A Quote by Mara Wilson
The next time a former child star is in the news, look at the age at which he or she started performing. Then imagine making a life-changing decision at that age. Chances are good he or she wasn't the one who made it.
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Over and over in the play my character says, "I'm thirty-two years old," as if that should explain everything that's wrong in her life. I don't know what it's like to be thirty-two, but I can imagine. I imagine she means she's stuck in an in-between time, she's at an age that isn't a milestone but more of a no-man's-land, an age where she's feeling like her hopes are fading.
My first crush was at the age of 10, on Emma Peel in 'The Avengers.' She was a powerful woman, which I found very appealing. It had something to do with the leathers she wore: they made her look strong and almost masculine, which is what you like when you're that age.
I was recently watching Rihanna on the Billboard awards, and I was like, My God, she's incredible! And then I looked up her age [28]. She's always been talented. She's always been a star. But when you see her, she's becoming herself. It's age that happens. That's what I respond to.
Doris Day started performing at a young age, had a tough road to success, and once she achieved it delivered the goods 100 percent and brilliantly, always making difficult work look as easy as breathing.
I've looked up to Anushka Sharma, she has inspired me, specially how she has taken her career so well. She is producing films, started off at a young age, she is making the films she wants to, producing the ones she believes in.
My mother grew up with each of her children - whatever your age, that's the age she'd be when she listened to your stories. She never belittled our problems. It made for something permanent and reliable.
Since birth, my mother made the decision at age 16 to pretend she never had me. She has never spoken to me. Even if present in the same room with other people and family, she pretends that I simply don't exist. She pretends I'm invisible.
My wife never lies about her age. She just tells everyone she's as old as I am. Then she lies about my age.
A coquette is one that is never to be persuaded out of the passion she has to please, nor out of a good opinion of her own beauty: time and years she regards as things that only wrinkle and decay other women, forgetting that age is written in the face, and that the same dress which became her when she was young now only makes her look older.
Kangana has started believing in her own myth. She says she taught feminism to the film industry, she taught it nationalism. I'm glad she spelled that out because nobody else had noticed! I think she fears the day when she will no longer be in the headlines and so has to keep making outrageous statements to stay in the news.
I connected very much with all the work of Joan Crawford because she started as a flapper. She used to dance and sing and she was very cute. She had something that was so different from what she is at the end of her life and she started in the silent movies and then went into the talkies.
She was astonished, and at the same time she knew. There were many things in life like that. You couldn’t imagine it, and then it happened and you couldn’t really imagine it hadn’t.
At any rate, that’s how I started running. Thirty three—that’s how old I was then. Still young enough, though no longer a young man. The age that Jesus Christ died. The age that Scott Fitzgerald started to go downhill. That age may be a kind of crossroads in life. That was the age when I began my life as a runner, and it was my belated, but real, starting point as a novelist.
Even at the age of eight she would fall asleep by pressing one hand into the other and making believe she was holding the hand of the man whom she loved, the man of her life. So if in her sleep she pressed Tomas hand with such tenacity, we can understand why: she had been training since childhood.
For she was a child, throwing bread to the ducks, between her parents who stood by the lake, holding her life in her arms which, as she neared them, grew larger and larger in her arms, until it became a whole life, a complete life, which she put down by them and said, "This is what I have made of it! This!" And what had she made of it? What, indeed?
And, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she did and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should.
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