A Quote by Keerthy Suresh

I don't know if I am going to become an A-lister tomorrow. — © Keerthy Suresh
I don't know if I am going to become an A-lister tomorrow.
...He went to Scotland and studied under Lister...("Lister was persecuted by the British Medical Association. He was threatened with having his license revoked.") Yet in Lister's hospital virtually no one died as a result of operations because Lister had developed a carbolic acid wash and disinfectant. Dr. Keen came back from Scotland...He was referred to as a crazy Listerite.....He was denied an opportunity to practice in every hospital in Philadelphia.
I do good work in Pakistan. I am an A-lister actor. So, even in Bollywood I want to work with an A-lister.
The whole point of being an artist is to have no agenda. To say, you know, I don't know what I am going to do tomorrow, I don't know what it's going to look like, and I'm going to have a go at it.
I might not know who I was yesterday or who I'm going to be tomorrow, but I know who I am right now.
I still don't know where I am going to sleep tomorrow.
As long as I get to do the kind of work I want to do, I am okay with being a Z-lister.
I'm not under any illusion that I'm an A-lister; I don't think I'm even on the alphabet scale. But I'm in people's houses every day - I'm there when they wake up and there when they go to bed. So people think they know who I am. And, to a certain extent, they do.
I believe I am becoming pathetic. I'll go further, I believe that I am in love with a flower-growing, wood-carving quarryman/carpenter/pig farmer. In fact, I know I am. Perhaps tomorrow I will become entirely miserable at the thought that he doesn't love me back - may, even, care for Remy- but at this precise moment I am succumbing to euphoria. My head and stomach feel quite odd.
So, tomorrow, I’m leaving. And I’m not going to let that happen again with anyone else. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is.
But the bottom line is, no matter what, even if I shoot 90 tomorrow, I'm going to enjoy it. Maybe people will say "Oh, he blew it" or whatever. Maybe I'm going to blow it, it's the first time I've ever been there. What do you expect? You know I'm not number one in the world. My knees are going to touch each other on the first tee tomorrow. But let me tell you, I'm going to enjoy it.
No one is fanatically shouting that the sun is going to rise tomorrow. They know it's going to rise tomorrow.
And one thing to be remembered: it is not that the people who are poor, starving, become frustrated with life - no. They cannot become frustrated. They have not lived yet - how can they be frustrated? They have hopes. A poor man always has hopes that something is going to happen - if not today then tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow; if not in this life then in the next life.
The difference between me and Tiny Lister is that he has never been the greatest actor, he hasn't been able to do a lot of big talking parts in movies, or even... he kind of has one emotion. He never looks at his career as an obstacle, he only looks at the positives. He's done... he knows, he has an opportunity. I mean, you see in a script, "Tiny Lister" type, you know you've made your mark. I mean on Friday After Next, that's what everyone expected me to be the new Tiny because it was that sort of part to fill that role, but if you look at the movie, there was a lot more there.
I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. I just know for sure I'm going to keep playing basketball.
Tomorrow at 7, I shall be shot; but I am innocent of the crime of rebellion. I am going to die with a tranquil conscience.
I thought Marcus was going to be in my life forever. Then I thought I was wrong. Now he’s back. But this time I know what’s certain: Marcus will be gone again, and back again and again and again because nothing is permanent. Especially people. Strangers become friends. Friends become lovers. Lovers become strangers. Strangers become friends once more, and over and over. Tomorrow, next week, fifty years from now, I know I’ll get another one-word postcard from Marcus, because this one doesn’t have a period signifying the end of the sentence. Or the end of anything at all.
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