My mother has always encouraged my creative side. She is a very eclectic, creative woman and looks incredibly glamorous, even when trudging about in wellies. Our family home is full of items from her travels and her amazing etchings and drawings.
My wife totally backs the way I am on stage; that's one of the amazing things about her. I have 120 per cent respect for her when I'm on stage, so there are definitely certain things I would never do.
I'd love to do something with Kelly Clarkson because she's been a monumental influence on me. I love how she handles her celebrity. She's not in the tabloids a lot but everyone knows and respects her because she's got an amazing voice. That's somethi...
My mother was a Bloomsbury figure: a great friend of TS Eliot, Duncan Grant, Vanessa Bell. My grandmother, Mary Hutchinson, gave her life to works of art, being an admirer of Matisse and Giaometti, whom I collected as a young man because of her.
Yo Mama’s so ugly that your father takes her to work with him so that he doesn't have to kiss her goodbye.
A gypsy girl approached Don Zana and Alfanhui and held out her tambourine. Don Zana said to her, 'You don't pay for art, kid.
I am sorry the only outlet for her troubled mind was in clumsy foreplay with an inadequate partner." He threw the rest of her sandwich at the swinging door as she passed through it.
The best way to lose a woman was to show her a kind of life that one could offer her for only a few days.
I was still madly in love with her when I left her but the desire had died, and not all the years of sharing and caring and discovering and journeying could keep me from fleeing.
It was one of those dreams from which she woke up depressed about her reality, filled with a longing that pulled at her insides, wishing the dream could have lasted forever, or at least much longer than it had.
We're not mad," he began, meaning he was. He was always a plural when mad, as though grammatically throwing his lot in with her mother gave him the power of her authority.
Every time, Love pushed down the door where her loneliness lived. The Music came and sealed the chamber of her heart. She was filled with clear sweetness that was there from the start.
- It doesn't do anything obvious. But it might be able to do something in here. - Then she touched her hand to her heart. - Beautiful things sometimes do.
Celaena?” Sam asked into the dark. “Should I worry about going to sleep?” She blinked, then laughed under her breath. At least Sam took her threats somewhat seriously.
I could smack her, punch her in the face, but then I see what she can't hide from me. I've seen it before-the desperation, the agony, the need to find a reason to go on, and the inability to find it.
Seduced her? Every time I turned round she was up a library ladder. In the end I gave in. That reminds me—I spotted something between her legs that made me think of you.
----quick-witted, an open book in her lap; inside her chest pulses something huge, something full of longing, something unafraid.
Faith for her was habit and family loyalty, a reverence for the Bible which was also literary, admiration for her mother and father. And then that thrilling quiet of which she had never felt any need to speak.
Nobody wants to be alone in misery. Cara experienced no shame in admitting that need. Not only did she not want to suffer alone, she demanded co-suffering from all who dared love her.
The candle’s flame washed her in a sensual bath of pulsating light, and Hans became entranced by the soft glow upon her skin.
Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?" "Yes." "You called her a liar?" "Yes." "You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?" "Yes." "Have a biscuit, Potter.
