My biggest blast-off hit was 'You Raise Me Up.' If you ever have a wedding or a funeral, it's a good pick.
You are thirty minutes late." "Yes." "Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral?" "No." "Why not, pray tell?" "Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.
The biggest problem is the funerals that don't exist. People call the funeral home, they pick up the body, they mail the ashes to you, no grief, no happiness, no remembrance, no nothing. That happens more often than it doesn't in the United States.
A wedding, a great wedding, is just a blast. A celebration of romance and community and love... What is unfun about that? Nothing.
Builders, raise the ceiling high, Raise the dome into the sky, Hear the wedding song! For the happy groom is near, Tall as Mars, and statelier, Hear the wedding song!
I've got no idea when I am going to retire. Whenever they pick me up and take me to the funeral home, I guess.
The biggest thing I want is for the hitter coming up behind me to get a good pitch to hit.
I watch a little bit of tape to pick up small stuff, but I don't try to pick apart my opponent's game plan. I'm going to keep coming forward. I don't ever take a step backward. I get hit, and I'm right back into range.
It’s so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding.
Don't give up. You're going to get kicked in the teeth. A lot. Learn to take a hit, then pick yourself up off the floor. Resilience is the true key to success.
I'm not a bad mimic, and I can pick up speech cadences that I would not pick up if I didn't hit the road.
I grew up in L.A. in the '80s, and the Lakers were the biggest thing to ever hit the world at that time.
I hunted all through the four Gospels trying to find one of Christ's funeral sermons, but I couldn't find any. I found He broke up every funeral He ever attended! Death couldn't exist where He was.
Suddenly, I viddied what I had to do, and what I had wanted to do, and that was to do myself in; to snuff it, to blast off for ever out of this wicked, cruel world. One moment of pain perhaps and, then, sleep forever, and ever and ever.
If you're a pitcher, and you're pitching and you strike me out and you start celebrating on the mound and showing me off, whenever I get a hit off you, I'm going to go and celebrate, and you shouldn't get mad. If you're a pitcher and strike me out and show me respect and you don't show me up, when I get a homer or a hit, I'm not going to show you up. That's what I believe.
I've lost both parents in the last two years, so you pick up on that stuff. That's the most terrible thing about being an author - standing there at your mother's funeral, but you don't switch the author off. So your own innermost thoughts are grist for the mill.