A Quote by John Darnielle

I'm sort of a cavedweller: I miss my house, my yard, my kitchen, my wife. The trees. When I get home, I like to get down into my office neighborhood as soon as I can. — © John Darnielle
I'm sort of a cavedweller: I miss my house, my yard, my kitchen, my wife. The trees. When I get home, I like to get down into my office neighborhood as soon as I can.
A lot of people have a hard time living out of a suitcase, being on the road constantly in different cities. For us it's just kind of what we do. You do get homesick. I miss my wife, I miss my home, I miss my dogs, I miss my kitchen, which is something I like to do outside of this is cook. You miss the simple things. But when you look at the big picture we get to see a crazy amount of cities and the people we get to meet, all over the world it kind of makes up for it. It makes you realize how lucky you are because it could be gone tomorrow you just never know.
To get to the office every day, I either take a Lyft or have my wife drop me off. It's about a 15-minute drive from my house to the office.
We think that life is about get the girl, get the guy, get the car, get the job, get the house, get the kids, get the better job, get the better car, get the better house, get the promotion, get the office in the corner, get the kids on their way, get the grandkids, get the retirement watch, get the cruise tickets, get the illness, and get the heck out. That's it. That's a good life. But life has nothing to do with any of that. That is not our purpose in living. That is not the Agenda of the Soul.
The worst thing about being on the road is all you want to do when you get home is to stay home, but as soon as you get back, all the wife wants to do is go out because she's been stuck home all the time you've been stuck on the road.
My house is made out of balsa wood, so when I want to scare the neighborhood kids I lift it over my head and tell them to get out of my yard or I'll throw it at them.
I guess as you get older you sort of see the mechanics, even with the best comedians. There's admiration for people I admire, but it's not guttural laughter. It's a wry 'Oh, well done, sir.' But I sort of miss that slightly; I miss the raw joy of comedy I used to get.
I wanted a house near my family in a quiet neighborhood with a front yard and a backyard that my dog will like.
If you live in a yard sale kind of neighborhood - in good weather, most neighborhoods are crawling with them on weekends - do a sweep to see what the competition is charging. No one is going to buy your $7 book if they can get it down the block for $1.
When you have no kids, you can come home, play video games, watch TV. Now I come home and my wife is looking at me like, I want to get out the door. She's been with them all day. So, as soon as you come home, you're a human jungle gym, dancing, doing things with them.
My house is very traditional. And I love 'shabby chic.' It's a very homey-cosy vibe. We spend a lot of time in the kitchen, actually; maybe my kids will be doing their homework or that kind of thing when they get home from school. I love my kitchen.
Being smart young men, they say to themselves, "I want to get married, have a family, and I understand my wife wants to work too. Do you, Vicki, know how to help us do that?" Because they're no longer looking at that prospective wife, saying, "Well this is wonderful, you're getting educated, but of course as soon as we get married, you're going to stay home and make babies."
You took a walk on a Sunday afternoon and came to a nice neighborhood, very refined. You saw a small one of these trees through the iron gate leading to someone's yard and you knew that soon that section of Brooklyn would get to be a tenement district. The tree knew. It came there first. Afterwards, poor foreigners seeped in and the quiet old brownstone houses were hacked up into flats, feather beds were pushed out on the window sills to air and the Tree of Heaven flourished. That was the kind of tree it was. It liked poor people.
I want my kids to win. Winners get the corner office, the big house, the hot wife, the whole nine.
Miss Celia stares down into the pot like she's looking for her future. "Are you happy, Minny?" "Why you ask me funny questions like that?" "But are you?" "Course I's happy. You happy too. Big house, big yard, husband looking after you." I frown at Miss Celia and I make sure she can see it. Because ain't that white people for you, wondering if they are happy ENOUGH.
Telugu cinema can really spoil you. They treat you like a queen. As soon as you get down from your van, they will all stand up, and they won't sit till you have passed by. I love that attention and miss that.
As a kid, we would drive up and down 77 North - that's our highway - there would be office buildings on the side of the highway and I'd be like, that's what my house is going to look like when I get older. I'm going to start making my house look like this.
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