A Quote by Matt Dillon

I grew up with the white picket fence. My dad went to work nine to five, and he had a station wagon. — © Matt Dillon
I grew up with the white picket fence. My dad went to work nine to five, and he had a station wagon.
I’d like to have a nice home set up, with a couple of dogs, and a fence, white picket fence.
When I was a kid I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I did know what I didn't want to do. I didn't want to grow up, have 2.2 kids, get married, the whole white picket fence thing.
I’d given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.
I'm not white-picket-fence perfect.
Keeping it all together as a modern woman means multitasking, especially when you work. I think you always need to try your best, but at the same time you can only do what you can do, and you don't need to beat yourself up about it. I'm not white-picket-fence perfect.
I can't give you the white picket fence, and if I did, you'd set it on fire.
I wanted to live in the suburbs and have a white picket fence and my own bedroom. And a staircase - I thought having a staircase meant that you were a normal family. I thought somehow if you could transplant us to the suburbs, we would become a normal family. But in retrospect, I'm so grateful I grew up in the Chelsea.
Yeah, you got the family dog and the white picket fence, and you just think that's all there is. Some of us had to grow up in poverty-stricken urban neighborhoods, and we just had to adapt to our environment. I know that it's wrong. But people act like it's some crazy thing they never heard of. They don't know.
Life is not living in the suburbs with a white picket fence. That's not life. Somehow our American culture has made it out that that's what life needs to be - and that if it's not that, it's all screwed up. It's not.
Like you see in the fairy tales, that's how it planned out in my head. Kids, little white picket fence, the American dream.
I've always loved the drama and the creating of a role and performance and all that comes with that, but I then also kind of like to have just the white picket fence life if that makes sense.
By August 2008, we had left Voikovskaya and moved into a wooden dacha in the artists' colony of Sokol in north-west Moscow. The house was a haven amid the madness of the city: lily of the valley grew near our front gate, Virginia creeper decked the green picket fence.
Everyone saw me on TV or read articles, and it was all about my great marriage, the white picket fence, all this success and my perfect life. But behind the scenes, it was a struggle.
The neighborhood I grew up in had this fence that surrounds the watershed. And if you go on the other side of that fence, there's nothing until the North Pole and down to Siberia. It's the absolute cutoff point between man and nature.
I used to live with my grandmother. I used to wonder why the other kids in school went home with their mothers and fathers. I wanted to be the guy that got married. I wanted to be the guy with the children and the white picket fence. I never had that.
I know that Dad was an idol to millions who grew up loving his music and his ideals. But to me he wasn't a musician or a peace icon, he was the father I loved and who let me down in so many ways. After the age of five, when my parents separated, I saw him only a handful of times, and when I did he was often remote and intimidating. I grew up longing for more contact with him but felt rejected and unimportant in his life. ... ... While Dad was fast becoming one of the wealthiest men in his field, Mum and I had very little and she was going out to work to support us.
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