A Quote by James Crumley

Home is where you hang your hangover. — © James Crumley
Home is where you hang your hangover.
A piece of advice I would give to young actors - hang on to your family, and hang on to your reality - and hang on to your "real". Because you're going into the land of make believe.
I do believe people ought to be left alone. I don't care who you are or what you do at home or who your friends are or where you hang out, what kind of music you listen to, what you do in your home is your own business. That's always been who I am. I am a leave me alone kind of guy.
Home is where you hang your hat.
Home is where you hang your head.
Home is where you hang your architect.
Everywhere you hang your hat is home. Home is the bright cave under the hat.
When was it that people decided as a society that your body is in one place and your sexuality in another place, something like a hat, or a coat, that when you leave home you hang it and when you come back home you say, "Ah! Let's wear my sexuality! I might wear it tonight"? It is something that belongs to your body.
You come home, and you party. But after that, you get a hangover. Everything about that is negative.
A real hangover is nothing to try out family remedies on. The only cure for a real hangover is death.
He who truly believes he has a hangover has no hangover.
'The Hangover' was, like, solid. I laughed a bit, you know. Seven out of 10, maybe. But I made it 32 minutes into 'Hangover 2' before I walked out.
We show people that anybody can paint a picture that they're proud of. It may never hang in the Smithsonian, but it will certainly be something that they'll hang in their home and be proud of. And that's what it's all about.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Your real home isn't your patterned self. It isn't your thinking. It isn't your feeling. Your real home is the deepest within that you know the truth of. Your real home, your only home, is direct knowledge.
Any old place I can hang my hat is home sweet home to me.
Yes, it is the Big Easy, home of the shortest hangover on the planet, where libation can greet you on Monday morning with the same smile as it did on Saturday night.
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