I love discovering new young brands and watching these fashion lines take off, like Peter Pilotto, Christopher Kane, and Clover Canyon.
I think I have lived in every part of L.A. except downtown. Everywhere from Topanga Canyon to Toluca Lake.
The city gives even to children a sophisticated look that baffles the casual psychologist.
As the middle child of the Laurel Canyon Adams Family, Whit was surprisingly chill on the subject of ampire-vays.
I have my tombstone already. A tombstone company in the East gave it to me when I jumped Snake Canyon. My plot is in Montana.
Where I live, there's a lot of canyons. We're climbing constantly - we're like mountain goats. I'm just trying to get better at that.
Over the past thirty-five years, untold numbers of gay Christians have turned from God in their "failure" and "inability to please God," who, they were told, could not accept them as a gay person. Some felt so rejected and depressed that they turned ...
Monk: [At the observatory] Are you Monsieur Gustave of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad? M. Gustave: Uh-huh. Monk: Get on the next cable car. Monk: [On the cable car] Are you Monsieur Gustave of the Grand Budapest Hotel in Nebelsbad? M. Gustave:...
I knew you"d never be American enough to help me reconstruct my life.
Giving thanks is that: making the canyon of pain into a megaphone to proclaim the ultimate goodness of God when Satan and all the world would sneer at us to recant.
Do not let arguments of expediency persuade you. That is the slow road to oblivion. That is the tortured path to undoing step by step, bit by bit, as the river creates a canyon, the way of life that we love.
I was raised in Topanga Canyon. It's an eclectic community up in the Santa Monica mountains. A lot of musicians lived there - Joni Mitchell, Neil Young - as well as artists and craftspeople.
I live up Laurel Canyon, and if I want to walk with my son, I have to drive to the park, which is so insane to me.
I can’t help its being gay. I have been a full-time fag for the past five years, I realized the other day. Everyone I know is gay, everything I do is gay, all my fantasies are gay, I am what Gus called those people we used to see in the discos, bar...
The Santa Ana Wind gusts down desert canyons. Hot. Dry. Electric. Some say it ignites tempers. I say it ignited us.
The skyscrapers of the city had finished scraping all the sky away, and the clouds overhead were exactly the color of concrete and I was safe and cold in a canyon of glass and steel.
She has to agree to have me. It could take some time, but I’m confident I can trick her into it.
All through the night, like the tumult of a river when it races between the cliffs of a canyon, in my sleep I could hear the steady roar of the passing army.
When I'm in L.A., I try to run the canyons or play tennis with friends a few times a week. I've tried working out with a trainer and going to the gym, but I'd just much rather be outside.
I was accustomed to being in far, far riskier environments. So I thought going into that canyon was a walk in the park - there were no avalanches, it was a beautiful day and I was essentially just walking.
It is such a special feeling to win a grand prix.
