[Bride of the Monster wrap party. Mariachi band plays "Que sera sera"] Tor Johnson: Mister Bunny, what's wrong? I heard you were becoming a lady. Bunny Breckinridge: Oh, that. Mexico was... a nightmare. We got into a car accident... he was killed. Ou...
Arif: Would you mind if I turned on on the music? Old Villager: What kind of music? I don't listen to foreign music! How can I be sure that ain't swearing at my mother! Arif: How old is your mother? Old Villager: She is still alive, 93 by now. Arif: ...
J'ai un but, une tâche, disons le mot, une passion. Le métier d'écrire en est une violente et presque indestructible." [Letter to Jules Boucoiran, 4 March 1831]
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
No matter how long you waited, no matter how hard you wished, no matter how much you missed the past, time marched forward.
I studied fine arts and architecture, but I decided to move into movie design because I grew up in a small town in the Marche region and spent a lot of time after school in the movie theater.
I got into figure skating for the art of it, as well as the sport, and how much I love it. And, you know, I do everything that I want. I march to my own drummer. Sometimes people have an issue with that, and I can't control it.
Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.
I have inherited this burden of superstition and nonsense. I govern innumerable men but must acknowledge that I am governed by birds and thunderclaps
A man who had the legions of the east marching at his back could be bred by a donkey on a mule and the senate would have no choice but to accept him.
In March 1853 she was afflicted with a pain in the chest; her tongue seemed to be covered with a film; leeches failed to make her breathing any easier.
Yup, believe it: I was born on March 28, yet my name is April.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Cliff swallows come back to Capistrano Mid-March. It takes them 3 weeks to fly 7,000 miles from Goya, Argentina.
Does changing for the better absolve you of all the wicked shit you did before? March fills my head like a warm glow.
There are times when it's absolutely appropriate to march up to someone, stick out your hand and introduce yourself, and times when it's best to let your male cameraman or producer do the talking and hang back until you've felt out the situation.
Whether things turn out for the better depends on what we do. We ought not spend our time masterminding the future, but recognize our marching orders: to do the best we can for history and the planet.
You know those Navy SEALs, they weren't Democrats and Republicans. They were just doing what was best for America. Wouldn't that be a great country if all of you Americans were just like that? You followed orders, you marched in step and you followed...
We are not fit to lead an army on the march unless we are familiar with the face of the country -- its mountains and forests, its pitfalls and precipices, its marshes and swamps.
Your mind must be prepared to face some kind of ‘failure’ or mistakes – take the lessons, face the consequences even if embarrassing, and march on.
