I always end up hurting myself doing something mundane. If I have to do some complicated stunt, I'm fine.
The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
Hope, like faith, is nothing if it is not courageous; it is nothing if it is not ridiculous.
All that we know about those we have loved and lost is that they would wish us to remember them with a more intensified realization of their reality. What is essential does not die but clarifies. The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.
But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.
Ninety-nine percent of the people in the world are fools and the rest of us are in great danger of contagion.
A Dominican monk, Father Henri Didon, used it as a watchword for his pupils in sports at Arcueil College in Paris. Baron Pierre De Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympics, made it the Olympic Games ideal adopted at the Antwerp Games in 1920. I never mentioned winning to my players. I mentioned constantly that all I wanted them to do was the best they could. If they're good enough, the score will be to their liking; if they're not, it won't be but that's nothing to hang their head about. Sometimes the other fellow is just better than you are.
I haven't made many wedding dresses. It's a dress very, very important for the girl; it's important to know the person, I believe, but at the same time it should be a shock to the person - the person should be shocked to be suddenly revealed. That's the work of a designer sometimes, to propose an ID of look.
Liverpool's grand opera also gave us some light comedy - on hearing the news that the house of goalkeeper Pepe Reina was burgled, and his Porsche stolen, while he was heroically saving penalties at Anfield, fans took a typically witty line: police were said to be interviewing a man from the West London area, a certain Frank Lampard, whose whereabouts on Tuesday between 7. 45pm and 10. 15pm are unknown. Indeed.
There have been times, lately, when I dearly wished that I could change the past. Well, I can’t, but I can change the present, so that when it becomes the past it will turn out to be a past worth having.