What the country needs is dirtier fingernails and cleaner minds.
The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
For days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off.
Luck consists largely of hanging on by your fingernails until things start to go your way.
You have to also provide a video for it, look a certain way and big hair... If you're a woman it's even more strange with fake fingernails and corsets and all this stuff that was big in the 80s.
When I was in college, I used to write little ditties and short stories and poetry for my friends. Writing a book is another thing. It is so much different from my traditional day of dirty fingernails and greasy hair and hot pans.
I bite my fingernails. That's probably not a good thing.
See what will happen if you don't stop biting your fingernails
I bite the skin on the side of my fingernails.
I would never do another sitcom. It was so boring I wanted to pull my fingernails off.
Lisp has all the visual appeal of oatmeal with fingernail clippings mixed in.
Literally, if someone says I am grounded, everyday I am at home, I actually have my hands in the ground and dirt under my fingernails. I don't have a staff to do it all for me. I still plant a seed and I'm amazed it grows.
Do not sit next to my mother when she is watching one of her children compete because you will have fingernails down your back. She is a nervous wreck.
You don't know. When I'm out there at night I feel close to my own body, I can feel my blood moving, my skin and fingernails, everything, it's like I'm full of electricity and I'm glowing in the dark - I'm on fire almost - I'm burning away into nothing - but it doesn't matter because I know exactly who I am.
I read, go for walks and I love to garden. My hands are such a mess. People think I should have movie star hands, but they're just gardening ones. Always slightly grubby and with a bit of dirt under the fingernails.
I was the girl in the black leather jacket with the black fingernails, picked up after school by guys with loud cars and motorcycles. I carried straight-A grades, but I had a little trouble with rules. I tended to have a bit of an authority problem.
If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that you never say no to an old gypsy woman with a blind eye and leprous fingernails.
The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid, and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalises itself, so to speak. The aesthetic image in the dramatic form is life purified in and reprojected from the human imagination. The mystery of aesthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
You learn to control every aspect of your muscles, your face, your toes, your fingernails. And that is how you tell a story, through movement.
One of my modeling bookers told me that the most important thing is to try to be vigilant about taking care of yourself. Get sleep, don't be afraid to trim your hair even if you're trying to grow it out, don't bite your fingernails, and stay in shape. A lot of it is in the little things.
or simply: