Mines Quotes
Billy Strayhorn was my right arm, my left arm, all the eyes in the back of my head, my brainwaves in his head, and his in mine.
Elizabeth Hardwick told me once that all her first drafts sounded as if a chicken had written them. So do mine for the most part.
To belong to someone - I didn't know it, but now that I think about, it seems like that's all I've ever wanted. To really be somebody's, and to have them be mine.
Children drown, beautiful women are mangled in automobile accidents, cruise ships founder, and men die lingering deaths in mines and submarines, but you will find none of this in my accounts.
My parents are the last of the middle class. My father worked for the government designing sea mines. My mother was a substitute teacher. Together, they worked really only until they were sixty.
My body parts are all I have left now that are only mine - the world owns everything else.
The eradication of anti-personnel mines around the world is one of the most important tasks facing the international community.
Lonely, ain't it? Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain't that something? A secondhand lonely.
Every writer since the beginning of time, just like other people, has been afflicted by what a friend of mine calls
I collaborate with people because their music talk to me as much as mine talk to them.
A very close friend of mine keeps reminding me that since about the age of 50, I've been saying, 'I'm finished. I haven't got another one in me.' But somehow you do.
The only times you'll see me in terms of the movie business is when I have to go to the premieres of my own movies. I don't go to see ones that aren't mine because I don't even like going to mine.
The things I had were mine and some of them were broken, but they were real. They were so very far from nothing.
And you are mine, and you will be mine. They will not get you. - Eric from Dead and Gone
I'm just gonna do a podcast because it's mine, I can control it, I have complete responsibility over it, and no one can touch it.
A friend of mine that I was in a band with started me on Kafka, which in turn led to Camus and Sartre.
Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.
It is not death that I'm apparently now succumbing to, but the rapid diminishment of lifeforce from this body of mine.
Apparently, I'm supposed to be more angry about what Mitt Romney does with his money than what Barack Obama does with mine.
