Whitney Houston’s cover of “I Will Always Love You” was constantly on my FM Walkman radio around that time. I think that made me cry because I associated it with absolutely no one.
Politics and prostitution have to be the only jobs where inexperience is considered a virtue. In what other profession would you brag about not knowing stuff? “I’m not one of those fancy Harvard heart surgeons. I’m just an unlicensed plumber with a dream and I’d like to cut your chest open.” The crowd cheers.
My ability to turn good news into anxiety is rivaled only by my ability to turn anxiety into chin acne.
It is an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don’t like something, it is empirically not good. I don’t like Chinese food, but I don’t write articles trying to prove it doesn’t exist.
I know that you cannot hate other people without hating yourself.
We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone as beautiful, intelligent, and witty as we are ugly, stupid, and dull. But what if such a perfect being should one day turn around and decide they will love us back? We can only be somewhat shocked-how can they be as wonderful as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us?
I was a little excited but mostly blorft. "Blorft" is an adjective I just made up that means 'Completely overwhelmed but proceeding as if everything is fine and reacting to the stress with the torpor of a possum.' I have been blorft every day for the past seven years.
Nice people don't necessarily fall in love with nice people.
John you say you met in an elevator. Was the elevator going up at the time, or down? This is very important, for going down in an elevator one always has that sinking feeling and for all I know you may have this confused with love. If you were going up, it is clearly a case of love at first sight.
Photoshop is just like makeup. When it’s done well it looks great, and when it’s overdone you look like a crazy asshole.
(My proudest moment as a child was the time I beat my uncle Pierre at Scrabble with the seven-letter word FARTING.)
If God exists, I hope he has a good excuse.
Gay people don’t actually try to convert people. That’s Jehovah’s Witnesses you’re thinking of.
MAKE STATEMENTS also applies to us women: Speak in statements instead of apologetic questions. No one wants to go to a doctor who says, “I’m going to be your surgeon? I’m here to talk to you about your procedure? I was first in my class at Johns Hopkins, so?” Make statements, with your actions and your voice.
You have to remember that actors are human beings. Which is hard sometimes because they look so much better than human beings.
You can’t be that kid standing at the top of the waterslide, overthinking it. You have to go down the chute.
It will never be perfect, but perfect is overrated. Perfect is boring on live TV.
Most young women do not welcome promiscuous advances. (Either that, or my luck's terrible.)
Even the intellectual crowd will have none of me. Physically, I look like one of them. Graying at the temples, I walk with a slight limp and wear thick glasses.
Bel Air, I am convinced, was laid out by some diabolic sadist who deliberately decided not to use a compass or a surveyor.
With the possible exception of clothes, beauty salons and Frank Sinatra, there are few subjects all women agree upon.
Obviously, as an adult I realize this girl-on-girl sabotage is the third worst kind of female behavior, right behind saying "like" all the time and leaving your baby in a dumpster.
My plans are still in embryo, a town on the edge of wishful thinking.
When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial.
Nowhere are prejudices more mistaken for truth, passion for reason and invective for documentation than in politics.
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