The fog of illusion, the fog of confusion is hanging all over the world.
Would you not like to be, sittin' on top of the world with your legs hanging free?
Women's magazines continue to print 'helpful' articles on How to Hang on to Your Husband while thousands of wives write to me and complain that 'hanging is too good for 'em.
I was hanging out with Jonathan Richman last night.
I had a constant fascination with the darkside. It is another world, bordering on insanity, and demonic possession, or what I thought was my own Soul Bending personal nirvana. Its good to be back in the middle of the boat, instead of hanging on for dear life in the last life boat.
Some hams hanging in the kitchen were taken out for burial
When one is writing a letter, he should think that the recipient will make it into a hanging scroll.
Human beings are human beings. They say what they want, don't they? They used to say it across the fence while they were hanging wash. Now they just say it on the Internet.
You totally need to watch the news. " "Can't. " "Why?" "It's too depressing. " "Right, because hanging with dead people isn't.
Hanging one scoundrel, it appears, does not deter the next. Well, what of it? The first one is at least disposed of.
No man ever achieved worth-while success who did not, at one time or other, find himself with at least one foot hanging well over the brink of failure.
As I look around, I get this sinking feeling that we're off track, that there's something sick in the soul of our country. I examine the fruit that's hanging on the tree of America, and I can see that it's rotting. And that concerns me deeply.
If our country, when pressed with wrongs at the point of the bayonet, had been governed by its heads instead of its hearts, where should we have been now? Hanging on a gallows as high as Haman's.
If school days are the happiest days of your life, I'm hanging myself with my skip-rope tonight.
This was the life I was going to be living, everybody separated from everybody else, hanging on for a moment only to be washed away.
A friend of mine who writes history books said to me that he thought that the two creatures most to be pitied were the spider and the novelist - their lives hanging by a thread spun out of their own guts. But in some ways I think writers of fiction are the creatures most to be envied, because who else besides the spider is allowed to take that fragile thread and weave it into a pattern? What a gift of grace to be able to take the chaos from within and from it to create some semblance of order.
At the very center of our culture is a crucified man, a tortured man hanging on a cross of wood. You have an image of violence at the very center of our spiritual investigation.
I like reading, going to the gym, hanging out with my family. That's it.
I've been an advocate against the view of the writer as a partitioned genius hanging in conceptual space, or up on a mountain, a bringer of Promethean fire, some unique transmission that comes out of nowhere. I prefer the opposite view - that writers come from somewhere. They read things, and they think about them, and they incorporate other people's thoughts.
Sir, they are a race of convicts and ought to be grateful for anything we allow them short of hanging.