Charles Bowden (Charles Clyde Bowden) Quotes
Quotes to Explore
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If listeners aren't carried away to Heaven, I'm failing.
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Real obsession needs an unconscious motivation behind it.
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My style is an extension of acting and an outcome of some serious lessons I picked up learning when I did theatre in my early days.
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I'll eat anything. I love food in general. I love traditional Mexican, carne asada. Just meat, beans, rice, and some good salsa.
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It's hilarious to me that by writing an obscene fake children's book I am mistaken for a parenting expert.
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When I was a kid I used to scoot under the table, and whenever company would come around you know or my sisters or parents would tell me, go under the table and I'd do it because it was entertainment for the family or aunts or whatever. And one time at the Paramount when I first did it, you know, Brooklyn Paramount, I did it in the act during an instrumental and it got a big ovation and so I coined it as one of the things I should do in the act. And since I've been doing it.
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I was in my yard and thought that the tree was a living being. We take trees for granted. We don't believe they are as much alive as we are.
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People are starting to reflect upon the power of emotions on illness and I have always felt a direct connection between emotion and body. It is fascinating that neurologists are starting to tell their patients that yes, they are sick, the symptoms are there, but it is probably happening because an emotion is not coming out the way it could and should.
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It sounds bad, but they don't care about your age if you're famous.
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We looked like we were lethargic out there. We shot 50 percent in the first half, and had 16 turnovers to go with that, which is not acceptable. The second half was a disappointment not only with the choice of shots, but with the execution. Golden State had something to do with that.
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Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust; hatred alone is immortal.
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The man or woman who doesn't forgive has forgotten the price that Christ paid for them on the Cross.
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He lived in chambers that had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again.
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Hers was not love lost; it was love denied.
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I have always felt that whatever the divine Providence permitted to occur, I was not too proud to report.
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What is explained can be denied but what is felt cannot be forgotten.
