#owns

Eating ice cream and not exercising is great. The downside is your health isn't so good. ↗

— Jeff Bridges

#downside #eating #exercising #good #great

For me, growing up, the downside of it was that as a kid you don't want to stand out. You don't want to have a famous father let alone get a job because of your famous father, you know? But I'm a product of nepotism. That's how I got my foot in the door, through my dad. ↗

— Jeff Bridges

#because #dad #door #downside #famous

When I see professional clowns, mimes, or people who makes ballon animals, I think of their relatives and how disappointed they must be. ↗

— Jimmy Fallon

#disappointed #how #i #i see #i think

You know, I've had my ups and downs. ↗

— Brett Favre

#had #i #know #ups #ups and downs

After I started getting criticism for doing 'Big Brother,' someone told me that Hugh Downs used to host 'Concentration' and Mike Wallace used to do 'The Big Surprise.' I thought, Huh, maybe that door isn't sealed shut if I want to do '60 Minutes' one day. ↗

— Julie Chen

#after #big #big brother #big surprise #brother

The thing about that too is that we had the same extras everyday. It was such a community. It was like a microcosmic little town. We were like all little towns people with extras and a crew. ↗

— Erika Christensen

#community #crew #everyday #extras #had

I cannot pretend to be impartial about the colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones, and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns. ↗

— Winston Churchill

#am #brilliant #browns #cannot #colours

Remember, a dead fish can float downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream. ↗

— W. C. Fields

#downstream #fish #float #live #remember

Our Sheffield and London homes are worth well over a million but the bank owns most of them - we are mortgaged up to the gills. ↗

— Nick Clegg

#gills #homes #london #million #most

And at night the river flows, it bears pale stars on the holy water, some sink like veils, some show like fish, the great moon that once was rose now high like a blazing milk flails its white reflection vertical and deep in the dark surgey mass wall river's grinding bed push. As in a sad dream, under the streetlamp, by pocky unpaved holes in dirt, the father James Cassidy comes home with lunchpail and lantern, limping, redfaced, and turns in for supper and sleep. Now a door slams. The kids have rushed out for the last play, the mothers are planning and slamming in kitchens, you can hear it out in swish leaf orchards, on popcorn swings, in the million-foliaged sweet wafted night of sighs, songs, shushes. A thousand things up and down the street, deep, lovely, dangerous, aureating, breathing, throbbing like stars; a whistle, a faint yell; the flow of Lowell over rooftops beyond; the bark on the river, the wild goose of the night yakking, ducking in the sand and sparkle; the ululating lap and purl and lovely mystery on the shore, dark, always dark the river's cunning unseen lips, murmuring kisses, eating night, stealing sand, sneaky. 'Mag-gie!' the kids are calling under the railroad bridge where they've been swimming. The freight train still rumbles over a hundred cars long, the engine threw the flare on little white bathers, little Picasso horses of the night as dense and tragic in the gloom comes my soul looking for what was there that disappeared and left, lost, down a path--the gloom of love. Maggie, the girl I loved. ↗

— Jack Kerouac

#night #towns #dreams