Reengineering cannot be entrusted to the semi-competent, the hangers-on with nothing better to do.
for the first time in my life i realize why hangers are called hangers, because after fifteen minutes of trying things on and throwing them aside, all i want to do is hook one to the top of my closet door, lean my neck into the loop, and let my weight fall.
This is exactly how I would describe my work: 'I get there, I put on the clothes, I leave it on the hanger, and I go home. ' And that's what I do.
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
You can't be a clothes hanger for your entire life.
The future is better than the past. Despite the crepe hangers, romanticists, and anti-intellectuals, the world steadily grows better because the human mind, applying itself to environment, makes it better. With hands. . . with tools. . . with horse sense and science and engineering.
No one knows the origins of their metal coat hangers.
I had my coat hangers spayed.
Models are back to what they were in the '70s: clothes hangers.
I've never told anyone this before, but I'm an obsessive-compulsive. I go back to my hotel room every evening and put the coat hangers back in order and open my bag and rearrange it. It takes a lot of my time, but if I don't do it I can't sleep.
