings, the spin paintings, they're all a mechanical way to avoid the actual guy in a room, myself, with a blank canvas.
The spot paintings and spin paintings were trying to find mechanical ways to make paintings.
Do you ever just put your arms out and just spin and spin and spin? Well, that's what love is like; everything inside of you tells you to stop before you fall, but for some reason you just keep going.
I could do without 'cool' publications calling me 'mom jazz.' But I laughed all the way to the bank, baby.
You can spin it any way you want. You could spin it on their side that this is a revenge game. We can spin it from our side that our guys have confidence. They know they can beat them. They beat them once. But you know what? None of that matters. We're two different teams. We played them almost a month and a half ago. And every team is different at this point.
You will be remembered, in the long haul, for the quality of your work, not the quantity of your work. No one evaluates Picasso based on the number of paintings he churned out.
I laughed but before I could agree with the hairdressers that she was crazy, she said, 'What's the world for if you can't make it up the way you want it?' " 'The way I want it?' " 'Yeah. The way you want it. Don't you want it to be something more than what it is?' " 'What'st eh point? I can't change it.' " 'That's the point. If you don't, it will change you and it'll be your fault cause you let it. I let it. And messed up my life.' " 'Mess it up how?' " 'Forgot it.' " 'Forgot?' " 'Forgot it was mine. My life. I just ran up and down the streets wishing I was somebody else.
To be sure, administrations since Ronald Reagan had gone out of their way to massage and 'spin' news to the president's advantage, while the media did its best to un-spin it.
But the fact that some geniuses were laughed at does not imply that all who are laughed at are geniuses. They laughed at Columbus, they laughed at Fulton, they laughed at the Wright Brothers. But they also laughed at Bozo the Clown.
I felt the exact same way.But if it helps,you look much cuter freaking out than I ever did." I peeked out through my hands."But what if I don't get in?" He wrapped his arms around me. "No more worrying about it.You'll get in." "Good.Someone needs to keep an eye on you and that dirty little dyrad of a lab assistant." He laughed,squeezing me until I couldn't breathe. "Why would I ever want a lusty tree nymph when I could have a hyperventilating Evie?
You could go out on a Sunday spin in Carrick-on-Suir, and it's a small town, but you could have 80 riders. That wouldn't even be everyone, in the group. It's just such a good environment to bring guys through, the support and the experience.
Do you understand how there could be any writing in a spider's web?" "Oh, no," said Dr. Dorian. "I don't understand it. But for that matter I don't understand how a spider learned to spin a web in the first place. When the words appeared, everyone said they were a miracle. But nobody pointed out that the web itself is a miracle." "What's miraculous about a spider's web?" said Mrs. Arable. "I don't see why you say a web is a miracle-it's just a web." "Ever try to spin one?" asked Dr. Dorian.
I think the kids in school that laughed at the clothes that we wore and the house that we lived in, and then my mother had to cut hair... I think that was a good motivator. Every time they laughed at me, they just built a fire, and there was only one way to put it out - to try and show 'em I was as good as they were.
I have friends come over and we read plays out loud and I make paintings and I just do things all the time just so I don't ever feel like I'm sitting around.
I don't know if you've ever had just five dollars in the bank, but I've found that if that's all you have, you can't get it out.
The paintings that laughed at him merrily from the walls were like nothing he had ever seen or dreamed of. Gone were the flat, thin surfaces. Gone was the sentimental sobriety. Gone was the brown gravy in which Europe had been bathing its pictures for centuries. Here were pictures riotously mad with the sun. With light and air and throbbing vivacity. Paintings of ballet girls backstage, done in primitive reds, greens, and blues thrown next to each other irreverantly. He looked at the signature. Degas.
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