A Quote by Frankie Avalon

I wish I could talk to Annette, but she doesn't even correspond at this point. — © Frankie Avalon
I wish I could talk to Annette, but she doesn't even correspond at this point.
Annette Bening should've won Oscar for American Beauty. I mean, I know Hilary Swank was there, she was so great too... Annette deserves one. She better win. I'm an Academy voter, and I voted for her.
...she could express her soul with that voice, whenver I listened to her I felt my life meant more than mere biology...she could really hear, she understood structure and she could analyze exactly what it was about a piece of music that had to be rendered just so...she was a very emotional person, Annette. She brought that out in other people. After she died I don't think I ever really felt anything again.
Here I am, wasting away inside a book I wish I could escape, and all she wants to do is stay in the story. If I could talk to this girl Delilah, I’d ask her why on earth she would ever trade a single second of the world she’s in for the one in which I’m stuck
I wish there was something where you could blink an eye and be somewhere. I'm a very nervous flier. I wish we could get from point A to point B instantly.
He began to trace a pattern on the table with the nail of his thumb. "She kept saying she wanted to keep things exactly the way they were, and that she wished she could stop everything from changing. She got really nervous, like, talking about the future. She once told me that she could see herself now, and she could also see the kind of life she wanted to have - kids, husband, suburbs, you know - but she couldn't figure out how to get from point A to point B.
I wish I could say confidently that pacing remains my weak point, if you could talk about your own stuff without sounding like you're self-obsessed. But I think you kind of have to be.
I told him that I loved him and that I'd always love him and I felt like a child who throws a centavo into a fountain and then she has to tell someone her most extraordinary wish even though she knows that the wish should be kept secret and that, in telling it, she is quite probably losing it. He replied that I was not to worry, that the penny could come out of the fountain again and again and again.
Dad," I said hesitantly, "I wish you could be there for me even when I'm doing the wrong thing. I wish you could love me even when I'm screwing up.
The really funny thing is that most all of my friends who are priests have seen me perform, and they say, 'I wish I could talk the way you do on stage. I wish I could reveal truth to my congregation the way you do.'
And yet she could not forgive herself. Even as an adult, she wished only that she could go back and change things: the ungainly things she’d worn, the insecurity she’d felt, all the innocent mistakes she made.
I'm not saying she was lying to me, but she just acted so different before I got to know her, and if she really isn't like what she was at the beginning, I wish she could have just said so.
The most comical thing for me, even when I watch movies, is the guy who's so crazy confident about himself, with the mink jacket - to me, that is so funny. I wish I could be like that. As a fighter, I wish I could do that, so I could make people laugh. But I can't; it's not my style.
And yet, even as she spoke, she knew that she did not wish to come back. not to stay, not to live. She loved the little yellow cottage more than she loved any place on earth. but she was through with it except in her memories.
I had just gotten to the point when I could have bought any car I wanted to in America. I even looked at a Hummer. But one day I woke up and realized, how can I talk the talk without walking the walk? If you can feel good about not contributing to global change, then all the power to you, but I couldn't.
Do you know what you’ve done?” I asked in a bland tone. Annette gave me an inquiring look. “You’ve gotten on my last nerve.” The table went crashing into her before she could blink, and then my fist found a home in her perfectly arranged hair.
The only language she could speak was grief. How could he not know that? Instead, she said, "I love you." She did. She loved him. But even that didn't feel like anything anymore.
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