Ellen Meloy Quotes
This deranged jungle of ironies coinhabits my skull like feathers and fireworks. My heart fills with stones. I am the mad aunt who laughs her head off at the funeral. There rises in me the most inappropriate hysteria in this most somber of places.
Quotes to Explore
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Show me an Irishman who can't tell a story – I don't think they exist.
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I am excited to run in the community where my wife and I work, where my daughters graduated and my son attends high school, where my family goes to synagogue, and where I have spent so much time working for and with the people of South Florida.
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When you decide to do this kind of music then you just accept the facts.
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I always do drama. It's just that some people laugh at it and some people cry.
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It's weird. I don't really have goals. I just try to make sure I'm enjoying what I'm doing. Once I start to get sick of it, the next thing becomes obvious.
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I would like above any other place to go to Hartford. I want to face the conservatism there centered and compel it into decency.
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I am good at down grading - I have found I can live the same lifestyle in a two-bedroom apartment as in a five-bedroom house.
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I was so naive when I began acting, professionally.
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I'm very shy in a crowd.
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If all opposition were curtailed, if all maladies were removed, then the primary purposes of the Father's plan would be frustrated.
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One of the things performers worry about is who you follow. But if I can't top what I heard in the last hour. ... There wasn't one iota of humor! You guys are so serious.
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They afterwards took me to a dancing saloon where I saw the only rational method of art criticism I have ever come across. Over the piano was printed a notice- 'Please do not shoot the pianist. He is doing his best.'
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I don't go to parties even when I'm invited. I've always been an 80-year-old woman inside. I remember going to my first school dance petrified. I just wanted to leave. Like, This is cool, but I'm ready to go home now.
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A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.
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I have this idea stuck in my head that you have to be born beautiful in order to dream beautiful things. God didn't write beautiful on my heart. I'm stuck with all my bad dreams. Bad dreams for bad boys. I guess that's the way it is for me. Look, there's nothing I can do about it.
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This deranged jungle of ironies coinhabits my skull like feathers and fireworks. My heart fills with stones. I am the mad aunt who laughs her head off at the funeral. There rises in me the most inappropriate hysteria in this most somber of places.
