A Quote by Neil Gaiman
He was walking into Faerie, in search of a fallen star, with no idea how he would find the star, nor how to keep himself safe and whole as he tried. He looked back and fancied that he could see the lights of Wall behind him, wavering and glimmering as if in a heat-haze, but still inviting.
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Man is the highest product of his own history. The discoverer finds nothing so grand or tall as himself, nothing so valuable to him. The greatest star is at the small end, of the telescope,--the star that is looking, not looked after nor looked at.
You know when there's a star, like in show business, the star has her name in lights on the marquee! Right? And the star gets themoney because the people come to see the star, right? Well, I'm the star, and all of you are in the chorus.
I used to draw stickmen with star glasses when I was at school. I didn't realise that would end up being me! The whole idea was that the glasses had mirrors, and if a youngster looked at me, they'd see themselves. Everybody is a star.
I learned to listen as a good guy, how to fight back without throwing away the heat, and how to fight back while I was still hurting. That part would always keep you in the game and keep you in the match.
In the early days of film, fans used to idolize a whole star - they would take one star and love everything about that star ... Today people can idolize a star in one area and forget about him in another. A big rock star might sell millions and millions of records, but then if he makes a bad movie ... forget it.
You know, he's a bit of a rock star, but I think he's consciously learnt how to make people feel comfortable around him. Because otherwise, how could anyone act opposite him? The whole time you'd be thinking, 'My god, it's Johnny Depp!'
Every star, whether it's Harrison Ford or Robert De Niro, is remembered by one film. Persis is a star in the sky - how can a star be forgotten when all you have to do is look up and see her?
Always look up! Every time I step out-side, that's the first thing I do. Ask your-self, "what star is that?", grab a star chart and try to figure it out. That is basically how I started. Learn your planets and learn how to distinguish them from the stars. Study star charts even during the day and that night, go and see if you can find them. You may surprise yourself!
How could I have kept out this incredible fiction? That's when it all started for me. I was, and still am, a HUGE Star Trek fan. "Songs Of The Ocean" is my tribute to this great story, and it's based on the Star Trek IV movie, the one in which they go back in time. [The Voyage Home ; It's the one where they bring a pair of whales to the future -ed.]
If one who looked from a tower for a new star, watching for years the same part of the sky, suddenly saw it (quite by chance while thinking of other things), and knew it for the star for which he had hoped, how many millions of men would never care?
I could have told him that nothing was safe and that no matter how careful you were and how hard you tried, there were still accidents, hidden traps, and snares. You could get killed on an airplane or crossing the street. Your marriage could fall apart when you weren't looking; your husband could lose his job; our baby could get sick or die.
I would like to see us find Osama Bin Laden, but let's say we did capture him. Let's say we did kill him. How much good would that do? There's still thousands of people behind him. It's this huge thing.
A lot of times, I've always looked at pitching in the All-Star Game as a prelude to how you pitch in the postseason, sometimes how you might have to pitch on two days' rest out of the pen, only throw one inning and then you have to go face the best hitters. That's what you do in the All-Star Game.
He almost said to himself that he did not like her, before their conversation ended; he tried so hard to compensate himself for the mortified feeling, that while he looked upon her with an admiration he could not repress, she looked at him with proud indifference, taking him, he thought, for what, in his irritation, he told himself - was a great fellow, with not a grace or a refinement about him.
Happier are all men than the dwellers in Faerie – or the gods, for that matter…Better a life like a falling star, bright across the dark, than a deathlessness that can see naught above or beyond itself…the day draws nigh when Faerie shall fade, the Erlking himself shrink to a woodland sprite and then to nothing, and the gods go under. And the worst of it is, I cannot believe it wrong that the immortals will not live forever.
If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him - the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn't she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to make her smile? What of his knowledge of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?
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