Myrna Mountweazel Quotes

Physical space between us evaporates. We play the broken strings of our instruments one last time ~ John Green

Cocks were made to be teased. ~ Olivia Cunning

But it was late.
We had to go home.
We listened
to the river singing,
the river singing stone. ~ Myrna Pena-Reyes

Why does every black person in the movies have to play a servant? How about a black person walking up the steps of a courthouse carrying a briefcase? ~ Myrna Loy

I was glamorous because of magicians like George Folsey, James Wong Howe, Oliver Marsh, Ray June, and all those other great cinematographers. I trusted those men and the other experts who made us beautiful. The rest of it I didn't give a damn about. I didn't fuss about my clothes, my lighting, or anything else, but, believe me, some of them did. ~ Myrna Loy

Between notes, he had contemplated means of destroying Myrna Minkoff but had reached no satisfactory conclusion. His most promising scheme had involved getting a book on munitions from the library, constructing a bomb, and mailing it in plain paper to Myrna. Then he remembered that his library card had been revoked. ~ John Kennedy Toole

Give to the world the best you have and the best will come back to you. ~ Myrna Ericksen

Clara tried to give the eulogy, but couldn't speak. Her words stuck at the lump in her throat. And so Myrna took over, holding her hand while Clara stood beside her. ~ Louise Penny

Myrna was not astigmatic; the lenses were clear glass; she wore the glasses to prove her dedication and intensity of purpose. ~ John Kennedy Toole

If you're bored in New York, it's your own fault. ~ Myrna Loy

I was a homely kid with freckles that came out every spring and stuck on me till Christmas. ~ Myrna Loy

Some perfect wife I am. I've been married four times, divorced four times, have no children, and can't boil an egg. ~ Myrna Loy

The group that evening turned out to be almost a who's who of Hollywood royalty, many of whom were Brits and all of whom could not have been kinder to this new kid on the block. Some of the people I remember meeting were: Greer Garson; Ronald Colman; David Niven, who had also been under contract to Goldwyn, and who was the best raconteur I have ever met; Myrna Loy; Ray Milland, with whom I later worked in The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing; and James Mason, who never seemed to be in the moment. It was as if he was off in his own secret places. Meeting him confirmed what I'd always suspected: he would have been terrific as Rupert in Rope. ~ Farley Granger

I think the soul must be heavy and smooth, Myrna: I deduce this from the buoyant, jerky movements of puppets, which lack souls. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

A toast to the birthday boy!' Myrna shouted. 'Welcome to the adult world, hon. It's lonely, it's miserable, and God help you. But there are bright spots, and nights like tonight are one of them. ~ Natalie Standiford

Myrna could spend happy hours browsing bookcases. She felt if she could just get a good look at a person's bookcase and their grocery cart, she'd pretty much know who they were. ~ Louise Penny

Uh, excuse me, myrna. What did you just say? To me it sounded like 'I'm pregnant with the troll's baby and I'm going to handfast with him, Mama.' I know I couldn't have heard you right."~ Shannon Parker
"You hears me right, Mama. Except for the part about Grant being a troll. You know i've asked you a thousand times to quit calling him that." ~Myrna
"Lets see... he's short. The top of his head is flat. He has an underbite. And a squeaky little voice. All that says troll to me." ~ Shannon Parker

Divine by Blood (Part 2 Chapter 6) Partholon Series ~ P.C. Cast

You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?" Myrna ~ Louise Penny

The Dr. Nuts seemed only as an acid gurgling down into his intestine. He filled with gas, the sealed valve trapping it just as one pinches the mouth of a balloon. Great eructations rose from his throat and bounced upward toward the refuse-laden bowl of the milk glass chandelier. Once a person was asked to step into this brutal century, anything could happen. Everywhere there lurked pitfalls like Abelman, the insipid Crusaders for Moorish Dignity, the Mancuso cretin, Dorian Greene, newspaper reporters, stripteasers, birds, photography, juvenile delinquents, Nazi pornographers. And especially Myrna Minkoff. The musky minx must be dealt with. Somehow. Someday. She must pay. Whatever happened, he must attend to her even if the revenge took years and he had to stalk her through decades from one coffee shop to another, from one folksinging orgy to another, from subway train to pad to cotton field to demonstration. Ignatius invoked an elaborate Elizabethan curse upon Myrna and, rolling over, frantically abused the glove once more. ~ John Kennedy Toole

I was dreaming about you."

"Was it a good dream?"

"Not really. I was chasing you and you wouldn't stop running from me."

~Brian/Myrna ~ Olivia Cunning

How many women do we know who were continually kissed by Clark Gable, William Powell, Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy and Fredric March? Only one: Myrna Loy. ~ Lauren Bacall

When did he pass out lastnight?" Eric asked Myrna.
"After he swallowed my banana and I forced him to consume my fluids. ~ Olivia Cunning

Her voice was flat, in a way Myrna recognized from years of listening to people trying to rein in their emotions. To squash them down, flatten, them, and with them their words and their voices. Desperately trying to make the horrific sound mundane. ~ Louise Penny

But he had never seen Myrna in practice...never that close up. He had been impressed and a little frightened by the contrast between seeing ballet on stange, where everyone seemed to either glide or mince effortlessly on the tips of their pointes. and seeing it from less than five feet away, with harsh daylight pouring in the floor-to-ceiling windows and no music- only the choreographer rythmically clapping his hands and yelling harsh criticisms. No praise, only criticisms. Their faces ran with sweat. Their leotards were wet with sweat. The room, as large and airy as it way, stank of sweat. Sleek muscles trembled and fluttered on the nervous edge of exhaustion. Corded tendons stood out like insulated cables. Throbbing veins popped out on foreheads and necks. Except for the choreographer's clapping and angry, hectoring shouts, the only sounds were the thrup-thud of ballet dancers on pointe moving across the floor and harsh, agonized panting for breath. Jack had suddenly realized that these dancers were not just earning a living, they were killing themselves. Most of all he remembered their expressions- all that exhausted concentration, all that pain... but transcending the pain, or at least creeping around its edges, he had seen joy. Joy was unmistakably what that look was, and it scared Jack because it had seemed inexplicable. ~ Stephen King

I got rid of all those reporters. ~ Myrna Loy

We always used to celebrate together at the end of a picture. Clark insisted on it. Maybe we'd include the director, maybe not. It was just a kind of ritual that the two of us had. We would share a bottle of champagne while he read poetry to me, usually the sonnets of Shakespeare. He loved poetry, and read beautifully, with great sensitivity, but he wouldn't dare let anyone else know it. He was afraid people would think him weak or effeminite and not the tough guy who liked to fish and hunt. I was the only one he trusted. He never wanted me to tell about this, and here I am giving him away, but I never mentioned it while he was alive. ~ Myrna Loy

You know for sure Jane would be annoyed she gave you all her money and you're not even enjoying it. Should have given it to me.' Myrna had shaken her head in mock bewilderment. 'I'd have known what to do with it. Boom, down to Jamaica, a nice Rasta man, a good book - '
'Wait a minute. You have a Rasta man and you're reading a book?'
'Oh, yes. Each has a purpose. For instance, a Rasta man is great when he's hard, but not a book.'
Clara had laughed. They shared a disdain for hard books. Not the content, but the cover. Hardcovers were simply too hard to hold, especially in bed.
'Unlike a Rasta man,' said Myrna. ~ Louise Penny

Most of us are great with change, as long it was our idea. But change imposed from the outside can send some people into a tailspin. - Myrna Landers ~ Louise Penny

Just love me, Myrna," he whispered against her lips. "Please."

~Brian "Master" Sinclair ~ Olivia Cunning

Would you have this?" the Protectorat hissed at his son.
Rafael's gaze narrowed in a slow inspection while she stared defiantly back. Rafael's gaze faltered, shot briefly toward Leon, and then down. His answer was obvious: no.
And in spite of everything, in the face of all the other more important dangers that threatened her, it still stung that someone, some boy, found her ugly. Gaia burned with sudden hate for all of them.
The Protectorat saw. He smiled slightly.
"I thought not," said the Protectorat, releasing her with a flick. He turned back toward his family. "I can't thrust her on any family I know, no matter what her genes are. She's a freak, not a hero. I'd rather make a hero out of Myrna Silk."
Leon had been standing tensely throughout this exchange. "I'd take Gaia," Leon said, his low voice resonating in the space. ~ Caragh M. O'Brien

Kids take up all available time - it's the basic law of parenthood. No matter how much time you give them, whether you work from eight to eight or are around the house all the time, you'll still feel you haven't been there enough for them. ~ Myrna Blyth

Nice hair.' Olivier turned to Clara, hoping to break the tension.
'Thank you.' Clara ran her hands through it, making it stand on end as though she'd just had a scare.
'You're right.' Olivier turned to Myrna. 'She looks like a frightened doughboy from the trenches of Vimy. Not many people could carry off that look. Very bold, very new millennium. I salute you.'
Clara narrowed her eyes and glared at Myrna whose smile went from ear to ear. ~ Louise Penny

I have a big box of autographs. I took photographs of me and Marlene Dietrich, me and Ida Lupino. I took pictures of Myrna Loy and Joel McCrea in front of the studios. I loved Hollywood. I have 500 autographs and 500 photographs I took. ~ Ray Bradbury

I think that carrying on a life that is meant to be private in public is a breach of taste, common sense, and mental hygiene. ~ Myrna Loy

very good story and I enjoyed it very much ~ Myrna Mackenzie

I haven't said it yet, but it seemed implied, that cinema for me was the American one, current Hollywood productions. "My" period goes roughly from The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (Henry Hathaway, 1935) with Gary Cooper and Mutiny on the Bounty (Frank Lloyd, 1935) with Charles Laughton and Clark Gable, to the death of Jean Harlow (which I relived many years later like the death of Marilyn Monroe, in an era more aware of the neurotic power of every symbol), with lots of comedies in between, the mystery-romances with Myrna Loy and William Powell and the dog Asta, the musicals of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the crime pictures of Chinese detective Charlie Chan and the horror films of Boris Karloff. I didn't remember the names of the directors as well as the names of the actors, except for a few like Frank Capra, Gregory La Cava, and Frank Borzage, who represented the poor rather than the millionaires, usually with Spencer Tracy: they were the good-natured directors from the Roosevelt era; I learned this later; back then I consumed everything without distinguishing between them too much. American cinema in that moment consisted of a collection of actors' faces without equal before or after (at least it seemed that way to me) and the adventures were simple mechanisms to get these faces together (sweethearts, character actors, extras) in different combinations. ~ Italo Calvino