A Quote by Christine Feehan
Do you have a camera?" Jackson asked. "We could get some pictures and may be take a print or two if we're lucky." Jonas shook his head. "We'd probably get a bunch of ghosts and that would just freak me out.
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When I first asked to take pictures of women at their homes, I was using my formal camera and I struggled to get the shots because I was still very much in the role of the photographer. Then the next time I had this little digital camera and their response to me would be completely different - I was a friend and I got new kinds of pictures. I was always treading a line between photographer and friend.
I could hardly get a boy to look at me. All right, they'd look, they'd even take me out, but no one asked for a second date. I was too nasty, a real wise guy, and all the boys could tell what my rotten disposition was. Deep down, I wanted a commitment with a capital C. To get anywhere with me, a boy would have to sign his undying loyalty with his own blood.
Karrin smiled faintly and shook her head. "He always said you knew ghosts. You're sure it was really him?" Mort eyed her. "Me and everyone else, yeah." Karrin scowled and stared into the middle distance. Mort frowned and then his expression softened. "You didn't want it to be his ghost. Did you?" Murphy shook her head slowly, but said nothing. "You needed everyone to be wrong about it. Because if it really was his ghost," Mort said, "it means that he really is dead." Murphy's face...just crumpled. Her eyes overflowed and she bowed her head. Her body shook in silence.
What?" I asked uneasily. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He shook his head, the smile rueful now. "Because sometimes, a person can get so caught up in the details that they miss the whole. It's not just the dress or the hair. It's YOU. You're beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts me.
I'm not entangled in a bunch of lawsuits and a web that I can't get out of. I can hold my head up... a happily married man who has his head in order. There isn't a bunch of scandal in my life.
I just feel that I enjoy the work more than I ever have... or just as much certainly... I enjoy making films behind the camera equally to making them in front of the camera on all those years. I just enjoy it, that's all. I've been lucky enough to work in a profession that I have really liked and so I figured I'd just continue until someone hits me over the head and says "get out".
I don't want to carry big things around with me. I'm lazy. The snapshot camera, you just carry it around and take the picture. You don't need to think about anything. People in the street are not going to wait for you with a big camera. They would freak out. With a snapshot camera, they are comfortable.
A second floor window opened, and Kyle stuck his head and shoulders out so he could look down at us. “If you two are finished playing Cowboy and Indian out there, some of us would like to get their beauty sleep.” I looked at Warren. “You heard ‘um Kemo Sabe. Me go to my little wigwam and get ‘um shut-eye.” “How come you always get to play the Indian?” whined Warren, deadpan. “Cause she’s the Indian, white boy,” said Kyle.
I started playing violin in the 5th grade. They had a program in school where you could get out of class to go play instruments. So I raised my hand, left out of class, me and a bunch of my homeboys, just to get out of class for that day. They asked what instrument you wanted to play and I picked the violin.
The simple act of having a camera, not a cell phone, but a camera-camera, there’s a kind of a heightened perceptional awareness that occurs. Like, I could walk from here to the highway in two minutes, but if I had a camera, that walk could take me two hours.
This could very easily be taken out of context, and I think it's funny now, but I remember looking in the mirror as a kid and, it would be like for an hour at a time, and I'd be like, 'I'm just so beautiful. Everybody is so lucky that they get to look at me.' And of course that changes as you get older, but I may have held on to that little-kid feeling that was me alone in my bathroom.
Then the old man's face hardened. "What about you young man?" he asked flatly. "Would you like to get what you deserve?" Jones let that question hang in the air for a moment, then sighed, shook his head, and said "Me? I surely don't want what I deserve. I'm hoping for mercy, not justice.
If my mother was taking pictures, I never wanted her to take the camera off me, ever. When I look at my videos from when I was even just two, I would be playing ballerina.
He tilted his head to the side, still watching me in that same, disconcerting way. “Some things are true, drunk or sober. You should know that. You deal in facts all the time.” “Yeah, but this isn’t—” I couldn’t argue with him looking at me like that. “I have to go. Wait… you didn’t take the cross.” I held it out to him. He shook his head. “Keep it. I think I’ve got something else to help center my life.
It was near curfew time, and I was dropping him off for the night. He shook his head. "Rose, I don't know if you're crazy or not, but I'm actually starting to think you might be the best guardian- or soon-to-be guardian- out there." "Did you just give me a serious compliment?" I asked. He turned his back on me and headed inside his dorm. "Good night.
Were you already here?" he asked. "Yeah." "Didn't you just bring her home from work two hours ago?" "Yeah." Tripp chuckled and shook his head. "Did you even leave?" "No.
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