I was attacked the other night for being grandiose. I would just want you to note: Lincoln standing at Council Bluffs was grandiose. The Wright Brothers standing at Kitty Hawk were grandiose. John F. Kennedy was grandiose. I accept the charge that I am grandiose and that Americans are instinctively grandiose.
It's here somewhere," I assured him. "Please tell me you haven't lost it already." "We did fall out of the sky, you know," I said indignantly. "It's easy for things to go missing.
The Carnival dancers are such a vital part of any carnival, whether it's in Rio, Mardi Gras or even Notting Hill Carnival in my home town of London. Once you see them, you know it's time to party.
I come from a place where you have a lot of sky. But [in New York City] you have to really look up to realize that there is eventually sky, somewhere. ...Sky is not a common commodity.
I've got two shirts still missing from the Bahamas. I'm sure they are part of a youth camping programme somewhere in Tanzania by now.
...there's no such thing as an underwear elf. Even when it goes missing, it's somewhere in the room. So make sure you find it." -- DARK OF NIGHT by Suzanne Brockmann
Memory's so treacherous. One moment you're lost in a carnival of delights with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon on puberty, all that sentimental candyfloss. The next, it leads you somewhere you don't want to go.. Somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp ambiguous shapes of things you'd hoped were forgotten.
I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.
I will beg, will take to my knees, will listen to snow
stroking air, a sky of gasps, will open my mouth,
swallow, somewhere else the sky is falling,
somewhere else it gets back up.
Somewhere a bicycle bell rings. Somewhere else there's a war on. Somewhere else people turn to shadows and powder in an instant and the streets turn to funnels and light the sky with their burning. Somewhere a war is over.
However much in the foreground depression feels, you are separate to it. This is going to sound cheesy, but I'd say you are the sky. A cloud comes and dominates the sky. But the sky is still the sky. Depression tells you everything is going to get worse, but that's a symptom. Don't give depression power - constantly discredit it.
I guess I don't have a grandiose view of the world in general, and I never believe it when someone else has a grandiose moment.
I am grandiose because I live a grandiose life; what’s wrong with that?
If you say, Well, OK, I don't believe in God. There's no evidence of God, then you're missing the stars in the sky and you're missing the sunrises and sunsets and you're missing the fact that bees pollinate all these crops and keep us alive and the way that everything seems to work together. Everything is sort of built in a way that to me suggests intelligent design.
Zorba is beautiful, but something is missing. The earth is his, but the heaven is missing. He is earthly, rooted, like a giant cedar, but he has no wings. He cannot fly into the sky. He has roots but no wings.
That's what we're missing. We're missing argument. We're missing debate. We're missing colloquy. We're missing all sorts of things. Instead, we're accepting.