My experience of life is that it is not divided up into genres; it’s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel. You know, with a bit of pornography if you're lucky.
I tend to get comfortable with the dialogue and find out who the person is in the script and try to hit that. People are sort of independent of their occupations and their pastimes. You don't play a politician or a fireman or a cowboy - you just play...
I think Indians dress better than anyone, but I don't want to imitate more than a detail or two; I prefer my clothes humdrum and inconspicuous, and a cowboy hat just doesn't work for me.
A man shouldn’t assume his wife was happy just because she didn’t complain all the time. She complained this morning. He’d spanked her for it. That didn’t sit right somehow.
Whatever it was that came over him that night pulled a cord—her laugh, or her surprise gasp slipping out to think he’d do something so bold.
somewhere between hello and I want this job, he'd lost all business sense and hired the pretty lady just because she wanted the job. Was it because she turned him into a seventeen-year-old with raging hormones?
How upset is she?” “Let me put it this way,” his brother began, “All the shit you’ve shoveled from stalls in your life is nothing compared to how deep you’re in it now.
Once he got there, he stopped and looked back. “You know, the thing about manners is that we only seem to notice the lack of them in others. It's a lot harder to see mistakes in ourselves.
Hades cracked his knuckles on each hand, and the noise was like gunpowder caps exploding in the silence. "First dish duty," he mumbled to himself, "now possessed cowboys. This just isn't my night.
I wear a ten-gallon cowboy hat. That’s where I keep my fish tank. When you’re a farmer of love, you’ve always got pink kissers on your mind.
For I conclude that the enemy is not lipstick, but guilt itself; that we deserve lipstick, if we want it, AND free speech; we deserve to be sexual AND serious--or whatever we please; we are entitled to wear cowboy boots to our own revolution.
A single Dallas Cowboys football game uses up as much electricity as the entire nation of Liberia in those same three hours - one reason the globe, if looked at from a certain height, is a cluster of lights surrounded by enormous patches of dark.
When I first arrived in Houston, I was fascinated with the elaborate styles of cowboy boots and thought they were incredibly exotic. They also seemed to be a central part of a specifically 'Texan' identity, one distinct from being 'American.'
With the Gap Band coming from Oklahoma, other artists would tease us by calling us cowboys. We didn't grow up on a ranch, but we took that style to the stage. We knew that it was corny, but at least it was ours.
I couldn't do country, with all due respect to all country music artists. My parents dressed me up with a cowboy hat and we'd go to the rodeo when I was younger and it traumatized me for life.
I have been a Cowboys fan since I was a little bitty boy. And my dream has finally become a reality, of not only just playing a professional, becoming a professional athlete, but playing for the team that I always wanted to play for.
I'm sort of a Walter Mitty. I got fewer brain cells than most people, so when I got friendly with cowboys, I started rodeoing. When I was calf-roping, there was something about the dirt that made me feel clean.
Never a horse that can’t be rode and never a rider that can’t be throwed. (I’ll pass this off as my own, but I really stole it from my father, a cowboy and rodeo rider in his younger years.)
I grew up in Dallas, with cowboys. I was the only guy in sixth grade with long hair and an earring. Let's just say I got a lot of, er, flak for being different.
I don't like kitten heels. I just don't think they are an attractive shoe because they always look so stumpy. And I would never wear cowboy boots: a pointy toe and little heel is just not my thing.
Jean-Louis Gaudet: Are you a real cowboy? Tex Panthollow: Sure am, kid. Jean-Louis Gaudet: So where's your gun? [Tex takes out his gun and twirls it] Leopold Gideon: Will you put that thing away!
