Nature gave you your look and there's only a limited amount you can do about that, but what you wear is the skin you choose for yourself.
The pleasure in lovers' gifts is that they are often covert and secretive, worn next to the skin, hidden under pillows.
Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
If a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
I was what they call 'skinny fat' - a body that resembled a python after swallowing a goat.
In the past, I used to counter any such notions by asking myself: 'Would you really want President Hattersley?' I now find that possibility rather cheers me up. With his chubby, Dickensian features and his knowledge of T.H. Green and other harmless leftish political classics, Hattersley might not be such a bad thing after all.
The whole problem can be stated quite simply by asking, 'Is there a meaning to music?' My answer would be, 'Yes.' And 'Can you state in so many words what the meaning is?' My answer to that would be, 'No.'
It's much like playing jazz, flying. It's multitasking in real time. You have a number of instruments that alone won't tell you exactly what the airplane is doing but together give you a picture of everything that's going on.
We used to play football on the levee, with no shirts on in the summer - August in New Orleans - and my skin would turn red. They'd call me Redskin, Red Apache, then it turned around to Apache Red.
It was the roughest day of my career, my final day of shooting on 'Breaking Bad,' knowing that I will never be able to kind of zip on that skin again.
