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.
The good thing about being in someone else's apartment is it's so much easier to leave than it is to get someone out.
I know that atmosphere of the Parisian apartment building, with the twin menaces of the concierge on the ground floor and the landlord upstairs.
A computer is a wonderful and friendly machine, because it's always just a little better than you are. You're always a little bit behind, but it stays right there with you anyway. It allows you to make the mistakes, and then to try to find out what the mistakes are, and then to repair the mistakes. It's always your friend. It quits on you, but it doesn't leave the apartment.
All my life, I never really felt comfortable anywhere in New York, except maybe in an apartment somewhere.
I love my parents and they're wonderful people, but they were strict, and I still look for ways to get even. When I got my own apartment for the very first time and they came to stay with me for the weekend, I made them stay in separate bedrooms.
Two months ago I had a nice apartment in Chicago. I had a good job. I had a son. When something happened to the Negroes in the South I said, `That's their business, not mine. ' Now I know how wrong. I was. The murder of my son has shown me that what happens to any of us, anywhere in the world, had better be the business of us all.
I live in New York. I have an amazing apartment over there; I have this amazing life over there that's full of glamour. I get treated like a queen over there - and that's one of the reasons I love coming home. It's very grounding.
After seeing 'Big,' I wanted an elevator that opened directly into my apartment, just like Tom Hanks did.
I love Seattle, but I am definitely excited to be in a new place. Growing up there and then living in an apartment in the city for seven years, I just felt stagnant.
The fresh smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, the smell that separates night from day.
I was born and bred in a tiny, low-ceilinged ground-floor apartment.
I love Obama. He's my favorite president of all time. I have a giant picture in my apartment in New York that is of his Chicago Tribune cover, Mr. President.
The moment we stepped out into the hall, Cam's apartment door flung open. Ollie appeared, a cellphone in one hand and Raphael wiggling in the other. "Smile!" he shouted as he snapped a picture on his phone. "It's like my two kids are going to prom.
What is found now is found then. If you find nothing now, you will simply end up with an apartment in the City of Death.
I remember one little rainy day I went searching for this apartment and I saw so many people standing on a stoop on the corner in the rain. Later I realized, that was drug traffic. They were all buying drugs.
I found myself serving a sentence of public denial from the very second the raid on my apartment happened.
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.
Someone skipped on the rent and they left behind a huge upright piano, which got moved into our apartment so the other apartment could get rented out. I took to it and started playing.
It’s…it’s easy to have some little bitty website and use a fake name and sit there and…you know…talk bad about Jews all day and enjoy yourselves…uh, you know…getting your kicks ’cause you live in, you know…a…a one room apartment and your mad at life or whatever and wanna blame us…you know.