It is true that I have sent six bullets through the head of my best friend, and yet I hope to show by this statement that I am not his murderer.
Why are we worn out? Why do we, who start out so passionate, brave, noble, believing, become totally bankrupt by the age of thirty or thirty-five? Why is it that one is extinguished by consumption, another puts a bullet in his head, a third seeks oblivion in vodka, cards, a fourth, in order to stifle fear and anguish, cynically tramples underfoot the portrait of his pure, beautiful youth? Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise, and, having lost one thing, we do not seek another? Why?
Now could you please ask these idiots to stop pointing their bullets at me? It's terribly wasteful.
I wondered – would a bullet through my temple actually kill me or just leave a really big mess for me to clean up?
You get the idea. Every business, like a painting, operates according to its own rules. There are many ways to run a successful company. What works once may never work again. What everyone tells you never to do may just work, once. There are no rules. You don't learn to walk by following rules. You learn by doing, and by falling over, and it's because you fall over that you learn to save yourself from falling over. It's the greatest thrill in the world and it runs away screaming at the first sight of bullet points.
I think it was Milosz, the Polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world where people actually die. But some is.
This is brain surgery. Ski masks on my bullets, let 'em commit brain burglary. Emergency, it's an emergency. Someone in all black left the whole scene burgundy.
When we were doing Bullets over Broadway, he told me to be more fragile and I thought I was, but he saw it completely differently.
I don't want to lose my fitness. I'm 45. I have two babies. I've got a long way to go and I want to keep in tiptop shape. There's no magic bullet.
I'm a big believer that your word is your wand. You know how people say things like, 'Oh my gosh, I'm such an idiot.' I don't say things like that anymore. Those put-downs, even if they're in jest, are little bullets of negativity that you don't need in your life.
To maintain discipline in the military, it must have been necessary at that time. For soldiers who risked their lives in circumstances where bullets are flying around like rain and wind, if you want them to get some rest, a comfort women system was necessary. That’s clear to anyone.
Sweating bullets to line up the Bible with our exhausting expectations, to make the Bible something it’s not meant to be, isn’t a pious act of faith, even if it looks that way on the surface. It’s actually thinly masked fear of losing control and certainty, a mirror of an inner disquiet, a warning signal that deep down we do not really trust God at all.
If I fall if I die know I lived it to the fullest, if I fall if I die know I lived and missed some bullets
Some problems in the world are not bullet-izable.
It was the same with the whole Russian machine. Fear was the impulse. For them it was always safer to advance than retreat. Advance against the enemy and the bullet might miss you. Retreat, evade, betray and the bullet would never miss.
This [climate change] is potentially so dangerous that we have to act strongly. Do we want to play Russian roulette with two bullets or one?
Maybe there are only atheists in foxholes. If the faithful truly and fully believe in a protective deity, why would they dive into a foxhole to protect themselves from the bullets whizzing by ? A part of their brain knows damn well that if they do not protect themselves, the bullets will hardly discriminate between those who claim faith and those who reject it.
The big damages come if the climate sensitivity to greenhouse gases turns out to be high causing greater global warming than current projections. Then it's not a bullet headed at us, but a thermonuclear warhead.
You can't kill rock and roll without a silver bullet because she's a werewolf.
I've been out there 3 days and I got shot at 3 times, Felt like every bullet hit me when they flew out each 9. I'll be happy when I wake up and I have a free mind.
We still wading in the water... Cocaine, blunts, marinating in the water. Lean and took a puff, and then she gave it to my father, Used to take the bullets out so I could play with the revolver. Satan serenading ever since I was a toddler, Tell 'em talk is cheap...niggas living for the dollar.
Tried to put shame in my game to make a name, I'mma put it on a bullet...put it in your brain.
Rappers can't sleep, need sleepin', B.I.G. keep creepin', Bullets heat-seekin', Casualties need treatin', Dumb rappers need teachin'.
Bullets ain't racial, kid...they only hate you.
They were doing the Dying Swan at the ballet. And there was a rumor that some bookmarkers had drifted into town from upstate New York and that they had fixed the bullet. There was a lot of money bet on the swan to live.
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