Action Bronson Quotes

Action and blood now get the game. Disdain treads on the peaceful name.

My motto is just drown them in olive oil.

just running and doing, like, fighting moves in the air—not really hitting each other, but more like at each other, lots of weird Ninja Turtle–type kicks,

I love my shape, also. I want you to know that. I think I have a great shape. I mean, obviously I am three hundred fucking pounds and I’m a square. But I think I look gorgeous, like the shining light in this fucking bitter world.

Bronson finally wandered off. Trevor handed me a Sprite and sat on the ottoman next to my chair. “Are you having a good time?” he asked, gulping down his own drink.  I couldn’t tell what he was drinking since the glass was opaque, but I hoped he was keeping his word that his partying days were behind him. I sipped at my soda. “It's okay. I don't really know anybody though.” “It's getting close to midnight. Do you want to get out of here?” Relieved he had made the suggestion, I smiled. “Yes, please.”  He took my hand as we walked out to his car. “Where should we go?” I asked as I put on my seatbelt. “I know just the place.” He grinned as he started the engine. We drove for a while and when we stopped we were overlooking the valley. Even though it was cold outside, the view was spectacular.  Trevor left the car running so we could stay warm. Even so, I cuddled up to him. He gazed at me, the black of his pupils enlarged in his blue eyes. “It's midnight, Lily.” His voice was husky as he reached out and cradled my face in his hands. I closed my eyes, ready to accept his kiss. He pressed his lips against mine, gently at first, then more urgently. “I don't think I can wait four more weeks,” he groaned. “We're practically married now. Do we really need to wait?” I pulled back. “But we’re not actually married.” He stared at me in the dim moonlight. “You’re one stubborn girl.” Wanting to change the subject, I groped around in my mind for something else to talk about. The messages I'd received popped into my head and they wouldn't leave. “Trevor, I got a weird e-mail the other day.” “Oh, yeah?” He said without much enthusiasm.  “Yes. They were about you.” That got his attention. He sat up straighter. “Who sent them?” “I don't know,” I said. “Okay. What did they say?” “Basically, they told me not to marry you.”  “What?” He shifted in his seat to face me more squarely.  “That's right. This time I sent an e-mail back, though,” I smiled, proud I had taken some sort of action. “And did you get a response?” “Not yet.” His hand shot out and grabbed me by the arm. “Tell me if you do. Will you promise me?” Startled by his response, I said, “Okay, if that's what you want.” He let go of my arm and I rubbed it where he had squeezed.  “It's getting late. I'd better get you home.” Trevor put the car in gear and we drove toward my apartment. His sudden change in attitude concerned me. What did he know that he wasn’t telling me? The spring semester started a few days later. I was excited to begin my new classes and went eagerly to my first one. It was a required Humanities course. I was surprised to find Justin sitting in the classroom. There was an empty seat beside him and I pulled it out and sat down. “What are you doing in this class?” I said. “Oh, hey, Lily. How's it going?” His smile was warm and friendly. “Great. How about you? I hear you and Pamela are getting serious.”  “Yeah, but not as serious as you, I hear.”  I noticed he seemed very pleased to hear about my own engagement and was surprised. I guess he's over me, I thought. That's good, I suppose. “Yes. Three and a

At that point, I was thinking it’s all good as long as you drink a lot of water, as in you could then eat anything. Almost. You’re not gonna fucking eat foie gras and KFC Double Downs all day long and drink a lot of water, and then be all good. No, you’re gonna die.

There was some hot women there, also, some babes, but there were mainly monsters.

They’d chill, they’d talk to one dude, do one pull-up, then leave and go about their day.

It seems like it’s always that you wait and you wait and you wait, and you feel like nothing’s happening all at one time, and then, boom, you’re back. You just have to remember that while you’re waiting: it’s always all in your mind.

Damn, I’m at the beach. It’s ninety degrees and I’m wearing a fucking black T-shirt down to my knees in the water. What am I really doing? Take the fucking shirt off, kid. I mean, you were there while you ate all the hamburgers and french fries. You knew you were going to go to the beach.

I have the power of the short and stout.

I have an artistic hand, though, I can hold the fuck out of some shit. I was born not just with a short center of gravity, but also with a superior fucking knack to draw guys with guns and with fucking army outfits on.

Even as I write this, as I take a quick break to roll to the trash can in my office chair, I am not being lazy—I had to push off with my leg. Remember that: I still had to do an athletic move. I did a fast-twitch muscle movement, an explosion movement. I did. That’s what I’ve been working on, I’ve been working on my explosion movements.

Everybody has the good mirror and the bad mirror, the one that makes you look like a can of tuna fish.

My first fashion show, I went with a bandage on my head, and I sat next to a supermodel who was born in 1995, when I was already carrying a knife and wearing Timberlands. Fashion shows are Zoolander shit, I’m telling you.

You’re poor, you eat fucking beans and bread and broth and wild greens, and that’s it.

Most of the time if you need me, I’m in the fridge area. Even today I’m actually guarding the fridge most of the time, I set up my workspace right in front of the fridge, at both my home and my studio, so that if anyone needs to fucking get to it, that person needs to see me first.

know what to eat every day. I went to culinary school; I made a 100 in nutrition. My body maybe doesn’t show it, but I know what the fuck nutrition is about. I know what you need to have. I know what’s really good, what’s wholesome.

Anna had a way of describing the world, its systems and power structures, so that anything seemed possible. In addition to the foundation’s galleries, private members’ club, restaurant, night lounge, juice bar, and German bakery, Anna wanted to curate experiential events that would blend art, food, and music. She mused about chefs she’d like to bring in (having watched rapper Action Bronson’s TV show Fuck, That’s Delicious, she eyed him in particular), artists she admired, and the contemporary art scene. She was savvy, and in the male-dominated world of bankers, lawyers, and investment professionals, she was unapologetically ambitious. I liked this about her.

If abs are the whole basis of everything in your life, you’re fucked up in the head. You’re not a normal person and you’re not a fun person if all you care about is how many reps you’ve done in your abs; you’re a fuck boy or girl. Then you’re constantly telling everyone about your crunches.

know it was fucking bullshit, but the girl I was having sex with and being confused about at the time really liked it.

They had a stash of Pepsi Clear at all times—it wasn’t a novelty for them. All the mother-fuckers were drinking a can of Pepsi Clear with, you know, the ham and cheese sandwich Mom made for you.

We were like fucking lions, just fucking bashing each other—like lions or rams or those elk with the horns, just smashing into each other. It was tremendous.

And I just wanted to smoke weed with my friends and have sex with my girlfriend, to be honest with you. I said, I’m done with this shit, and I fucking got on the train and left camp, and that was it both for camp and for school. I was done. I bounced.

But I never finished high school—I gave it up to go chase my dreams, which at that point was smoking weed every day.

mean, I had just been playing ball and whatever, so it was definitely bad company down there, it was bad business.

Anything I’ve ever gone away to, my mother had to come get me at. She wasn’t pissed, because my mother is my ride or die, and she’s also a free spirit herself. She laughs at the things I do. If I put shit on a swing, she’s laughing at

So think about that: I was definitely the athletic standout at Camp Shame.

Maybe my fashion game wasn’t totally on par at that point, but I was on fire—that was the look. I’m sure I was killing it. I was killing the game, because I was coming up with something different. You know, I was flipping the script on ’em.

It may have even traumatized some people in the room—maybe now they can only have sex in groups.

don’t want to fucking die—I am not scared of death, but I like life.

didn’t have the confidence. I didn’t get mouthed. I didn’t get fucked. I didn’t even ask for it. I made pasta.

It’s about living a fucking healthy life, period. It’s about having an alkaline body that disease can’t live in.

I’ll walk away . . . and then come back and take it out again. The whole pint of ice cream can be gone in an instant, or it can last for days.

I’m scraping around the sides to make a perfect shape, the shape that only I am okay with. I skim, skim, skim the top, until I get to the bottom, because then you’re not really eating the ice cream—you’re just skimming.

then the ice cream goes directly under the running hot water. You get rid of it instantly. There can’t be any remnants of it in the garbage. If it’s just melted a little bit, I’ll drink the soup.

I just made that word up, but I’ve been bashing balls my whole life,

They have intense weapons, the Ninja Turtles, but they just hurt you enough so that you lose consciousness and then they retreat, because that’s the way of the samurai.

During the Steroid Years, I was an emotional wreck.

into his face, inches from my own. “What did you have in mind?” His lips curved, and the bell rang over the front door as someone entered. “What do you think you’re doing? Who is that?” The voice from across the room was all too familiar. I almost dropped the paint roller, but Shawn kept his hand tightly wrapped around mine even as he straightened, shifting his torso a few inches away from mine. I didn’t have to look at the intruder. I’d know Bronson’s voice anywhere. What was he doing in Silver Springs? It’s not like it was only an afternoon drive from Chicago. I turned to face him. As usual, he was decked out in his suit and carrying his laptop bag. As mad and hurt as I was over what happened, I still sucked in a little breath when I saw how terrific he looked. Then I clenched my jaw—I was not going there again. Shawn released my hand, but not my waist, nor did he move away. “Bronson, what are you doing here?” I stared at him. He approached, his actions indicating he thought he had a right to intrude. “I came to talk some sense into you. What is he doing here?” He gestured to Shawn. “He came to help me paint. There’s a lot to do before I can open this place for business.” The warmth of Shawn’s hand on my waist grew scalding, but I didn’t shake him off. It felt good having someone behind me, supporting me as I faced down Bronson. And I was amazed he hadn’t stepped forward to interfere. No way would Bronson have let me handle a confrontation without thinking he had to be the big tough man in charge. “Who’s the suit?” Shawn asked. “I’m her fiancé, Bronson DeMille the third.” As always, his introduction was self-important. Usually his attitude just made me roll my eyes, even if only on the inside, but right now I found it more than a minor irritation. Shawn let go and moved away from me, as if I were suddenly contagious. “You’re engaged?” “No, he’s my ex-fiancé, who became my ex when I caught him cheating on me.” I missed having Shawn’s hand on my hip, but decided it was as well. I turned my attention back to the jerk I once thought I would marry. “What do you want, Bronson?” Shawn’s defection seemed to give Bronson courage and he walked over, taking my free hand. “Sweetheart, that was all a misunderstanding. You know how much I love you.” Okay, this was an approach I hadn’t anticipated. But I hadn’t expected to see him at all, so I supposed I shouldn’t have expectations about how he would act. “Really? So I find you sucking face with Karen—made all the worse by the fact that I hate her—and I’m supposed to know that it’s not important, that you still love me? After all, it’s just one of those things that sometimes happens before a guy gets married.” I let the sarcasm ooze and drip. He took the paint roller and set it in the tray, then moved to take my other hand. I snatched both hands out of his reach and stepped back, closer to Shawn. Bronson looked hurt. “Tess, it was a mistake—a major one—but I promise it won’t happen again. You belong in Chicago, not in this backwater town making cupcakes and brownies for school children.” There was more than a little sneer in his voice. “Gourmet cupcakes and brownies, and it won’t only be for children. I’m going to enjoy what I do here, having my own space, doing things my way.” Even if I am terrified of the paperwork and taxes and balancing the books. “I already have a few clients and am working out an agreement to do wedding cakes for the new hotel in town.