That thought process that somehow other people have to be worse off in order for you to be better off does not work. People get on boats people jump fences to get away from that kind of thought process.
Somehow super power and hero are so synonymous that they get combined into one word, ‘superhero,’ whereas I’m kind of more interested in separating those two ideas out. You have characters with super powers who may or may not be heroic, because human beings aren’t all heroic. I tend to be drawn to antiheros.
Everybody can relate to being real or true. Somehow, someway, you want to be real and true.
I’d worked at a small town newspaper, and I was thinking of all the strange stories that I had seen float through the newsroom in my time there that were dismissed as kind of amusing curiosities. Somehow from that I got to this idea of an eccentric alcoholic who built a lighthouse in the woods.
It started when I woke up, all I wanted to do is jump out of the window. I didn’t want to eat anymore, because I was afraid that I might poison myself somehow.
Somehow in the 20th Century an idea has developed that music is an activity or skill which is not comprehensible to the man in the street. This is an arrogant assertion and not necessarily a true one.
I have sympathy for anyone who finds consolation anywhere we can. And many people do find it in religious tradition as it has been. I mean, I love much of that tradition. But somehow, that just didn’t speak to me in the way that it does to some.
The fantasy I’ve always had is that somehow I could move back in time. I would like to be there when Susan B. Anthony was dying, or someone like that. I would say to her, ‘You won’t believe what’s going to happen.’ And then I would tell her.
When I was about seven, one or two people encouraged me, and art became an enormous and important refuge. By adolescence, I was absolutely passionate about it and felt those paintings and those painters, whether they lived a few hundred years ago or were still alive, were somehow my companions.
There’s an imbalance when if a woman goes out for a walk at 3 in the morning and something happens to her it was somehow her fault, and with a man that’s not true.
Big women do themselves a disservice when they attempt to become the Righteous Fat (the Righteous Thin are bad enough, all that running around and sweating, somehow believing it means anything).
Al Qaeda is still a threat. We cannot pretend somehow that because Barack Hussein Obama got elected as president, suddenly everything is going to be OK.
The effort to create a work of art that is true and potentially lasting, that is the very best work of art you can create at that point in your life – a book that may only reach or move a few people but will seem to those people somehow transformative. That’s the ideal; that’s always the motivation.
If you could do ‘Moving Too Fast’ and ‘Nobody Needs To Know’ really, really well, you kind of knew you would make it someday, somehow!
Writing is not a matter of choice. Writers have to write. It is somehow in their temperament, in the blood, in tradition.
People are all at sixes and sevens with each other. They’re always quarreling. They never somehow resolve anything.
I believe that even the worst people on the planet believe that they are somehow justified in their neurosis.
I realized that even though I had this urge, this longing, to write about other people, in order for it to be emotionally gripping, I needed to be in there somehow.
Don’t wish me happiness – I don’t expect to be happy it’s gotten beyond that, somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor – I will need them all.
The place that I’m trying to come from and where I’m trying to make music from is when I feel like I’m able to somehow, like, transcend it all and just speak right to God.
I like using traditional beliefs in my fantasies, even though I always end up warping them to suit my purpose: it somehow makes everything feel more ‘solid’ if it’s got a long history behind it.
I don’t speak Spanish, and I get so much crap for it. Oddly enough, it was the first language I learned, but somehow I lost it throughout the years. I can understand pieces of it, but I don’t speak it. I need to speak it. I want to teach my kids Spanish.
Everything on ‘Sharknado’ somehow, for some reason, something went wrong with everything. The days we had the water towers, they weren’t working.
So often, literature about African people is conflated with literature about African politics, as if the state were somehow of greater import or interest than the individual.
Somehow, we have come to the erroneous belief that we are all but flesh, blood, and bones, and that’s all. So we direct our values to material things.
There are coaches to whom winning or losing means something close to life or death. If they lose, then their life has somehow been diminished. I’m not that way, and it keeps me steady.
I don’t even know if I always entirely get what I’m trying to say right away with lyrics. I like a lot of things that are more subtext. I grew up mishearing lyrics my whole life, but somehow there’s so much more, too, that’s implied in vocal delivery and the music itself and the gestural quality of it.
