A Quote by Echo Bodine

I thought my inner voice was telling me it was time to sell my house and get rid of everything that I had. But what I was told was to just make my load lighter. — © Echo Bodine
I thought my inner voice was telling me it was time to sell my house and get rid of everything that I had. But what I was told was to just make my load lighter.
The generation before me certainly told me that there would come a point when there were fewer parts, telling me to make hay while the sun shone. There was a time in my late thirties when I thought that it was something I had to get myself ready for, that things were going to slow down as I hit 40.
Young men and women of color get told 'no' by so many people. But just listen to your inner voice. Amplify it. Make it strong!
The size of your key ring is the size of your headaches. Si Redd once told me, "Every time you buy something you sell a piece of yourself." Why? Because you have to maintain it, to insure it, to worry about it. So the more you buy, the more you sell a piece of yourself and pretty soon you get so thin you can't do anything. So get rid of all those things and get back to the basics. Everybody has his own basics: it's what he enjoys. Si Redd told me I would "arrive" when I got down to one key. Still working on that!
What's agitating about solitude is the inner voice telling you that you should be mated to somebody, that solitude is a mistake. The inner voice doesn't care about who you find. It just keeps pestering you, tormenting you.
My reality is that God speaks to you every day. There's an inner voice, and when you hear it, you get a little tingle in your medulla oblongata at the back of your neck, a little shiver, and at two o'clock in the morning, everything's really quiet and you meditate and you got the candles, you got the incense and you've been chanting, and all of a sudden you hear this voice: Write this down. It is just an inner voice, and you trust it. That voice will never take you to the desert.
I just broke up all the furniture in the house. My mother had to get rid of me. So she put me in dance class.
We have tried everything to get rid of suffering. We have gone everywhere to get rid of suffering. We have bought everything to get rid of it. We have ingested everything to get rid of it. Finally, when one has tried enought, there arises the possibility of spiritual maturity with the willingness to stop the futile attempt to get rid of it and, instead, to actually experience suffering. In that momentous instant, there is the realization of that which is beyond suffering, of that which is untouched by suffering. There is the realization of who one truly is.
What scares me the most is that both the poker bot and Dropbox started out as distractions. That little voice in my head was telling me where to go, and the whole time I was telling it to shut up so I could get back to work. Sometimes that little voice knows best.
No one ever told me I had a good voice or anything; no one ever told me I could sing. They just let me get on with it.
My boyfriend keeps telling me I've got to own things. So, first I bought this car. And then he told me I oughta get a house. 'Why a house?' 'Well, you gotta have a place to park the car.'
It all started with the most basic level of Uta Hagen, right at the beginning. I'm like, 'Really? I came to grad school; I'm going to do the 'Respect for Acting'?' And I realized the importance of that, because it was really to just get you to get rid of everything. Get rid of everything you've learned and just start from the bottom up.
[Sasha] for me it was a dream. I got to tell everybody where to go and how fast to get there. It was very exciting. It was still an Aaron Spelling show, with the hair and make-up and everything, but there were also motorcycles. For my life, at that time, it was such a perfect thing. I had all this inner anger to get out, and it was so exciting to get paid to do it. She had anger and sexuality and rebellion, but there was still that very sweet core. I didn't have to be something entirely unrecognizable or un-relatable. I just loved her to death.
They didn't tell me what type of cancer I had. They didn't tell me what stage I was in. They just told me, 'Mr Gomez, you have cancer.' My life flashed before my eyes. I thought about my kids, I thought about my wife. Nothing prepares you for the shock of someone telling you you have that horrible disease.
Have you ever watched a child learning to walk? Before this week, I never had, but there's a certain grace to it. Well, if not grace, then tenacity. Fall down nine times--get up ten. And the tenth time you get where you're going, you don't stop, not for obstacles, not for other people telling you to stop. You don't listen to anything but that inner voice until you arrive where you want to be.
What's agitating about solitude is the inner voice telling you that you should be mated to somebody, that solitude is a mistake. The inner voice doesn't care about who you find. It just keeps pestering you, tormenting you--if you happen to be me--with homecoming queens first, then girls next door, and finally anybody who might be pleased to see you now and then at the dinner table and in bed on occasion. You look up from reading the newspaper and realize that no one loves you, and no one burns for you.
She asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had to end it. She was surprised, and asked my why I thought so. I told her it wasn't a thought, more a feeling, like I couldn't breathe and knew I had to get some air. It was a survival instinct, I told her. She said it was time for dinner. Then she sat me down and told me not to worry. She said moments like this were like waking up in the middle of the night: You're scared, your'e disoriented, and you're completely convinced you're right. But then you stay awake a little longer and you realize things aren't as fearful as they seem.
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