A Quote by Jenny Slate

I'd like to be in a tiny indie where I'm lost at sea. — © Jenny Slate
I'd like to be in a tiny indie where I'm lost at sea.
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices in the lost lilac and the lost sea voices and the weak spirit quickens to rebel for the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell quickens to recover.
You can say a lot of bad things about Tiny Cooper. I know, because I have said them. But for a guy who knows absolutely nothing about how to conduct his own relationships, Tiny Cooper is kind of brilliant when it comes to dealing with other people's heartbreak. Tiny is like some gigantic sponge soaking up the pain of lost love everywhere he goes.
When we opened Babbo, we were an indie band. Now we're kinda Apple. We have 19 restaurants and 2,800 employees, we are no longer perceived as the indie band although we think of ourselves as the indie band, and we operate our restaurants as individual indie bands.
I am not yours, nor lost in you, not lost, although I long to be. Lost as a candle lit at noon, lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still a spirit beautiful and bright, yet I am I, who long to be lost as a light is lost in light.
I really love doing indie projects, I think the characters that are available in indie games especially, like a lot of the indie games I've done, have been really rich interesting characters for someone of my vocal range.
Being an indie queen, people think I have all these choices. Like I've just been sitting around waiting for the best indie film that I deem acceptable.
The singing of sea shanties as working songs at sea is a lost art
You get so lost in the making of a film, and you get so fixed on just, like, every tiny detail. If something doesn't hit the bullseye in the way you wanted, you become obsessed with that, and you get so just lost in that maze of neurotic thinking.
There in the windy flood of morning Longing lifted its weight from me, Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering, Swept as a sea-bird out to sea.
Something like 'A Single Man,' it was tiny; it was financed by one guy. We all lost money doing it.
Wherever Harry went inside the tiny cottage or its garden, he could hear the constant ebb and flow of the sea, like the breathing of some great, slumbering creature.
There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
I'd just like to think that there's some kind of underworld where whoever's been lost at sea is there... I dunno, there probably isn't, but I'd like to believe there is.
I'm dying to do a tiny indie and play something totally naturalistic without any sort of constraints on me. Something where I can shock everyone.
The virtues are lost in self-interest as rivers are lost in the sea.
I have this whole section in my oyster book where I talk about how New Yorkers have gotten divorced from the sea and completely forget that they live by the sea, and I suggest that this happened when they lost their oysters.
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