Dime A Dozen Quotes

I didn't realize there was a ranking." I said. "Sadie frowned. "What do you mean?" "A ranking," I said. "You know, what's crazier than what." "Oh, sure there is," Sadie said. She sat back in her chair. "First you have your generic depressives. They're a dime a dozen and usually pretty boring. Then you've got the bulimics and the anorexics. They're slightly more interesting, although usually they're just girls with nothing better to do. Then you start getting into the good stuff: the arsonists, the schizophrenics, the manic-depressives. You can never quite tell what those will do. And then you've got the junkies. They're completely tragic, because chances are they're just going to go right back on the stuff when they're out of here." "So junkies are at the top of the crazy chain," I said. Sadie shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said. "Suicides are." I looked at her. "Why?" "Anyone can be crazy," she answered. "That's usually just because there's something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?

The key to such power is ambiguity. In a society where the roles everyone plays are obvious, the refusal to conform to any standard will excite interest. Be both masculine and feminine, impudent and charming, subtle and outrageous. Let other people worry about being socially acceptable; those types are a dime a dozen, and you are after a power greater than they can imagine.

I am not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman, and you are Biff Loman!

So somebody has talent? So what? Dime a dozen. And we're overpopulated. Actually we have more food than we have people and more art. We've gotten to the point of burning food. When will we begin to burn our art?

Daughters of Naiads were a dime a dozen in those days; the place was crawling with them. Nevertheless, it never hurts to be of semi-divine birth. Or it never hurts immediately.

On writing, my advice is the same to all. If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write. If you stop, start again. Save everything that you write. If you feel blocked, write through it until you feel your creative juices flowing again. Write. Writing is what makes a writer, nothing more and nothing less. --- Ignore critics. Critics are a dime a dozen. Anybody can be a critic. Writers are priceless. ---- Go where the pleasure is in your writing. Go where the pain is. Write the book you would like to read. Write the book you have been trying to find but have not found. But write. And remember, there are no rules for our profession. Ignore rules. Ignore what I say here if it doesn't help you. Do it your own way. --- Every writer knows fear and discouragement. Just write. --- The world is crying for new writing. It is crying for fresh and original voices and new characters and new stories. If you won't write the classics of tomorrow, well, we will not have any. Good luck.

Yet ministers who do not spend two hours a day in prayer are not worth a dime a dozen, degrees or no degrees.

Come on, Eden, don't be naive. Demonic children are a dime a dozen in Netherworld. Need I mention Children of the Corn? Damien? Justine Bieber?

In no way did God want me to settle for one of the typical “jerks” who were a dime a dozen. He wanted me to save myself for a man who had His very nature and character within him. And He wanted me to trust Him enough to bring that special man to me in His perfect time.

Dreams are a dime a dozen. it's their execution that counts

Christian allegories are a dime a dozen. You can find them in any story, if you look hard enough. Even Harry Potter.

You know me. Guys like me come a dime a dozen. No fire. No backbone. Dead weight waiting to be pulled around and taken to places where we want to go but can't go alone. Because we're afraid to go alone. Because we're afraid to be alone. Because we can't face people and we can't talk to people. Because we don't know how. Because we can't handle life and don't know the first thing about taking a bite out of life. Because we're afraid and we don't know what we're afraid of and still we're afraid. Guys like me.

He’d use the Tracey money to open a small RenCen office, stand in the lobby, and direct his competitors’ lost clients to his office rather than theirs. There’s no loyalty in this business anyway. Lawyers were a dime a dozen. Look how easily his asshole ex-partners were able to convince his clients to stay with them.

It’s such an intimate thing, to witness another’s death. Orgasms are a dime a dozen. Any old human woman can see a man orgasm. We so rarely get to see them die; it has been my greatest gift and my most divine privilege.

Standing at the window, reading the menu of Obediah's services, the Minotaur wishes he could believe in what she has to offer: a promise woven into deep lines of his palm, some turn of fate told by a card. But faith is a nebulous thing and charlatans a dime a dozen; it's always been that way. The Minotaur both envies and pities the devout.

Smart people are a dime a dozen and often don’t amount to much. What counts is being creative and imaginative.

Pretty people are a dime a dozen and sex can be had with a complete stranger......but crossing paths with one who awakens within you a poetic melody that echoes throughout the depths of your soul, that is one of life's truest delicacies.

Good is a-dime-a-dozen. I mean perfect, quintessentially unique, unforgettable; a moment you would gladly stay in for the rest of your life, only the essence of it to sustain you.

Many feel that writers are a dime a dozen, so the goal is to break through and make it to the value of a penny.

Girls like her are a dime a dozen, and I happen to have a pocket full of dimes.

Guys willing to hold your dick are a dime a dozen; save your hearts for the one who wants to hold your hand.

Apologies are a dime a dozen. I don't need an apology. What I need is sincerity.

...it’s worth pointing out that [Herman Melville] worked in [the New York Custom House] as a deputy customs inspector between 1866 and 1885. Nineteen years, and he never got a raise - four dollars a day, six days a week. He was by then a washed-up writer, forgotten and poor. I used to find this subject heartbreaking, a waste: the greatest living American author was forced to spend his days writing tariff reports instead of novels. But now, knowing what I know about the sleaze of the New York Custom House, and the honorable if bitter decency with which Melville did his job, I have come to regard literature’s loss as the republic’s gain. Great writers are a dime a dozen in New York. But an honest customs inspector in the Gilded Age? Unheard of.

The ugly fact is that altar fires are either out or burning very low. The prayer meeting is dead or dying. By our attitude to prayer we tell God that what was begun in the Spirit we can finish in the flesh. What church ever asks its candidating ministers what time they spend in prayer? Yet ministers who do not spend two hours a day in prayer are not worth a dime a dozen, degrees or no degrees.

I did feel a concentrated dislike for those boys, who couldn't submit to the odd faithless girlfriend, needling classmate, or dose of working-single-parent distraction--who couldn't serve their miserable time in their miserable public schools the way the rest of us did--without carving their dime-a-dozen problems ineluctably into the lives of other families. It was the same petty vanity that drove these boys' marginally saner contemporaries to scrape their dreary little names into national monuments. And the self-pity! That nearsighted Woodham creature apparently passed a note to one of his friends before staging a tantrum with his father's deer rifle: "Throughout my life I was ridiculed. Always beaten, always hated. Can you, society, blame me for what I do?" And I thought, Yes, you little shit! In a heartbeat!

She doesn't care what it means to be a dancer. What sacrifices it takes. And she knows that Mr. K will easily let me go. That I'm nothing. I can be replaced. Girls are a dime a dozen in ballet-not like the boys who are treated like princes. Another girl will be plucked from some audition somewhere.

In this value driven and ‘connection economy’, skills & talents alone are dime-a-dozen, you need to be able to add value to others and build great connections

Million dollar ideas are a dime a dozen. The determination to see the idea through is what's priceless.

Products are a dime a dozen. They are important, but much less crucial to success than finding a hot market. I'll

There are plenty of openings available, just not for me. The curse of being your basic office drone. I’m a dime a dozen, and everyone is looking for a quarter.

You are mankind, or man's condition: inseparable as the mountain-climber and the mountain. If you withdraw, you'll instantly be replaced. Brute existents, you know, are a dime a dozen.

And like blue eyes and whiteness, eventually I learned the Blue Eyes White Dragon was simply a construct too. A piece of flimsy card stock, its value ascribed by a mysterious higher power. I could go online and buy a million Blue Eyes White Dragon cards, and similarly, I could walk down the street of our suburb and see blue-eyed white girls everywhere, available a dime a dozen.

On writing, my advice is the same to all. If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write. If you stop, start again. Save everything that you write. If you feel blocked, write through it until you feel your creative juices flowing again. Write. Writing is what makes a writer, nothing more and nothing less. — Ignore critics. Critics are a dime a dozen. Anybody can be a critic. Writers are priceless. — Go where the pleasure is in your writing. Go where the pain is. Write the book you would like to read. Write the book you have been trying to find but have not found. But write. And remember, there are no rules for our profession. Ignore rules. Ignore what I say here if it doesn’t help you. Do it your own way. — Every writer knows fear and discouragement. Just write. — The world is crying for new writing. It is crying for fresh and original voices and new characters and new stories. If you won’t write the classics of tomorrow, well, we will not have any. Good luck.

The job description for Seth was that of a routine low-level IT guy, dime a dozen. Data inputting, using a packet of snoreworthy but serviceable software designed to record and compare the various factoids and buckets o’data the HelthWyzer brainiacs were coming up with.

Guys that set off to hike around the world are a dime a dozen in California. Every day in this state women tell divorce judges, “He walked to the corner convenience store for a pack of cigarettes and decided to keep going, all the way around the world, and here is the postcard he sent to let me know.

Middling monsters died at the point of pitchforks, burned with torches, or at the butt of silver-capped canes wielded by angry, geriatric Poles. Middling people were dime-a-dozen, emptied souls, shorn sheeple, human husks. A good monster didn’t worry about what it was doing; it just did it. A true predator didn’t worry about guilt, or being popular, or anything. It just cruised along, living for the kill, surviving. A good person, well, she’d put a bullet in her head or weigh her feet down and throw herself into the Chicago River, holding her breath until she went to the sludgy, filthy bottom, and had to open wide and breathe water until she died.

Only a short time ago hed envied these brightly plumed birds[ladies in pastel dresses]. They possessed everything money could buy and most had the leisure to enjoy it. Yet their needs were greater than his own. They required a flock of admirers, dozens of servants, expensive clothes, and showy carriages to incite envy among their friends and foes.

Just remember, you are fighting a woman who is in the dime-a-dozen class. They are everywhere, ready to steal away the heart of the man who feels uncared for and unappreciated. The tool of your warfare is your loving, kind, delightful, radiant, adoring self.

I had come a long way from a guy who had worked in slaughterhouses, who had crossed the country with a railroad track gang, who had worked in a dog biscuit factory, who had slept on park benches, who had worked the nickel and dime jobs in a dozen cities across the nation.

I have talked to many people about this and it seems to be a kind of mystical experience. The preparation is unconscious, the realization happens in a flaming second. It was on Third Avenue. The trains were grinding over my head. The snow was nearly waist-high in the gutters and uncollected garbage was scattered in a dirty mess. The wind was cold, and frozen pieces of paper went scraping along the pavement. I stopped to look in a drug-store window where a latex cooch dancer was undulating by a concealed motor–and something burst in my head, a kind of light and a kind of feeling blended into an emotion which if it had spoken would have said, “My God! I belong here. Isn’t this wonderful?” Everything fell into place. I saw every face I passed. I noticed every doorway and the stairways to apartments. I looked across the street at the windows, lace curtains and potted geraniums through sooty glass. It was beautiful–but most important, I was part of it. I was no longer a stranger. I had become a New Yorker. Now there may be people who move easily into New York without travail, but most I have talked to about it have had some kind of trial by torture before acceptance. And the acceptance is a double thing. It seems to me that the city finally accepts you just as you finally accept the city. A young man in a small town, a frog in a small puddle, if he kicks his feet is able to make waves, get mud in his neighbor’s eyes–make some impression. He is known. His family is known. People watch him with some interest, whether kindly or maliciously. He comes to New York and no matter what he does, no one is impressed. He challenges the city to fight and it licks him without being aware of him. This is a dreadful blow to a small-town ego. He hates the organism that ignores him. He hates the people who look through him. And then one day he falls into place, accepts the city and does not fight it any more. It is too huge to notice him and suddenly the fact that it doesn’t notice him becomes the most delightful thing in the world. His self-consciousness evaporates. If he is dressed superbly well–there are half a million people dressed equally well. If he is in rags–there are a million ragged people. If he is tall, it is a city of tall people. If he is short the streets are full of dwarfs; if ugly, ten perfect horrors pass him in one block; if beautiful, the competition is overwhelming. If he is talented, talent is a dime a dozen. If he tries to make an impression by wearing a toga–there’s a man down the street in a leopard skin. Whatever he does or says or wears or thinks he is not unique. Once accepted this gives him perfect freedom to be himself, but unaccepted it horrifies him. I don’t think New York City is like other cities. It does not have character like Los Angeles or New Orleans. It is all characters–in fact, it is everything. It can destroy a man, but if his eyes are open it cannot bore him. New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it–once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough. All of everything is concentrated here, population, theatre, art, writing, publishing, importing, business, murder, mugging, luxury, poverty. It is all of everything. It goes all right. It is tireless and its air is charged with energy. I can work longer and harder without weariness in New York than anyplace else….

March 12 Dear Stargirl, Hey, you're a big girl now. Stop being such a baby. You think you're the only one who's ever lost a boyfriend? Boyfriends are a dime a dozen. You want to talk loss, look at all the loss around you. How about the man in the red and yellow plaid scarf? He lost Grace. BELOVED WIFE. I'll bet they were married over 50 years. You barely had 50 days with Leo. And you have the gall to be sad in the same world as that man. Betty Lou. She's lost the confidence to leave her house. Look at you. Have you ever stopped to appreciate the simple ability to open your front door and step outside? And Alvina the floor sweeper-she hates herself, and it seems she's got plenty of company. All she's losing is her childhood, her future, a worldful of people who will never be her friends. How would you like to trade places with her? Oh yes, lets not forget the footshuffling guy at the stone piles. Moss-green pom-pom. What did he say to you? "Are you looking for me?" It seems like he hasn't lost much, has he? Only...HIMSELF! Now look at you, sniveling like a baby over some immature kid in Arizona who didn't know what a prize he had, who tried to remake you into somebody else, who turned his back to you and left you to the wolves, who hijacked your heart and didn't even ask you to the Ocotillo Ball. What don't you understand about the message? Hel-loooo? Anybody home in there? You have your whole life ahead of you, and all your doing is looking back. Grow up, girl. There are some things they don't teach you in homeschool. Your Birth Certificate Self, Susan Caraway

How many people, healthy and strong do not distinguish their own, personal, God-given feelings from the common, dime-a-dozen feelings. Those people get into bed with the same unbridled pleasure, ready for anything, that they sit at a table with: just to be satisfied. And they cry and laugh looking around--to make sure that they are seen laughing and crying so that their tears do not go to waste. They were played out: touch them a special way--and they won't understand, they won't respond, not a single string will vibrate with a sensitive quiver. It's too late for them--they are deaf and dumb, and they will never touch anyone that way either. And all because they did not want or did not know how to be alone with themselves, they had forgotten and lost themselves, and now they couldn't remember or find themselves.

It was when they determined that I had been born dead That my life became easier to understand. For a long time, I wondered why rooms felt colder when I entered them, Why nothing I said seemed to stick in anyone’s ear, Frankly, why I never had any money. I wondered Why the cities I walked through drifted into cloud Even as I admired their architecture, as I pointed out The cornerstones marked “1820,” “1950.” The only songs I ever loved were filled with scratch, dispatches from A time when dead ones like me were a dime a dozen. I spent my life in hotels: some looked like mansions, Some more like trailer parks, or pathways toward A future I tried to point to, but how could I point, With nothing but a hand no hand ever matched, With fingers that melted into words that no one read. I rehearsed names that others taught me: Caravaggio, Robert Brandom, Judith, Amber, Emmanuelle Cat. I got hungry the way only the dead get hungry, The hunger that launches a thousand dirty wars, But I never took part in the wars, because no one lets A dead man into their covert discussions. So I drifted from loft to cellar, ageless like a ghost, And America became my compass, and Europe became The way that dead folks talk, in short, who cares, There’s nothing to say because nobody listens, There’s no radio for the dead and the pillows seem Like sand. Let me explain: when you’re alive, As I understand it, pillows cushion the head, the way A lover might soothe the heart. The way it works for me, In contrast, is everything is sand. Beds are sand, The women I profess to love are sand, the sound of music In the darkest night is sand, and whatever I have to say Is sand. This is not, for example, a political poem, Because the dead have no politics. They might have A hunger, but nothing you’ve ever known Could begin to assuage it.

Onions! Fresh, hot, sweet onions,” Sam called as Mary Lou pulled the cart down Main Street. “Eight cents a dozen.” It was a beautiful spring morning. The sky was painted pale blue and pink—the same color as the lake and the peach trees along its shore. Mrs. Gladys Tennyson was wearing just her nightgown and robe as she came running down the street after Sam. Mrs. Tennyson was normally a very proper woman who never went out in public without dressing up in fine clothes and a hat. So it was quite surprising to the people of Green Lake to see her running past them. “Sam!” she shouted. “Whoa, Mary Lou,” said Sam, stopping his mule and cart. “G’morning, Mrs. Tennyson,” he said. “How’s little Becca doing?” Gladys Tennyson was all smiles. “I think she’s going to be all right. The fever broke about an hour ago. Thanks to you.” “I’m sure the good Lord and Doc Hawthorn deserve most of the credit.” “The Good Lord, yes,” agreed Mrs. Tennyson, “but not Dr. Hawthorn. That quack wanted to put leeches on her stomach! Leeches! My word! He said they would suck out the bad blood. Now you tell me. How would a leech know good blood from bad blood?” “I wouldn’t know,” said Sam. “It was your onion tonic,” said Mrs. Tennyson. “That’s what saved her.” Other townspeople made their way to the cart. “Good morning, Gladys,” said Hattie Parker. “Don’t you look lovely this morning.” Several people snickered. “Good morning, Hattie,” Mrs. Tennyson replied. “Does your husband know you’re parading about in your bed clothes?” Hattie asked. There were more snickers. “My husband knows exactly where I am and how I am dressed, thank you,” said Mrs. Tennyson. “We have both been up all night and half the morning with Rebecca. She almost died from stomach sickness. It seems she ate some bad meat.” Hattie’s face flushed. Her husband, Jim Parker, was the butcher. “It made my husband and me sick as well,” said Mrs. Tennyson, “but it nearly killed Becca, what with her being so young. Sam saved her life.” “It wasn’t me,” said Sam. “It was the onions.” “I’m glad Becca’s all right,” Hattie said contritely. “I keep telling Jim he needs to wash his knives,” said Mr. Pike, who owned the general store. Hattie Parker excused herself, then turned and quickly walked away. “Tell Becca that when she feels up to it to come by the store for a piece of candy,” said Mr. Pike. “Thank you, I’ll do that.” Before returning home, Mrs. Tennyson bought a dozen onions from Sam. She gave him a dime and told him to keep the change. “I don’t take charity,” Sam told her. “But if you want to buy a few extra onions for Mary Lou, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” “All right then,” said Mrs. Tennyson, “give me my change in onions.” Sam gave Mrs. Tennyson an additional three onions, and she fed them one at a time to Mary Lou. She laughed as the old donkey ate them out of her hand.

Managers are a dime a dozen, but leaders are priceless

fighter that had just been recovered and dropped off at the boneyard. They were a dime a dozen, but sometimes they had unexploded ordnance that could be a real problem with the other boneyard ships orbiting Ceres.  One little bang and I could spend weeks (and a year’s fuel allotment) chasing down the strays that had been knocked

He helped start the March of Dimes, did numerous benefits, worked for Jewish refugees in World War II, and established a $5,000 college scholarship fund for young essayists and orators. The fund, begun during the Texaco shows of the 1930s, was tainted when the first winner was discovered to have plagiarized his piece word for word. But Cantor stayed with it for a decade, putting a dozen youths through school. Cantor died Oct. 10, 1964.

Gold-digging party girls are a dime a dozen in Ibiza

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you’ve got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren’t just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a fuckin’ Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you’re a baby daddy. I don’t know if Josie falls into that latter category, but she’s a little too eager for my taste.

All of the great ideas, without action, become stale and useless. The key to turning dreams into reality is action. People who have great ideas are a dime a dozen. People who act on their dreams and ideas are the select few, but they are the ones who gain the wealth, wealth and wisdom that is available. Someone will act today. Let it be you.

Good ideas and good products are a dime a dozen,” he later explained. “Good execution and good management—in a word, good people—are rare.

Was just kind of a dickish boss. And guys like that were a dime a dozen.

Ideas, as the saying goes, are a dime a dozen. An idea that has been at least partially proven, with the concept shown workable and a few customers on board, is a whole different animal. Simply put, the farther along you are, the lower the risk.

Bad bosses were a dime a dozen, but very few of them were sent to an early grave.  Hunter just happened to be one of the unlucky ones.

Understand this: Words are a dime a dozen. Everyone knows that in the heat of an argument, we will all say anything to support our cause. We will quote the Bible, refer to unverifiable statistics. Who can be persuaded by bags of air like that? Action and demonstration are much more powerful and meaningful.

It's such an intimate thing, to witness another's death. Orgasms are a dime a dozen. Any old human woman can see a man orgasm. We so rarely get to see them die; it has been my greatest gift and my most divine privilege

Emperors were a dime a dozen in ancient times, and no doubt the ruler of the State of Xia calls himself an emperor as well, and every guy that owns more than a square meter of turf. This is also why Romance of the Three Kingdoms is a mistranslation, because Wei, Shu, and Wu weren’t ruled by kings, but rather by wannabe emperors. However, Romance of the Three States sounds far less…romantic.

Emperors were a dime a dozen in ancient times, and no doubt the ruler of the State of Xia calls himself an emperor as well, and every guy that owns more than a square meter of turf. This is also why Romance of the Three Kingdoms is a mistranslation, because Wei, Shu, and Wu weren’t ruled by kings, but rather by wannabe emperors. However, Romance of the Three States sounds far less…romantic.

Pop! I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you!

Defining moments. Intentional strategies. Adventurous living. Most of us spend our trips around the sun accumulating the wrong things. Possessions are a dime a dozen. Experiences are the currency of a life well lived.

Frontrunners are a dime a dozen. It’s easy to stay in the game when you’re winning. What sets the special fighters apart is the ability to battle beyond your greatest losses and adversities.” By

Ideas are a dime a dozen. It's the development that puts you over the top.

Rich men in hell are a dime a dozen.

A good catcher is, shall we say, a dime a dozen, but a great catcher is worth her weight in gold. A great catcher has an uncanny ability to withstand pain and play through it. she's expected to provide power with her bat, have a rocket launcher for a throwing arm and must be one of, if not the smartest player on the field.

Massachusetts?” Lizzy yawned. Mrs. McKinliy glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “No. We’re in Maine. It shouldn’t be too long now.” Sarah, Mariana, and Lizzy rubbed the sleep from their eyes and looked out the side window. They passed by fields, farms, woodland, and scattered farm houses. Then they reached the outskirts of a small town. The town was nothing like Melville, Massachusetts. A roadside sign indicated that the town had a population of just 458 people. There were less than a dozen businesses in the “downtown” area. There was a grocery store, laundromat, hardware store, diner, gas station, restaurant, book store, dime store, secondhand shop, and a real estate office. That was it. They passed

You’re a real person.” “Real people are a dime a dozen.” Jack thought for a second. “Okay. You know the dolls my mom rescues?” “Yeah?” “What I’m saying is, the women in your file—those women from my past—they’re the ‘before's.’ And you…” He looked right into my eyes. “You’re the ‘after.’” And just like that, I got it. I got what Jack Stapleton meant by “real.” More than that, I believed him.

Rich, handsome men were a dime a dozen, but men with hearts like his were a rare breed.

Love is not a gift that we all get a chance to receive. If you are lucky enough, you will find it with the right person. Women like her are a dime a dozen, and love like yours comes once in a lifetime. Please do not lose her while you are busy chasing a fairytale. Cherish her with all her strengths and flaws, and make this your fairytale.

She remembered her Gran. She remembered how Gran would tell her people like Lorene were a dime a dozen. They judged their own worth by how worthless they could make others feel. They were the small ones, the little bits of nothing making others as miserable as they felt. The strong, the shimmering stars of the world stood tall in the face of such attacks. Those who were strong enough not to retaliate were the real diamonds. You’re a diamond, Angela. Don’t stoop to dirt’s level.

Good ideas are a dime a dozen, but they are not worth a single nickel if they are not put into practice’. In

Smart people are a dime a dozen and often don’t amount to much. What counts is being creative and imaginative. That’s what makes someone a true innovator.

Fools are a dime a dozen. However, given the current state of the culture there’s some pretty sweet deals out there right now.

...That's the thing about movies - they're completely subjective... There's two things I find that people don't understand. One is: it's not about ideas. No one gets that. It's not about ideas. Because ideas are a dime a dozen and there's no such thing as a new idea. It's about execution... It's about the realisation of it. How it's done. And... that's one. And two: is everything about a film, especially cinema, is who you are - the viewer - how old you are, where you are when you view it. And when you ask people their favourite movie, 'What's the best... y'know your favourite movie?' They can always tell you when and where they saw it, who they saw it with - because it's so much of the experience. And plus you know... as you grow old - it's a strange word, I mean you could say 'mature', 'grow more sophisticated, 'grow more worldly' - but the truth is as you age you experience more and things are different. Y'know so many movies that people love I say 'Don't see it again.' Cause if they see it again they'll go 'Oh, it's lousy.

Brilliant ideas are a dime a dozen.

Here's the truth: Brilliant ideas are everywhere. They're a dime a dozen. Successful businesses are not based on brilliant ideas but on the ability to execute those brilliant ideas.

We’ve got our first ad from the July 29, 1950, Benton County Democrat on display today down at our Wal-Mart Visitors Center. It’s for the Grand Remodeling Sale of Walton’s Five and Dime, promising a whole bunch of good stuff: free balloons for the kids, a dozen clothespins for nine cents, iced tea glasses for ten cents apiece. The folks turned out, and they kept coming. Although we called it Walton’s Five and Dime, it was a Ben Franklin franchise,

It’s not about the next big idea, get-rich-quick scheme, or huge opportunity. Those are a dime a dozen. What are not a dime a dozen are healthy financial tapping trees—people who can actually take those big ideas, dreams, and opportunities and make them happen.

What’s to accept? The fact that you’re having a thought you don’t like! You may or may not agree with the content of the thought. You may find it reasonable or you might find it repulsive. It doesn’t really matter! You don’t get to pick and choose which thoughts you’ll have and which thoughts you won’t have—nobody does! There’s no need to try to contradict the thought, to disprove it, to make it go away, or to reassure yourself. There probably won’t be any benefit if you do. No one expects you to control your thoughts. You’re accountable for your actions, and you’ll be judged by your actions. Not by thoughts! You can have a worrisome thought, same as you can have an angry thought, a jealous thought, a sexy thought, a wacky thought, a kind thought, an unkind thought, a shameful thought, a compassionate thought, a murderous thought, or whatever. To say that worries are a dime a dozen would be to greatly exaggerate their value.

10.12 Theory: The Other Side of the Coin Theory: To add extreme value don't be 'a dime a dozen.' Be unique. Make your unique value relevant by being the complementary other side of the coin.

1. Don’t get lost in thinking. 2. Understand timing is everything. 3. Know ideas are a dime a dozen. 4. Make sure your vision is a business. 5. Accept that feedback is a gift.

ideas are a dime a dozen. It’s all about executing your idea.

Women like her were a dime-a-dozen and I was tired of shopping at the Goodwill.

You are a talented guy. That talent did not go away. The company went away? So what! Companies always go away. They’re a dime a dozen. It’s talent that counts!

Next time you run across an unusually good designer, landscaper, mechanic, electrician, carpenter, plumber, radiologist, surgeon, orthodontist, small business owner, computer software or graphics designer, computer networker, photographer, artist, boat captain, airplane pilot, or skilled member of any of the dozens of “dyslexia-rich” fields we’ll discuss in this book, ask if that person or anyone in his or her immediate family is dyslexic or had trouble learning to read, write, or spell. We’ll bet you dollars for dimes that person will say yes—the connection is just that strong. In fact, many of the most important and perceptive experts in the field of dyslexia have remarked on the link they’ve seen between dyslexia and talent.

There’s something unnerving about developing a crush as an adult. It’s more fraught than the dime-a-dozen crushes of teenagers or the easy flirting of college.

...though the jokers around the table be sneaking Whoopee Cushions into the Siege Perilous, under the very descending arse of the grailseeker, and though the grails themselves come in plastic these years, a dime a dozen, penny a gross, still he, at times self-conned as any Christian, praises and prophecies that era of innocence he just missed living in, one of the last pockets of Pre-Christian Oneness left on the planet: "Tibet is a special case. Tibet was deliberately set aside by the Empire as free and neutral territory, a Switzerland for the spirit where there is no extradition, and Alp-Himalayas to draw the soul upward, and danger rare enough to tolerate...Switzerland and Tibet are linked along one of the true meridians of the Earth...true as the Chinese have drawn meridians of the body...We will have to learn such new maps of Earth: and as travel in the Interior becomes more common, as the maps grow another dimension, so must we....

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I’ve always felt ideas were a dime a dozen,” he said. “If you had one that didn’t work out, you should not fight too hard to save it, just go find another.

(Scout) I kill plenty of spies, a dime a dozen back-stabbing scumbags, like you, no offence. (Spy) If you managed to kill them I assure you they were not like me.

People, even at the current rate of inflation—in fact, people especially at the current rate of inflation—are quite simply a dime a dozen.

Product management frameworks are a dime a dozen, and every company wants you to buy into its mindset and ecosystem of blogs, training, and books.