I had an allowance, but I had to do things around the house to earn it. I think I always wanted my own money.
I always felt my emancipation into truly being a grown-up was when I had to figure out how to fold up a king-size fitted bottom sheet on my own.
My personal history would not be disappointing to readers, but it is my own affair which I want to keep to myself. I am in fact in no way more important than is the typesetter for my books, the man who works the mill; no more important than the man who binds my books and the woman who wraps them and the scrubwoman who cleans up the office.
I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel once. I'm bloated with language I can’t afford to forget.
Whenever I stumble over my own feet, or blurt out a thought that makes no sense at all, or leave the house wearing one pattern too many, I always think, 'It's okay, I'm from New Jersey.' I love New Jersey, because it's not just an all-purpose punch line, but probably a handy legal defense, as in 'Yes, I shot my wife because I thought she was Bigfoot, but I'm from New Jersey.'
In searching for a way out of my own troubles, I had found my way into the troubles of others, some long gone, and now I was trying to find my way back out, through their troubles, as if we human beings can ever learn from one another.
I wanted to distance myself from those pasty faced corpses in suits I saw in airline magazine ads. If I was going to become a businessman, I was going to do it on my own terms.
I don’t care what people think…I learned a long time ago…I was 19 and had a very traumatic experience….and I learned that I have to go to bed with myself at night and that I have to please myself…and as long as I don’t go out of my way to offend anybody that I love, upset my mother or my husband…I’ll do my own thing. And if the public doesn’t like it, it’s their problem, not mine.
I find myself regarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from another world; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own body and individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is this madness?
I stood for parliament with the amazing support and help of my ex-husband, but it's not something that was handed to me like a peerage. I worked hard and was elected. So my achievements, such as they are, are my own.
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality. Embrace this moment, remember: we are eternal all this pain is an illusion.
I started out as a fashion photographer. One cannot say that I was successful but there was enough work to keep me busy. I collaborated with Harper's Bazaar and other magazines. I was constantly aware that those who hired me would have preferred to work with a star such as Avedon. But it didn't matter. I had work and I made a living. At the same time, I took my own photographs. Strangely enough, I knew exactly what I wanted and what I liked.
Because I was starting out in my 20's. I wanted to do it on my own. I didn't want to use my dad or have people say I was using him.
I needed to carve out my own place and find out what I was going to do
I stand stark naked in front of the mirror and gaze directly into my own eyes. I utter 'Good morning, handsome' and my lips quiver as I stare at myown body. I don't break eye contact until I blow my load. Not once do I actually touch myself.
I lot of people remember when that kid spray-painted my brand new Porsche for Punk'd. That was pretty funny. He got me pretty good. Of course, most people don't know I eventually got him back with my own show. I call it a show, really it's just an hour-long video shot in my bedroom featuring the two of us.
I'd really like to give back to the world, but everything I've achieved, I've earned on my own, so what's the point?
I never really understood all the hype, until I got one of my own.
I was not born to crush my own kind.
If the book is finished—published and on the shelf—I do not think of revising it. But if I'm not finished psychologically with characters, they will recur, either as themselves or as new, slightly altered manifestations, and their same issues will reappear. It's a matter of the subject and emotional investment and my own obsessive thinking about various issues It's an unconscious process. To say that a single story is not done isn't quite true. A story can be finished and judged successful or not by somebody else, but if the issue is not done for me, I can count on its reappearance.
I can spot empty flattery and know exactly where I stand. In the end it's really only my own approval or disapproval that means anything.
I was certainly open for something being on the edge of a nervous breakdown, perplexed by my own sexuality. I was gay.
I got more used to my own voice, but still it's hard for me to listen to my own voice, or hear the recordings.
I'm a busy guy but I set aside quiet time every morning and every evening to keep my equilibrium centered on my own path. I don't like being swayed by anything that might be negative or damaging.
It's terribly wrong to stuff that sacred citadel with junk you know darn well is bad for you, I came to realize I was barreling pell-mell down the road leading to disease, disability and premature destruction of the most precious thing I could ever be given-my own life.
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