Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life, thou might'st him yet recover
I will make arrangements for you and Portia to return to London the following day. I will be closing up the house. I am leaving England for a while." "For how long?" I asked him, determined to keep my composure. "Until I am quite recovered from you," he said evenly. "When will you return?" "Never.
I was depressed, but that was a side issue. This was more like closing up shop, or, say, having a big garage sale, where you look at everything you've bought in your life, and you remember how much it meant to you, and now you just tag it for a quarter and watch 'em carry it off, and you don't care. That's more like how it was.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel peaceful. Not happy. Not sad. Not anxious. Not horny. Just all the higher parts of my brain closing up shop. The cerebral cortex. The cerebellum. That's where my problem is. I'm now simplifying myself. Somewhere balanced in the perfect middle between happiness and sadness. Because sponges never have a bad day.
After the make-up process, I was like, "I never want to do a sci-fi movie where I'm in make-up for seven months." It's interesting. It was my first time ever getting prosthetics. They put this goopy stuff all over your head and they tell you it's like a facial, but it's actually very claustrophobic. All they have are these places where your nostrils are and I kept thinking that they were closing up, but they were like, "No, we're looking at it." So, they made a mold of my face.