I have my mother who is an Irish-Italian, and my father who is African, so I have the taste buds of an Italian and the spice of an African.
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhere I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my w...
having someone who likes you so much that they think everything you say is the truth has got to be a liar’s paradise
I glanced out the window at the signs of spring. The sky was almost blue, the trees were almost budding, the sun was almost bright.
I felt so fine I didn't once overanalyze the perfect emotion, budding inside. The one I'd always feared most.
I overheard Nona talking about my little buds and how she remembered back when she was developing into a woman, and that was enough for me.
The myriad of flavors explode on my tongue, shimmy through my mouth, slap my taste buds and call them filthy bastards, and I love it.
It was safe to assume he'd not only read the play but then re-read it, cross-referenced the annotations, and probably joined an online chat group called Buds of the Bard or something equally nerdy
Ties to people on the other side of the storm could be severed. Love could bud, then wither and die without a bloom when the storm ended and reality bled back in.
I really believe that studying organization, even in the form of studying detective story organization, is very, very valuable for a playwright, a budding playwright.
I think peas are really nasty. I liked them when I was younger, but I guess when you get older you have different taste buds.
In food, it's really, like, either you're right, or you're wrong. You know, people's taste buds kind of vary, but there's a technique. Either you do it right, or you don't.
Revolution is a phase, a mood, like spring, and just as spring has its buds and showers, so revolution has its ebullience, its bravery, its hope, and its solidarity. Some of these things pass.
Literary dementia seems dated now, but there was a time when a month in the funny farm was as de rigueur for budding writers as an M.F.A. is now. To be sent away was a badge of honor; to undergo electroshock, a glorious martyrdom.
A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.
It's true to say that I'm a budding young actor. But I'd rather get my name out there because of my acting rather than who I'm being photographed with.
Alan Garner: You hear that? The baby's name is Tyler. Phil Wenneck: Yeah, I thought he looked more like a Carlos too, bud.
Captain Dudley Smith: You'll do as I say, and ask no questions. Do you follow my drift? Bud White: In technicolor, sir.
Dick Stensland: We'll do the town one night... on me. Bud White: I'll bring my wallet, just in case.
Dick Stensland: I got a hot date. Bud White: Yeah? Who is she and what did you arrest her for?
Lawrence: [as Peter leaves to confess to Lumbergh about stealing money, knowing he may go to prison] Peter... watch out for your cornhole, bud.
