A Quote by Paul Theroux
It's not fashionable but I like to spit out of the window of a moving train.
Related Quotes
I once did a Sprite commercial where I had to come out of the train station, jump out of a turnstile, jump on the side of a moving train. I had to run down the top of this moving train while it was going through the mountains and valleys. It was really hairy. I got my honorary stuntwoman card for that. I was proud.
...the long train ride was like traveling through limbo. You weren't anywhere when you were on a train, she decided. You weren't where you had been, and you weren't yet where you were going. You were nowhere. It might be beautiful outside the window-and it was, she had sense enough to realize that-but it wasn't anywhere to her, just a scene passing by that was framed by the train window. (p160)
I had a stroke in 1985... I called it a "stroke of luck." I said, "Life is like a train trip. You're looking out the window and everything is whipping past and you're not really seeing anything, and you need to get off the train and walk around a bit."
...solitary like a pool at evening, far distant, seen from a train window, vanishing so quickly that the pool, pale in the evening, is scarcely robbed of its solitude, though once seen. *** Here sitting on the world, she thought, for she could not shake herself free from the sense that everything this morning was happening for the first time, perhaps for the last time, as a traveller, even though he is half asleep, knows, looking out of the train window, that he must look now, for he will never see that town, or that mule-cart, or that woman at work in the fields, again.
I always thought that the location of this film [Girl In The Train] was on the train and inside her imagination, and her loneliness and her gaze out the window.Although it was set in England, it didn't feel to me like an overly English book. In terms of the use of cultural references, it was not extreme, so it was very simple to go from England to America in the adaptation.
The towns and countryside that the traveller sees through a train window do not slow down the train, nor does the train affect them. Neither disturbs the other. This is how you should see the thoughts that pass through your mind when you meditate.
I grew up in Southern California. If it's snowing on a day I'm supposed to train, I'll just stare out the window in all my gear and be like, 'Hmmm, maybe not today.' I hate being cold.
One day mom sat down and says, 'I'm moving my children to Queens. There was this quiet in the room and then everyone burst out laughing. Moving to Queens for us was like moving to Mars. It was like breaking out of poverty, the ultimate in luxury.
We are now integrated into American society and I don't like the word fashionable, because fashionable means that it's going to pass. It's not like that anymore.
They used to complain at school that I looked out of the window for long periods of time - that sums up my life. I like to look out the window, do nothing, daydream.
Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.
When I train, I'm peeled away. I'm at my rawest state. Generally there's spit coming out my mouth, sweat pouring out my body and every once in awhile I may have just finished throwing up. Those are pretty good indications that it's not time to talk and you should just pass me by.
I would like to like to make one thing clear at the very outset and that is, when you speak of a train robbery, this involved no loss of train, merely what I like to call the contents of the train, which were pilfered. We haven't lost a train since 1946, I believe it was - the year of the great snows when we mislaid a small one.
When I have run out of words to copy, I look out the window at this strange place called India. Inside the train, the people around me are snoring. I don't understand how they can close their eyes when there is so much to see.
Now, if someone wants to spit on me, I just roll up the window of my BMW 540i.
It's so hard to listen to these trains outside my window, here it comes again. And it's calling me, begging me, follow me down the track. And it moans so dark and low, baby ain't comin' back... It sounds like crying, it sounds like letting go. Breathing and lying, sinking and dying slow. And I watch from my window, touching the cold glass sky. As the train rolls down the track, I say goodbye.
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