Back in the late 1970's, when I was fifteen years old, I spent every penny I then had in the bank to fly across the continent in a 747 jet to Brandon, Manitoba, deep in the Canadian prairies, to witness a total eclipse of the sun.
I learned to fly planes at fifteen years old because one of my teachers thought I'd be a better pilot than rapper.
A lot of artists make art for five years, some artists make art for ten years, a few make art for fifteen: very few do it until they die.
After all, isn't that what really draws the line between childhood and adulthood, knowing that you are solely responsible for yourself? If so, then my childhood ended at fifteen.
You watched and you saw what happened and in the accumulation of episodes you saw the pattern: Daddy ruled the roost, called the shots, made the money, made the decisions, so you signed up on his side, and fifteen years later when the women's movement came along with its incendiary manifestos telling you to avoid marriage and motherhood, it was as if somebody put a match to a pile of dry kindling.
I am also four, and twelve, and fifteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one, and forty-five and . . . and . . . and . . .
I've done interviews in one day that went on for fifteen, sixteen hours. And at a certain point, the control over what they're saying breaks down; it becomes different. It becomes really powerful, and for me, real. It becomes out of control.
I always carry around a giant makeup case with about fifteen items in it. I so want to be the girl who just carries lipstick as if that's all I need, but I'm just not that girl. I need my lipstick, but then, just in case my cheeks start to lose their color, I need my blush. Then I'll need my oil pads...so I just take the whole thing. And now I need a full on fashionable backpack for it all!
I'm a huge advocate of prayer. I've been praying since I was fifteen years old and the doctor told me I was going to be a mother and I was like "what?" I started praying that day that God would help me do what I needed to do to be a good mother and to raise this baby boy that I was going to be blessed with. I haven't stopped praying in years.
A formative influence on my undergraduate self was the response of a respected elder statesmen of the Oxford Zoology Department when an American visitor had just publicly disproved his favourite theory. The old man strode to the front of the lecture hall, shook the American warmly by the hand and declared in ringing, emotional tones: "My dear fellow, I wish to thank you. I have been wrong these fifteen years." And we clapped our hands red. Can you imagine a Government Minister being cheered in the House of Commons for a similar admission? "Resign, Resign" is a much more likely response!
U.S. News Organizations observe the anniversary of September 11 with investigations about the nation's continuing vulnerability to terrorism. First, the New York Daily News reports that two of its reporters carried box cutters, razor kinves, and pepper spray on fourteen commerical flights without getting caught. Then ABC News reports that it smuggled fifteen pounds of uranium into New York City. Then Fox News reports that it flew Osama bin Laden to Washington, D.C., and videotaped him touring the White House.
My life was definitely going into a nosedive. When my parents separated (and) divorced when I was fifteen, I definitely lost my bearings and was completely out of control. My grades were plummeting. I had no direction. I was a pretty angry teenager (and) somewhat destructive. So, I broke down in a church when I was 18 and turned my life over to God, thankfully.
We who have seen him now, light on his feet, smooth moving as a leopard, a young man with an old man's science, the most beautiful fighting machine I have ever seen, may live to see him fat, slow, old, and bald taking a beating from a younger man. But I would like to hazard a prediction that whoever beats Joe Louis in an honest fight in the next fifteen years will have to get up the floor to do it.
Most headlines are set too big to be legible in the magazines or newspaper. Never approve a layout until you have seen it pasted into the magazine or newspaper for which it was destined. If you pin up the layouts on a bulletin board and appraise them from fifteen feet, you will produce posters.
The growth of the American food industry will always bump up against this troublesome biological fact: Try as we might, each of us can only eat about fifteen hundred pounds of food a year. Unlike many other products - CDs, say, or shoes - there's a natural limit to how much food we each can consume without exploding. What this means for the food industry is that its natural rate of growth is somewhere around 1 percent per year - 1 percent being the annual growth rate of American population. The problem is that [the industry] won't tolerate such an anemic rate of growth.
Nixon is the kind of guy who, if you were drowning twenty feet from shore, would throw you a fifteen-foot rope.
When I was fifteen years old, the only distinction in music my friends and I made was [that] there's music made by people with short hair and music made by people with long hair.
But from the perspective of the aging parent, there is no major difference between four and fifteen, except that when your child is four, his motoring privileges are restricted to little toy Fisher-Price vehicles which are unlikely (although I would not totally rule it out in America) to sue you.
Those rosy memories we all share are actually memories from our favorite TV shows. We've confused our own childhoods with episodes of "Ozzie and Harriet," "Father Knows Best," and "The Brady Bunch." In real life, Ozzie had a very visible mistress for years, Bud and Kitten on "Father Knows Best" grew up to become major druggies, and Mom on "The Brady Bunch" dated her fifteen-year-old fictional son.
I look for businesses in which I think I can predict what they're going to look like in ten to fifteen years time. Take Wrigley's chewing gum. I don't think the internet is going to change how people chew gum.
During the fifteen or twenty years in which I tried - it was not always easy with publishers, newspapers, etc. - to forbid photographs, it was not at all in order to mark a sort of blank, absence, or disappearance of the image; it was because the code that dominates at once the production of these images, the framing they are made to undergo, the social implications (showing the writer's head framed in front his bookshelves, the whole scenario) seemed to me to be, first of all, terribly boring, but also contrary to what I am trying to write and to work on.
Actually, with those dirty movies, I find like, they're good for about fifteen, twenty minutes. I'm really interested. And, then, uh, there's one point, that all of a sudden I'm bored. You know? I just lose interest completely and I feel deeply ashamed.
Using drugs didn't help me to play, all it did was to hang me up for about fifteen years.
I grew up playing the guitar. I started when I was nine, and by the time I was nine and a half or ten, I was doing seven or eight hours' practice every day. I did two hours' practice at six o'clock in the morning before I went to school, and another two hours as soon as I got home from school in the afternoon. Then I did four hours at night before I went to bed. I did that until I was fourteen or fifteen.
Fifteen years ago, God unequivocally and undeniably gave me Isaiah 22:22 as a life-verse. "Then I will set the key of the house of David on his shoulder, when he opens no one will shut, when he shuts no one will open." After 40 plus confirmations over a two-week period - yes, more than 40 - I became thoroughly convinced this verse was both a promise and a weapon for me. I have since used the verse hundreds of times throughout America - in all 50 states and in Washington DC - to open and close spiritual doors for the Lord.
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