I'm so bored of all these girls who have written about 20 books by the time they're 25.
Hey, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.
Your past is just a story. And once you realize this it has no power over you.
I always really curious to see how people interpret things. I know my version, and I'm kind of bored with my version so I want to see their version.
The photographer in my head says: Give me peace. Flash. Give me release. Flash.
Let's all embrace someone near us. Pick someone special to you. Tell this someone how you feel.
The only reason why we ask other people how their weekend was is so we can tell them about our own weekend.
And as for you Agent Pallas – man-to-man, if you ever insult my girl on national television again, I’ll…” he stopped. Everyone in the room waited, hanging. Jack raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Collin turned to Cameron with a look of astonishment. “I’ve got nothing. I had this whole exit speech going and I was gonna end with some big macho threat but when I got there, it was like – bleh – nothing. That’s a pisser. ” He appeared disgusted with himself, then shrugged it off. “Oh well. Catch you guys later. ” He strode out without a second glance.
Through my curtains I can see a big yellow moon. I’m thinking of all the people in the world who will be looking at that same moon. I wonder how many of them haven’t got any eyebrows?
Don't worry about how you 'should' draw it. Just draw it the way you see it.
I have a photographic memory; I just haven't developed it yet.