I remember after one of my dreadful moments on Real Time, where I was ganged up on by everybody, and I went to Starbucks the next day, and the typical liberal tattooed and pierced barista said "Hey, you were on Bill Maher last night. I'm a liberal, but I really admired that you had the courage to stand up to that rude audience. "
I think everybody's got different methods of working which suit the particular individual. Mine is to sort of play the part, and give 100%, to concentrate and focus on it while I'm actually working, but then leave it behind until the next day.
I never wanted to get to a point in my life where I knew what was going to happen next. I felt like most people just couldn't wait until they found themselves settled down into a routine and they didn't have to think about the next day, or the next year, or the next decade because it was all planned out for them. I can't understand how people can settle for having just one life.
Emma dropped the paper. Her first impression was of a weak feeling in her stomach and in her knees; then of blind guilt, of unreality, of coldness, of fear; then she wished that it were already the next day. Immediately afterwards she realized that that wish was futile because the death of her father was the only thing that had happened in the world, and it would go on happening endlessly.
I'm so thankful when I have a job. I would say the worst job I ever had was the one I quit after the first night. I was an overnight restaurant janitor. And it wasn't because of the job. We had to do four restaurants in the night, overnight. But I was working with a den of thieves. I just quit the next day.
It's scary when one day the city is there and the next day it's gone. To see the water actual kill people, I couldn't believe it. I never fathomed it could bury a city.
As soon as I leave the world [of the show], I want to turn around and come back. That's how real it is. As soon as I leave the theater I want to wake up and come back the next day and do it all over again. It's that much fun.
A man goes to a barbershop and asks, How many ahead of me? Five. The man leaves. He comes back the next day and asks, How many ahead of me? Four. The man leaves. He comes back the next day and asks, How many ahead of me? Six. The man leaves, and the barber says to another, Follow that man! The man comes back and says, He goes to your house!
A very common thing these days is people show up and they ask us in the band to sign with a Sharpie right on their skin and they go get it tattooed the next day. Then they'll show up at another show and they'll have their tattoo.
Not just any talk is conversation; not any talk raises consciousness. Good conversation has an edge: it opens your eyes to something, quickens your ears. And good conversation reverberates: it keeps on talking in your mind later in the day; the next day, you find yourself still conversing with what was said. That reverberation afterward is the very raising of consciousness; your mind's been moved. You are at another level with your reflections.
I like to always stop with a couple of pages that I haven't - that are just raw copy, where I haven't touched it, I haven't tried to revise it, I haven't tried to polish it. It's like having a little bit of a runway. The next day when you sit down, you have the comfort of saying, well, I have got a little bit here, used to be in the typewriter. Now it's in the magic box, the computer.
Best marks go to cheaters and memorizers. Marks depend on memorizing and not on real knowledge. When you cram into your head for a test you may get a high mark but forget it the next day. That's not an education. I suggest just Good and Bad at the end of the term on report cards. Or maybe nothing. Frank Allen
A foreman in the East wouldn't know how many workers he would have the next day, because part of his working force had left the system to go to West Germany.
Once I witnessed a windstorm so severe two 100-year-old trees were uprooted on the spot. The next day, walking among the wreckage, I found the friable nests of birds, completely intact and unharmed on the ground. That the featherweight survive the massive, that this reversal of fortune takes place among us — that is what haunts me. I don’t know what it means.
If you compromise what you're trying to do just a little bit, you'll end up compromising a little more the next day or the next week, and when you lift your head you're suddenly really far away from where you're trying to go.
Your senses are reeling all the time. Finally you find something to write and the very next day you go out and see something else which totally contradicts what you've written and every conclusion you've come to.
I was drunk: Christian and drunk. They just don't go together. But that's what happened. And the next day, obviously God had honored those prayers and healed me of alcoholism.
But is it such a bad thing to live like this for just a little while? Just for a few months of one's life, is it so awful to travel through time with no greater ambition than to find the next lovely meal? Or to learn how to speak a language for no higher purpose than that it pleases your ear to hear it? Or to nap in a garden, in a patch of sunlight, in the middle of the day, right next to your favourite fountain? And then to do it again the next day?
We were in Greenville, South Carolina, where he lived, and he was coming the next day to the show, but he passed away the night before. I was very close to my grandfather. He was the first guy to teach me how to ride a motorcycle, so (his death) meant a lot to me. It just gave me a perspective on life and how important it is to live it and enjoy it while we're here. Sometimes we're looking for the grass to be greener, and what's awesome is right in front of you.
One way of assessing the toxicity of a drug is how do you feel the next day?