A Quote by Stephan James

When I first got the call from my manager asking if I'd ever heard of Jesse Owens, I recognized the name, looked him up, and was blown away by his story. — © Stephan James
When I first got the call from my manager asking if I'd ever heard of Jesse Owens, I recognized the name, looked him up, and was blown away by his story.
I knew [Jesse Owens'] name, but I really didn't remember what it is he had done, so I felt like I had to get refreshed. So I read the script and I realized like, wow, this is an incredible human being. I told my manager, however I had to do it, let me see the director; I got to play him.
I couldn't bring myself to call him by his first name, that wasn't my upbringing. So I suggested I call him 'Anandji.' He glared at me and said, 'Do I look like a schoolteacher to you?' The next day when I called him 'Dev Saab' he looked around as though he didn't know whom I was addressing.
Young Sally Owens: He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. Young Gillian Owens: What are you doing? Young Sally Owens: Summoning up a true love spell called Amas Veritas. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvelously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he'll have one green eye and one blue. Young Gillian Owens: Thought you never wanted to fall in love. Young Sally Owens: That's the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn't exist. And if he doesn't exist I'll never die of a broken heart.
Vangelis, who wrote the music for 'Chariots Of Fire,' is a bit of an idol of mine - his music is stunning. So when I got a call from my manager in the 90s asking if I'd like to do some songwriting for him I couldn't believe it.
Well, hi, CeeCee," I said. "Hi, Adam. Nice of you two to drop by. Ever heard of knocking?" "Oh, please," CeeCee said. "Why? Because we might interrupt you and your precious Jesse?" Jesse, upon hearing this, raised his eyebrows. Way up.
Owens may not be my real last name, but it's close as it gets, because it's my son's name, Owen. That's why I picked that name, and Kevin Owens is who I am. I can't stress that enough.
I carried Rudy softly through the broken street...with him I tried a little harder at comforting. I watched the contents of his soul for a moment and saw a black-painted boy calling the name Jesse Owens as he ran through an imaginary tape. I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbor. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
Sacrifice. I'd never been in a position where I was number one on the call sheet, and everything was in my lap. I worked 16 hour days, and I was just not the lead of any film, it was a film about Jesse Owens, one of the greatest heroes of the 20th century. It was a whole new type of responsibility. It was a big weight, and I wanted to do him justice, especially in reviving him after 80 years.
Blue." It was Ronan's voice, for the first time, and everyone, even Helen, twisted their head towards him. His head was cocked in a way that Gansey recognized as dangerous. Something in his eyes was sharp as he stared at Blue. He asked, "Do you know Gansey?" ... Blue looked defensive under their stares. She said reluctantly. "Only his name." With his fingers loosely together, elbows on his knees, Ronan leaned forward across Adam to be closer to Blue. He could be unbelievably threatening. "And how is it," he asked," you came to know Gansey's name?
Suppose we pick a name for him, eh?" Caius Pompeius stepped over and eyed the child. "He looks a little like my proconsul, Marcus. We could call him Marcus." Josiah Worthington said, "He looks more like my head gardener, Stebbins. Not that I'm suggesting Stebbins as a name. The man drank like a fish." "He looks like my nephew Harry," said Mother Slaughter... "He looks like nobody but himself," said Mrs.Owens, firmly. "He looks like nobody." "Then Nobody it is," said Silas. "Nobody Owens.
Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
Three of tonights performers are members of the group Return To One, whose album Hopes and Dreams I heard for the first time a couple of weeks ago. Blown away by the album, I called Nathan Hubbard, the drummer and composer for the group, and with whom I've played on a couple of Trummerflora-related occasions, and asked him to round up several of his Return To One cohorts for tonight's show. I can't recommend their album highly enough; please pick up a copy.
What should we call him?" Klaus asked. "You should call him Dr. Montgomery," Mr. Poe replied, "unless he tells you to call him Montgomery. Both his first and last names are Montgomery, so it doesn't make much difference." "His name is Montgomery Montgomery?" Klaus said, smiling. "Yes, and I'm sure he's very sensitive about that, so don't ridicule him," Mr. Poe said, coughing again into his handkerchief.
As a boy I heard this story in church. A man was patching a pitched roof of a tall building when he began sliding off. As he neared the edge of the roof he prayed, "Save me, Lord, and I'll go to church every Sunday, I'll give up drinking, I'll be the best man this city has ever known." As he finished his prayer, a nail snagged onto his overalls and saved him. The man looked up to the sky and shouted, "Never mind, God. I took care of it myself." How true of us.
I remember meeting my manager Eamonn for the very first time, and one of the first things he said to me was, 'You're fat. The first thing you need to go is get to a gym.' It was quite a wake-up call. I got a bit angry initially, like, 'The cheek of him', but I'm quite a pragmatic and thick-skinned person, so I just went ahead and joined the gym.
A certain ultra-dignified gentleman of unusual prominence carried himself so stiffly that nobody felt free to call him by his first name. He quarreled with a friend of earlier days and from then on the two never spoke. The day the friend died an associate found the ultra-dignified gentleman staring through the window. When he came out of his reverie, he soliloquized with a sigh, ""He was the last to call me John."" Is any man really entitled to regard himself a success who has failed to inspire at least a goodly number of fellow mortals to greet him by his first name?
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