A Quote by Sol Saks
We are basically storytellers, descendants of the old men who sat around the fire and told us legends, fairytales, exploits, or maybe just how funny Og looked when he fell into the tar pit.
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We sat down and told stories that happened to us in our childhood, to our children. They were all basically based on the truth. These stories were funny and poignant to us. They just took off. These are all stories from my life.
In my freshman year of college, when a male professor asked the class, "Who here identifies as a feminist?" Only one girl raised her hand, and the rest of us just sat there. He basically just shamed us for the rest of the class?? - ??in a constructive way. He went around the room and said to each girl, "Why didn't you raise your hand? Feminism means men and women deserve the same rights, and that the balance in the world is currently tilted in men's favour.
I'm an OG. I was an OG when I was 16. I was an OG when I made the decision I don't want to go to school anymore and start skipping to make music.
Everybody gathered at my Aunt Hannah's house, and we sat around and talked, ate, drank and told lies. That's what people do, and I just sat there and listened.
She thought she would know when it happened. But now, as she looked around, she wondered if it was really like that at all. Maybe it happened in a million different ways, when you were thinking of it and you weren't. Maybe there was no gap, no jump, no chasm. You didn't forget yourself all at once. Maybe you just looked around one time or another and you thought, Hey. And there you were.
I'm working on my house and playing with my fire pit and kind of just hanging around and making my home feel homey.
You're wrong," I told her. "I lost that faith a long time ago." She looked at me as I said this, an expression of quiet understanding on her face. "Maybe you didn't, though," she said softly. "Lose it, I mean." "Lissa." "No, just hear me out." She looked out at the road for a second, then back at me. "Maybe, you just misplaced it, you know? It's been there. But you just haven't been looking in the right spot. Because lost means forever, it's gone. But misplaced... that means it's still around, somewhere. Just not where you thought.
WWE offered me a legends deal. My lawyer looked at it, and it's basically illegal. It's not worth the paper that it's written on.
Anybody who's into Arthurian legends will appreciate that they are being re-told. The Arthurian legends have been developed and re-told over the years.
I was in my mid-teens when someone gave me a copy of 'Pears Encyclopaedia of Myth and Legends' as a birthday present. It sat on my shelves for many months before I looked at it. When I did, I couldn't stop reading it.
Good men don't become legends," he said quietly. "Good men don't need to become legends." She opened her eyes, looking up at him. "They just do what's right anyway.
Everybody is a story. When I was a child, people sat around kitchen tables and told their stories. We don't do that so much anymore. Sitting around the table telling stories is not just a way of passing time. It is the way the wisdom gets passed along. The stuff that helps us to live a life worth remembering.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town How it feels to be an unfunny clown." And he told them all why he looked so sad, And he told them all why he felt so bad. He told of Pain and Rain and Cold, He told of Darkness in his soul, And after he finished his tale of woe, Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no, They laughed until they shook the trees... And while the world laughed outside. Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
My friends make me laugh: funny Instagram videos, but mostly people falling over. It's so bad, but it never gets old. I just love how people cover up their falls. The whole experience of 'Oh, I just fell, and I'm going to run out of the fall and pretend I did this on purpose.' I just like to see how people cover up their mishaps.
Go out and ask her into the alley.” Clay looked at Jeremy as if he’d just been told to dance the rumba on a public thoroughfare. I bit back a laugh. “Just walk over to her and point at the alley. Maybe say…I don’t know…something like ‘fifty bucks.’ ” I looked at Jeremy. “Does that sound right? Fifty?” His brows shot up. “Why are you asking me?” “I wasn’t—I just meant, as a general…” I threw up my hands. “How am I supposed to know how much a hooker costs?
I've always admired the tradition of storytellers who sat in the public market and told their stories to gathered crowds. They'd start with a single premise and talk for hours - the notion of one story, ever-changing but never-ending.
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