A Quote by Molly O'Neill
It reminded him of his Uncle Seamus, the notorious and poetic drunk, who would sit down at the breakfast table the morning after a bender, drain a bottle of stout and say 'Ah, the chill of consciousness returns
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Twitter, I always say is the drunk uncle of my personality, because I say some stuff sometimes that, you know that drunk uncle at the Thanksgiving table, he starts rambling on about, that he shouldn't have said so sometimes I do that.
If you're going to be a writer you should sit down and write in the morning, and keep it up all day, every day. Charles Bukowski, no matter how drunk he got the night before or no matter how hungover he was, the next morning he was at his typewriter. Every morning. Holidays, too. He'd have a bottle of whiskey with him to wake up with, and that's what he believed. That's the way you became a writer: by writing. When you weren't writing, you weren't a writer.
In these days a man is nobody unless his biography is kept so far posted up that it may be ready for the national breakfast-table on the morning after his demise.
His epitaph: This tomb hold Diophantus, Ah, what a marvel! And the tomb tells scientifically the measure of his life. God vouchsafed that he should be a boy for the sixth part of his life; when a twelfth was added, his cheeks acquired a beard; He kindled for him the light of marriage after a seventh, and in the fifth year after his marriage He granted him a son. Alas! late-begotten and miserable child, when he had reached the measure of half his father's life, the chill grave took him. After consoling his grief by this science of numbers for four years, he reached the end of his life.
When I read the pilot 'for Married with Children', it just reminded me of my Uncle Joe... just a self-deprecating kind of guy. He'd come home from work, and the wife would maybe say 'I ran over the dog this morning in the driveway'. And he would say 'Fine, what's for dinner?
When I read the pilot for Married with Children, it just reminded me of my Uncle Joe... just a self-deprecating kind of guy. Hed come home from work, and the wife would maybe say I ran over the dog this morning in the driveway. And he would say Fine, whats for dinner?
New Zealanders are so chill. I know they say Australians are chill, and I feel like Australians are chill, but I keep thinking, "If they get drunk, they would commit a hate crime." Now that is an extreme position to take, but it's just a feeling I get. New Zealand people, I don't see that.
There's a difference between ad-libbing and improvising. And there's a difference between not knowing what to do and just saying something. Or making choices as an actor. As a writer also, as a person who's making a film, as a cameraman, everything is a choice. And it seems to me I don't really have to direct anyone or write down that somebody's getting drunk; all I have to do is say that there's a bottle there and put a bottle there and then they're going to get drunk.
It's always the mother's fault, ain't it?" she said softly, collecting her coat. "That boy turn out bad cause his mama a drunk, or she a junkie. She let him run wild, she don't teach him right from wrong. She never home when he back from school. Nobody ever say his daddy a drunk, or his daddy not home after school. And nobody ever say they some kids just damned mean.
My father had put these things on the table. I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed. I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle's money. To telling him I was leaving. And I was so ashamed.
HEAVEN knows the difference between SUNDAY morning and WEDNESDAY afternoon. God longs to speak as CLEARLY in the workplace as He does in the sanctuary. He longs to be WORSHIPED when we sit at the dinner table and not just when we come to His communion table. You may go days without THINKING of Him, but there's never a moment when He's not thinking of YOU.
I would sit at the table with the black kids during lunch, and we'd do our banter back and forth. But occasionally, I'd get up and I'd go sit down with the white kids and chat with them and what not. Of course, because I come from the black table they would look at me like, 'Why are you here?'
One thing about Andy Warhol that was remarkable and also key to his widespread appeal is that he was so open! He would get on the phone and talk to the kid who called to say he was a fan - you know, Andy would walk from his house every morning down to the Factory carrying a bunch of Interviews - people would stop him and he would sign them, and what have you.
I'm a big believer in creating family traditions. Every Tuesday morning, I make a proper eggs breakfast, and we all sit down and eat.
Well that's what Andy wore to bed. You know, the oxford button-down Brooks Brothers shirt that he's been wearing all day and his big long socks. He'd just take off his jeans and his boots and go to bed. Then he'd change into a fresh ensemble after he had breakfast the next morning.
A man is at the bar, drunk. I pick him up off the floor, and offer to take him home. On the way to my car, he falls down three times. When I get to his house, I help him out of the car, and on the way to the front door, he falls down four more times. I ring the bell and say, Here's your husband! The man's wife says, Where's his wheelchair?
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