A Quote by Dorothy Parker
[On the ringing of her doorbell or telephone:] What fresh hell is this?
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I don't know about other writers, but for myself, to write I must be relatively quiet - it's very difficult to write with the telephone and the doorbell ringing and conversation going on; I'm not that good a writer to write through all that!
You wouldn't believe that I still have the bikers with the caps to the side at my door, ringing the doorbell.
I was chased by the press and the doorbell used to keep ringing throughout the night.
My father was never very friendly. When I was growing up, I thought the doorbell ringing was a signal to pretend you weren't home.
Getting up early means I can write for a few hours before anyone starts phoning me or ringing the doorbell.
A woman spent all Christmas Day in a telephone box without ringing anyone. If someone comes to phone, she leaves the box, then resumes her place afterwards. No one calls her either, but from a window in the street, someone watched her all day, no doubt since they had nothing better to do. The Christmas syndrome.
Nowadays, if a man living in a civilized country (ha!) hears cannon blasts in his sleep, he will, of course, mistake them for thunderclaps, gun salutes on the feast day of the local patron saint, or furniture being moved by the slime-buckets living upstairs, and go right on sleeping soundly. But the ringing of the telephone, the triumphal march of the cell phone, or the doorbell, no: Those are all sounds of summons in response to which the civilzed man (ha-ha!) has no choice but to surface from the depths of slumber and answer.
Chutzpah' is best defined as a small boy peeing through someone's letter box, then ringing the doorbell to ask how far it went.
If you're ringing my doorbell eight times every three minutes and hiding behind my garbage cans, I will call the police. That is literally harassment.
I get fed up with all this nonsense of ringing people up and lighting cigarettes and answering the doorbell that passes for action in so many modern plays.
Love is the hardest thing in the world to write about. So simple. You've got to catch it through details, like the early morning sunlight hitting the gray tin of the rain spout in front of her house. The ringing of a telephone that sounds like Beethoven's "Pastoral." A letter scribbled on her office stationery that you carry around in your pocket because it smells of all the lilacs in Ohio.
The telephone bell was ringing wildly, but without result, since there was no-one in the room but the corpse.
Some one invented the telephone, And interrupted a nation's slumbers, Ringing wrong but similar numbers.
It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.
I remember if the telephone rang after 9 o'clock in the house, my mother would say, 'Who's ringing at this time?' We just wouldn't answer the phone.
She [Joni Mitchell] wanted to have that (jazz) element in her music. Of course, when she heard Jaco's [Jaco Pastorius'] music and met him, that floored her -- really grabbed her. She decided that Wayne Shorter was really conducive to her music. She would speak metaphorically about things. "I want this to sound like a taxicab driver, or a taxi in New York," or "I want this to sound like a telephone ringing." She would speak to musicians like that, and we really tuned into what she would want our music to be.
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