The apartments are made for eels.
I focus best and am most productive when I’m working in a friend’s empty apartment. It’s hard for me to work at home. Too easy to procrastinate online, too easy to be distracted by the state of perpetual domestic chaos that rules my home.
I lived in a studio apartment until my mid-30s. I don't have an extravagant lifestyle.
I have met a lot of guys in their 40s who have the maturity of a 15 - year-old and men in their 20s who have older sensibilities. They just need to live in their own apartment. That's kind of a deal breaker.
In the city, I wake bolt upright in the small hours, convinced that intruders are marauding through our apartment despite Swiss bank-style security arrangements.
I still live in an apartment in Paris with my wife. No, we don't have a yacht, but we do have a house in Spain; that is my luxury.
I'm on my own now. I have my own apartment.
I moved out of my house at 17 and half, I rented an apartment. . . I pulled all the things off. It was pretty amazing and I lived a pretty good life, I had a car and I was making good money.
I ran my own business when I was 19, buying condos and renovating apartment buildings.
I think of birth as the search for a larger apartment.
I am much more settled in who I am. I think a lot of your 20s is trying to figure out who you are - you're on your own, you've got you first job, you've got your first apartment, you're living away from your parents, you're just discovering who you are. I have deep, long friendships now and real relationships and I am so excited about the rest of my 40s.
I don't really put trophies out. I don't keep trophies around my apartment.
I no longer want to live in an apartment furnished with forklifts and backhoes.
Yes, I've now got this nice little apartment in New York, one of those L-shaped ones. Unfortunately, it's a lower case l.
If I weren't in Radiohead I'd be working at a grocery store, I'd be that creepy guy who lives in an efficiency apartment and collects salted, cured meats.
Well, after Zombie Birdhouse came out, I toured behind it in the fall of 1982, into the spring, and in the summer in the Far East. At that time, I found my work self-referential; it was getting to be rock songs about a rock singer who lived a rock life on the rock road, and I was starting to wonder what I would be like to rent my own apartment, what it would be like to have a checkbook.
Someone knocks at the door of an apartment to borrow salt or sugar, people run into each other in the elevator, and in this way become inscribed in the spectator's memory.
Canada is not the party. Its the apartment above the party.
Don't get me wrong - I love London, and still have an apartment there.
When you're on the road for six months of the year and you're paying New York prices and not even living in your apartment, it just didn't make any sense. So I had to get out of there.