A Quote by Kirstie Alley

I had the halfway house. I can't tell how many nights I spent around my kitchen table, soothing broken hearts. — © Kirstie Alley
I had the halfway house. I can't tell how many nights I spent around my kitchen table, soothing broken hearts.
A light was on in the kitchen. His mother sat at the kitchen table, as still as a statue. Her hands were clasped together, and she stared fixatedly at a small stain on the tablecloth. Gregor remembered seeing her that way so many nights after his dad had disappeared. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to scare her or shock her or ever give her any more pain. So, he stepped into the light of the kitchen and said the one thing he knew she wanted to hear most in the world. "Hey, Mom. We're home.
I wander around the house and write in bed, at the kitchen table, by the window, in the yard.
This is what a family is all about - one another, sitting around the table at night. And it's very, very important, I think, for the kid to spend time not only around the table eating with their parents, but in the kitchen.
Broken bottles, broken plates, broken switches, broken gates. Broken dishes, broken parts, streets are filled with broken hearts.
All my fans tell me what a glamorous life I have, but I tell them how hard I work and how many nights I spend alone with my dogs, eating chicken pot pie in my bedroom.
On the good days, my mother would haul out the ukulele and we'd sit around the kitchen table - it was a cardboard table with a linoleum top - and sing.
A world's full of broken hearts. That's all this is. I wondered if there was anyone above the age of say, 18, in the world who hadn't had their hearts broken at some point.
How many of us have had our hearts broken for whatever reason yet find the courage to continue to reach out for love. Emotional vulnerability is true strength to me.
People are sitting at their kitchen table talking about how they're going to pay their bills, and we can speak to the hearts of people on that and show them that we respect them. Ultimately, that's how we have to talk to them. We can't talk down to them.
I have this table in my new house. They put this table in without asking. It was some weird nouveau riche marble table, and I hated it. But it was literally so heavy that it took a crane to move it. We would try to set up different things around it, but it never really worked. I realized that table was my ego. No matter what you put around it, under it, no matter who photographed it, the douchebaggery would always come through.
I'm worried about that man or woman sitting around - the coffee table tonight or in their kitchen talking about how are we going to get to work. How are we going to have the dignity to take care of our family.
Many Pakistani fans will say they have followed their team for too long and had their hearts broken many times, but I love them, and I love their cricket.
When people come up to me and say, "I was at your Game 7 in the playoffs in Toronto," or, "I saw your first goal in the NHL," that triggers memories. But I don't sit around my kitchen table and tell my kids, "You know, one year I got 92 goals."
My art career actually began under the kitchen table. My mother wanted to get me out of her hair while she cooked, so she laid out some paper and pencils on the floor under the kitchen table.
Young ladies may have been crossed in love, and have had their sufferings, their frantic moments of grief and tears, their wakeful nights, and so forth; but it is only in very sentimental novels that people occupy themselves perpetually with that passion, and I believe what are called broken hearts are a very rare article indeed.
For example, when I was writing Leviathan, which was written both in New York and in Vermont - I think there were two summers in Vermont, in that house I wrote about in Winter Journal, that broken-down house... I was working in an out-building, a kind of shack, a tumble-down, broken-down mess of a place, and I had a green table. I just thought, "Well, is there a way to bring my life into the fiction I'm writing, will it make a difference?" And the fact is, it doesn't make any difference. It was a kind of experiment which couldn't fail.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!