A Quote by Ellen DeGeneres

Catch-and-release, that's like running down pedestrians in your car and then, when they get up and limp away, saying -- 'Off you go! That's fine. I just wanted to see if I could hit you.'
If a man, cautious, hides his limp, Somebody has to limp it! Things do it; the surroundings limp. House walls get scars, the car breaks down; matter, in drudgery, takes it up.
During my third season of 'Zoo,' I was picked up by a car to go to work. We had this huge scene to shoot that day, but the traffic was just gridlock. My transportation guy got a call saying, 'Where are you? We need to start shooting.' So I got out of the car and just took off running by all of these cars that weren't moving an inch.
You could drive a rental car until you don't want it. Just get out of it while it's moving and just walk away. No, I don't feel like being in that car any longer. Just call Hertz. Hi, your car is drifting into the intersection of 28th and Broadway, if you're interested. It's now your problem.
I wanted to be a musician. I wanted to be a superstar. I wanted to be on stage. I wanted to perform. I wanted to be in movies. But as you grow up, those dreams kind of fade away, and you're hit with reality, and you're like, 'Oh, not everyone can be Lil' Bow Wow?' Fine.
My feeling is, if a dog is that hard up to break free, let it go. It's like a boyfriend who wants to break up. We all know the old adage "If you set someone free, and he never comes back, then he was never yours." I understand the main fear with setting dogs loose is they could get hit by a car, but so could an ex boyfriend. That's just a chance you have to take.
One night I dreamed I was running. When I woke up I forgot I had a limp, so I walked totally normal until I remembered, 'oh, yeah, I have a limp'. Then I immediately stumbled. That showed me that if you have control over your mind, you can do anything.
I live by fallacy. 'If I get enough nice Ikea furniture, I'll be a grown-up.' Then I catch myself. Or, 'If I get off by myself, away from the stress of modern life, I'll be OK.' Then I catch myself.
The BP president said yesterday that the company would survive. That's like someone running over your dog and saying, 'Don't worry, my car is fine.'
I feel like with Indy cars, you can just show up - if you are equipped to build and make a nice car, then you could be competitive. But in NASCAR I don't see that even being possible for someone to just show up with a car. There's too much evolution of the tricks and bells and whistles and all the things it takes to be fast in stock-car racing that you wouldn't know.
I clipped a Ferrari, hit the gravel trap at a fair old speed, which lifted the car up into the barrier, and then rolled a few times. I had no injuries or anything - I just had to wait for the marshals to right the car before I could get out.
Human life is just dangerous, in general. You know, waking up in the morning, you could get hit by a car. Wherever you go, you could choke on a fish bone and die. You never know.
It's like I'll sit down and put my hands on the piano or the guitar, and then I'll hear a sound or I'll feel a chord that will resonate and then I'll get something happening in my voice. My voice is like a car that I get into and drive but I don't know where I'm going. And I record everything. And often, I sort of get into a state, a creative state that is, where I'm just feeling around melodically, and playing things off the top of my head. Then I go back and listen to it and for the first time, hear what I just did. It's like Elvis has left the building while the thing is happening.
I ran road when I was a kid, but for me now, trails are like getting away from the world. If you are a road-runner, you are dodging cars and whatnot, so for me, trail running is a release. When I get up in the morning and I go running, it's therapeutic. Especially in the mountains: the smell, the nature, the wildlife. It's so much nicer. It's easier on the body, since its softer.
I could not see myself going back into the studio without Tommy Dowd, our beloved producer who passed away in 2002. Then in 2009, Michael Lehman, my manager, really pushed me to meet with T Bone Burnett. I ended up meeting with T Bone in Memphis, and we hit it off right away; I knew he was a guy I could work with.
Good night, Seth." "So you're running again, then?" One of his boots thudded on the floor. "I'm not running." The other boot hit the floor. "Really?" "Really. It's just—" She stopped; she didn't have anything that would finish that sentence and be honest. "Maybe you should slow down, so I can catch you." He paused, waiting.
I so wanted out of this conversation, but it was like a car accident: Once you started spinning, you could only wait and see what you hit.
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