I am coming to the end of acting. I have a list: another stage production, maybe one or two more movies, one more season of American Horror Story. . . and then that is it for me. Because I think that's enough. I want to go out with a bang. . . or should I say, a scare?
Nudity in the flesh doesn't bother me. But having my mind uncovered - that scares the hell out of me.
On stage you can group 200 people together and scare them or embarrass them or whatever. You can't do that on TV. You have to use the conventions, that's why Kevin (Turvey) works so well.
It isn't the height that scares me - the height makes me feel alive with energy, every organ and vessel and muscle in my body singing at the same pitch. Then I realize what it is. It's him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.
From the cranberry cancer scare of the 1950s to the Alar-in-apples hysteria of the 1980s, from the "new ice age" of the 1960s to the "global warming" of the 1990s, environmental alarms almost always turn out to be false. Few non-political scientists fear ozone loss, global warming, or acid rain. These are just issues that some people hope to use to reorder the lives of the rest of us.
I've been stabbed before. Barely a week ago, in fact. AND I've been audited, AND I come from a broken home. In short - no offense, shorty - you don't scare me.
I'm not trying to be noble. I'm afraid. And the idea of having more love than I've ever had-- and knowing I might never have it again-- that scares me worse than anything.
Good grief, Molly. He doesn't scare you?" "Of course not." "But he's..." "He's sweet," Molly insisted. Dare snorted. "He's still listening.
And when you're alone there's a very good chance you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.
She put a hit on her boyfriend, so it's not like she hasn't murdered someone." "And you know that how?" Sam asks. I'm trying really hard to be honest, but telling the whole thing to Sam seems beyond me. Still, the fragments sound ridiculous on their own. "She said so. In the park." He rolls his eyes. "Because the two of you were so friendly." "I guess she mistook me for someone else." I sound so much like Philip that it scares me. I can hear the menace in my tone. "Who?" Sam asks, not flinching. I force my voice back to normal. "Uh, the person who killed him.
No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But what then ... what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some.
(After Nicholas tells Dahlia that he loves her) "...Just don't break my heart my heart, Dahlia. I've never handed it over to anyone before." She placed both hands over his. "I've never had anyone's heart. I don't know the first thing about keeping hearts. You're taking a terrible risk." "That's what I do best." ... "Are you feeling relaxed now?" ... "I was until you started throwing around the L-word. That's enough to scare anyone.
It feels like everything's been decided in advance that I'm following a path somebody else has already mapped out for me. It doesn't matter how much I think things over, how much effort I put into it. In fact, the harder I try, the more I lose my sense of who I am. It's like my identity's an orbit that I've strayed far away from, and that really hurts. But more than that, it scares me. Just thinking about it makes me flinch.
But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.
I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” she said, breathing hard. “But it would take far more than that to scare me.” A quick flex of his arms, and their bodies collided. And he whispered, just as his mouth fell on hers, “God, I was hoping you’d say that.
Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.
Have you ever been approached by a grim-looking man, carrying a naked sword with a blade about ten miles long in his hand, in the middle of the night, beneath the stars on the shores of Lake Michigan? If you have, seek professional help. If you have not, then believe you me, it can scare the bejeezus out of you.
'So,' he said as we turned onto the main road, the muffler rattling, 'I've been thinking.' 'Yeah?' He nodded. 'You really need to go out with me.' I blinked. 'I'm sorry?' 'You know. You, me. A restaurant or movie. Together.' He glanced over, shifting gears. 'Maybe it's a new concept for you? If so, I'll be happy to walk you through it.' 'You want to take me to a movie?' I asked. 'Well, not really,' he said. 'What I really want is for you to be my girlfriend. But I though saying that might scare you off.'
Tell me everything, I would say. All about the blues, and the time your heart was broken, and what scares you the most, and the thing you've always wanted to do but haven 't yet.
We had no one else to learn this from- none of our parents were shining examples of relationship success- so we learned this from each other: when someone you love needs you to, you can get a hold of your five-alarm temper, get a hold of the shapeless things that scare you senseless, act like an adult instead of the Cro-Magnon teenager you are, you can do a million things you never saw coming.
Bones,” I sighed. “Know something? I’m not afraid of you, but you scare me….” His outline blurred again. “You scare me, too, Kitten,” he might have replied, but I couldn’t be sure.
I would like to stay stoned all the time, it scares me it’s so good. I would like to stay stoned every minute of every day for the rest of my life.
Sometimes when I make a good save, I yell out, 'Woo-Hooo!' I'm not sure why, but it just feels good. I don't think I scare anyone or freak anyone out when I do it. I just like to holler when I make a tough stop.
What bugs me is that you believe what you're saying. What bothers me is that you don't know how you feel. What scares me is that while you're telling me stories, you actually believe that they are real.
A line from one of my 1997 columns - 'Do one thing every day that scares you' - is now widely attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, though I have yet to see any evidence that she ever said it and I don't believe she did. She said some things about fear, but not that thing.
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