A Quote by Nikki Cox

If I didn't have fake nails, my fingers would be bloody stumps. — © Nikki Cox
If I didn't have fake nails, my fingers would be bloody stumps.
From my hair to my toes to my nails. Everything's fake. Everything! Even my heart is fake.
I remember the first day I was looking at my hands and I thought about my nails. People wouldn't really be paying attention to that, but a Civil War doctor - What would they be doing with their nails? Would they cut them really low? And Dr. Burns said, "No, they would let them grow out so they can scoop stuff out. They would use their nails." So for a while I let my nails grow. They were too long. I kept stabbing myself by accident, so I cut them down, but I was trying to be faithful to the details.
Me, I want to bloody kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more bloody important than being right.
Don't let despair mutate your flesh Look at my twisted stumps of thought See the fingers, listen to the voice I am slowly becoming the end of the line.
I'd always had this romantic idea, ever since I've been writing scripts, that I would travel one day and pull up stumps, as we say in Australia. It's a cricket reference. You can Google it. Pull up stumps in some country like Italy or Spain and do my little Truman Capote thing.
Fake is not a word I like to use because there's nothing fake about what I do. It's a show, it's a predetermined outcome; we're putting on a television drama, action, comedy, whatever you want to call it - but it's not fake. Fake would be if I was just about to take a body slam, and my stuntman did it. Fake would be if I was going to take a chair shot to the head, and the chair was made of rubber. I'll tell the world that it's a show, but I hate the word fake. It's such an unfair term to us.
Only a Californian would have observed that it is becoming increasingly difficult to tell the real fake from the fake fake.
I believe that if we had would keep our dirty, bloody, dollar-crooked fingers out of the business of these nations so full of depressed, exploited people, they will arrive at a solution of their own.
Like for 'Black Nails,' I just had black nails - and I never have black nails. It was my first and last time getting black nails. And that's so not normal for me. So when you're recording, you're up at the mic and you gotta name the file, so I just look down and I'm like, 'Black Nails!' That's literally what it was.
I don't think fake people living in a fake house in a fake suburb are any less dismissible or believable than a fake psychic attending a fake school in a fake town. Nothing's inherently believable about any kind of fiction, because all of it's untrue.
It sounded like a piece of blackboard being dragged over the nails of a wall of severed fingers.
'Fake' used to be an insult, but now it's a badge of honour, with hair extensions, tans and nails all artificial, but looking fabulous.
The way I play guitar is very, very hard and I bloody myself incredibly without the tape. And the nails are my picks.
Corsets were a challenge in 'Belle;' fake nails tripped me up in 'Blackbird.' Guess I'm not a mani type of girl!
Today's woman puts on wigs, fake eyelashes, false nails, sixteen pounds of make-up/shadows/blushes/creams, living bras, various pads that would make a linebacker envious, has implants and assorted other surgeries, then complains that she cannot find a 'real' man
Fake fat, fake colours, fake flavours, fake sweeteners: this is poison.
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