Browsing Topic Best Postcards Quotes

I’m pretty satisfied with how ‘Postcard’ turned out. I think everybody did a great job.

When I was a boy, I would read those postcards and know exactly why my father was doing what he was doing: he was taking a stab at greatness, that is, if greatness is simply another word for doing something different from what you were already doing–or maybe greatness is the thing we want to have so that other people will want to have us, or maybe greatness is merely the grail for our unhappy, striving selves, the thing we think we need but don’t and can’t get anyway.

Poems aren’t postcards to send home.

They’re selling postcards of the hanging.

They’re selling postcards of the hanging They’re painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is filled with sailors The circus is in town Here comes the blind commissioner They’ve got him in a trance One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker The other is in his pants And the riot squad they’re restless They need somewhere to go As Lady and I look out tonight From Desolation Row.

I’ve always thought that Boathouse Row looked best at night, when hundreds of electric lights outline the shape of each building, truning them into fantastic postcard themes. I knew, however, from many visits to Boathouse Row, that at the same time, armies of rats were holding maneuvers in the basements.

Dear Alec and Magnus, How are you? Everything’s just fine here. Thanks for you postcard with the picture of the Taj Mahal. It looks nice. Disregard my last few postcards. I see I overdid it. To make it up to you, I’m going to redecorate Magnus’s loft for free. -Izzy

…after a certain quantity, photos apparently taken by chance, postcards chosen according to a passing mood, begin to trace an itinerary, to map the imaginary country that stretches out before us.

What I really like is the marriage of both [writing and acting] – for instance, with Postcards. I don’t actually act in it, but I worked on it with Mike [Nichols] as I went along, creating the character, so it was a bit like acting for me.

Actually, social drug-taking went kind of low-key for a couple of years. Probably because of AIDS, people got very conscious of their health. But it seems to be making a comeback. Just the other night I was at a party where people kept disappearing into the bathroom every few minutes. I’m glad I did all that in my 20s and that I’m done with it. And that I wrote about it in Postcards from the Edge.

I got a postcard from my gynecologist. It said, Did you know it’s time for your annual check-up? No, but now my mailman does.

I was the first home-grown sex symbol, rather like Britain`s naughty seaside postcards. When Marilyn Monroe`s first film was shown here [The Asphalt Jungle (1950)], a columnist actually wrote: `How much like our Diana Dors she is`.

When you are the woman upstairs, nobody thinks of you first. Nobody calls you before anyone else, or sends you the first postcard. Once your mother dies, nobody loves you best of all. It’s a small thing, you might think, and maybe it depends on your temperament, maybe for some people it’s a small thing, but for me […]

Dear Alec and Magnus, This is the first postcard of five. Don’t freak out or anything, but I need you to send me $150,000 to cover the cost of: 1) Two diamanté crowns 2) 20 peacocks 3) 300 chocolate lollipops in the shape of your heads 4) My dress 5) 500 lbs of glitter 6) One white horse (More to come in other cards) -Isabelle

Speed is not an indicator of quality in terms of fiction. That’s true of one’s relative slowness or swiftness – taking 10 years to write a book or taking 10 days to write a book (or a comic or a film or an angry postcard) guarantees nothing in terms of how good or how bad that story is.

The postcard is sacred to me. It makes me sad that no one sends them very much anymore because of email and texting. I still like to buy them, but they’ve lost their original function and now just seem like reminders or mementos of what they used to be.

I guess I haven’t really done anything romantic for anyone. I think my boyfriend is more romantic than I am. I think little things like sending unexpected text messages, or when I’m out of town I send postcards. I think that’s sweet… but probably not very romantic.

I received a most amusing postcard the other morning. Unfortunately, it was not signed in a readable manner so I cannot answer it privately. But it comes from Moblie, Ala., and says: ‘Dear Mrs. Roosevelt: You have not answered my question, the amount of Negro blood you have in your veins, if any.’ I am afraid none of us know how much nor what kind of blood we have in our veins, since chemically it is all the same. And most of us cannot trace our ancestry more than a few generations.

When I came to write my Thomas Cromwell books, I moved onto the center ground of English history, but I was never there before. I didn’t feel it was my history particularly, coming from Northern Britain, being of Irish extraction, being a cradle Catholic. The image of England I grew up with felt somewhere else. There was an official England in postcards, but it wasn’t one I had visited. But I decided to march onto the center ground and occupy it whether it was mine or not.

Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It’s a magpie Christmas market.

I shot many scenes of Hamburg, albums full of postcard motifs, and I discarded almost all of them. I ride my bike through Hamburg every day. I go shopping here, I go to the doctor – and yet I no longer have the eye for telling stories about this damn city, even though I love it.

At the heart of all photography is an urge to express our deepest personal feelings – to reveal our inner, hidden selves, to unlock the artist. Those of us who become photographers are never satisfied with just looking at someone else’s expression of something that is dear to us. We must produce our own images, instead of buying postcards and photo books. We seek to make our own statements of individuality.

We’ve created a community and these images [from Vogue] will live on with exhibitions, postcards, projections. We help them gain more exposure. Instagram already works as a selection. It’s my curiosity into the world of youth, what they do, what they buy.

Well, I know that I’ll never forget that, but also I won’t forget the hundreds of people who sent me letters, telegrams, and postcards during that World Series. There wasn’t a single nasty message. Everybody tried to say something nice.

Who you really are, your True Nature, is no more tied to the kind of person you’ve been than the wind is tied to the skies through which it moves. Your past is just that, the past, a place within your psyche with no more reality to it than a picture of a castle on a postcard is made from stone. You have a destination far beyond where you find yourself standing today.

There’s a conspiracy / to protect the young, so they’ll be fearless, / it’s why you travel – it’s a way of trying / to let go, of lying. You don’t sit / in a stiff chair and worry, you keep moving. / Postcards from the Alamo, the Alhambra. / … / You, fainting at the Buddhist caves. / Climbing with thousands on the Great Wall, / … / Having the time of your life, blistered and smiling. / The acid of your fear could eat the world.

Quality doesn’t mean deep blacks and whatever tonal range. That’s not quality, that’s a kind of quality. The pictures of Robert Frank might strike someone as being sloppy-the tone range isn’t right and things like that-but they’re far superior to the pictures of Ansel Adams with regard to quality, because the quality of Ansel Adams, if I may say so, is essentially the quality of a postcard. But the quality of Robert Frank is a quality that has something to do with what he’s doing, what his mind is. It’s not balancing out the sky to the sand and so forth. It’s got to do with intention.

Remember that postcard Grandpa sent us from Florida of that Alligator biting that woman’s bottom? That’s right, we all thought it was hilarious. But, it turns out we were wrong. That alligator was sexually harassing that woman.

Millions of unnecessary photos are taken every day. People stand before the Pyramids and photograph them, when for three cents they could buy postcards which show them much better.

Your past is just that, the past, a place within your psyche with no more reality to it then the picture of a castle on a postcard is made from stone.

When they dumped all these people out of the insane asylums they didn’t all go sleep in the street. Some of them moved into suburbia, and started writing postcards to the FCC.

I was a small business owner, father, and husband just living out in the suburbs. I kind of had a boring life until Post Secret came and turned that upside down. I printed up 3000 self-addressed postcards and handed them out to people on the street, inviting them to write down a secret on that postcard anonymously and mail it to me. I got a lot of surprises.

Paint with whatever material you please – with pipes, postage stamps, postcards or playing cards, painted paper, or newspapers.

As ever, the original inhabitants of Turtle Island are entirely overlooked. Mysteriously, the only time indigenous people are guaranteed a mainstream Amerikkan mention is on Thanksgiving. Again, to contextualize, this would be be kinda like someone busting into your house and robbing you blind, then sending you postcards once a year to remind you how much they are enjoying all of your stuff, and getting annoyed with you if you don’t respond with appreciation for their thoughtfulness.

On TV you can’t show landscapes. You just can’t. Even a postcard is better.