Everett Oliver Quotes

Life is so full of unpredictable beauty and strange surprises. Sometimes that beauty is too much for me to handle. Do you know that feeling? When something is just too beautiful? When someone says something or writes something or plays something that moves you to the point of tears, maybe even changes you.

Maybe I don't like people as much as the rest of the world seems to...But occasionally, people will pleasantly surprise me and I'll fall in love with them, so go figure.

Kids know what's going on. They always respond to The Beatles, for instance. Doesn't matter when they were born, they always seem to respond. Show me a kid who innately doesn't like The Beatles, and I'll show you a bad seed.

Thanks to my ridiculous, sometimes tragic, and always unsteady upbringing, I was given the gift of bone-crushing insecurity. One thing you’ll notice about people with mental problems is constant self-absorbation. I think that’s because it’s such a struggle just to be who they are, so they have a hard time getting past it.

We're all fucked up, I'm thinking, and that's the truth. Everyone's got some crazy shit going on in their life and no one is living any of that fairy-tale shit that the TV made you believe life was supposed to be like when you were young

I was born the son of a humble mechanic. A quantum mechanic.

Maybe I don't like people as much as the rest of the world seems to. Seems like the human race is in love with itself. What kind of ego do you have to have to think that you were created in God's image? I mean, to invent the idea that God must be like us. Please. As Stanley Kubrick once pointed out, the discovery of more intelligent life somewhere other than Earth would be catastrophic to man, simply because we would no longer be able to think of ourselves as the centre of the universe. I guess I'm slowly becoming one of those crusty old cranks that thinks animals are better than people. But, occasionally, people will pleasantly surprise me and I'll fall in love with one of them, so go figure.

Sure, I'm a weirdo in some ways. I don't like going to parties and show, I hide in my house a lot. But, all things considered, it could be a lot worse. And I'm able to get myself to this show, at least. I become aware of a feeling that has been slowly creeping in under my skin for a few years, but now has become more tangible. I'd been through a lot - I'm OK. And if I want to be, I'm better than OK. I'm certainly not the most well-adjusted person on earth, but considering everything ... I mean - I survived. And I survived just by being me. How lucky and amazing is that?

I like getting older. It's taken me this long to start to feel a little comfortable being me. Sure was a long way around to getting there, but it's what I had to do. Was either that or die, so it feels like a triumph.

I tell her that I don't like my numer to be passed around, but if John Lennon, Bob Dylan or Tom Waits ask for it, it's OK to give it out.

I think about how angry I was that my dad didn't take better care of himself. How he never went to the doctor, let himself become grossly overweight, smoked three packs a day, drank like a fish and never exercised. But then I think about how his colleague mentioned that, days before dying, my dad had said that he had lived a good life and that he was satisfied. I realize that there is a certain value in my father's way of life. He ate, smoked and drank as he pleased, and one day he just suddenly and quickly died. Given some of the other choices I'd witnessed, it turns out that enjoying yourself and then dying quickly is not such a bad way to go.

Historically speaking, if I was in a room and there was someone in that room who could make my life an utter hell on earth, I would find that person, hope they would engage me in conversation, feel like I'd found the los piece to my puzzle, see pictures in my head of us waking up together, our children, our adjoining burial places fifty years down the line, and I'd truly believe that it was all for the best. For some reason, God made the women I'm attracted to crazy.

Historically speaking, if I was in a room and there was someone in that room who could make my life an utter hell on earth, I would find that person, hope they would engage me in conversation, feel like I'd found the lost piece to my puzzle, see pictures in my head of us waking up together, our children, our adjoining burial places fifty years down the line, and I'd truly believe that it was all for the best. For some reason, God made the women I'm attracted to crazy.

Para mí no era un disco sobre la muerte. Verlo así era no entenderlo. Trataba sobre la vida. Y la muerte es una parte importante de la vida que por lo general intentamos fingir que no existe. A nadie le gusta pensar que su persona acabará teniendo punto final, pero yo no podía ya dejar de verlo, y a partir del momento en que empiezas a tenerlo como la verdad cotidiana que es en realidad deja de dar tanto miedo. Así, al ser más consciente de la muerte, abres nuevas perspectivas y reflexionas más sobre cómo sacarle todo el partido posible a la vida, signifique lo que signifique para ti.

Life is so full of unpredictable beauty and strange surprises. --Mark Oliver Everett, Things the Grandchildren Should Know

When he got a good look at her, though, he found himself in the unusual position of having completely lost the ability to speak. Millie’s curly hair was tied back with a ribbon, making her appear remarkably young, while also lending her a rather flirty attitude. His gaze traveled from her hair to her face, and he felt his breath catch in his throat when he took note of the paleness of her skin, the panic in her eyes, and the slight trembling of her lips. A scratch marred her cheek, and as his gaze drifted down her person to make certain she wasn’t injured anywhere else, he blinked and blinked again. “Are you wearing . . . pants?” “Well, yes,” she said, right before she sent him the smallest of grins. The grin hit him like a fist to the stomach, and right there and then, in the midst of the tree, he finally realized what it was about his life that had changed. He, Everett Mulberry, one of society’s highest members, was attracted to Miss Millie Longfellow, the . . . nanny. It was completely unacceptable, ridiculous even, and almost seemed like a story Jane Austen would have penned. In fact . . . him being attracted to Millie was remarkably similar to the Pride and Prejudice story he hadn’t picked up for a day or two. And he realized now that he certainly wasn’t going to finish because . . . if Mr. Darcy did indeed end up with Miss Elizabeth, well, it was a silly fairy tale, plain and simple. He didn’t believe in fairy tales, even if Oliver seemed to have experienced one, but . . . no—he would not allow himself to think in that direction. The question that remained now, though, was how was he going to overcome this attraction—if that’s what he was actually feeling—for Millie? She

I would have never taken you for a coward, Mr. Mulberry, but honestly, do you really believe carting out your wards is going to convince me to agree to whatever madness has you seeking me out so late at night?” Everett smiled almost as brightly as the children. “Now, now, Miss Longfellow, there’s no cause to call me a coward. Smart like a fox, perhaps, but—” “You shouldn’t antagonize her, Everett,” Lucetta suddenly said, interrupting Everett’s speech before she turned to Millie. “And you shouldn’t be surprised he brought the children with him, considering everyone knows you have a distinct weakness for the wee ones. However, before the conversation moves forward, I really am going to have to insist that the two of you drop all of this Miss and Mister nonsense. We have a common friend in Oliver Addleshaw. Which means, like it or not, we’re now friends of a sort. And because of that, there’s really no reason for such formality.” “There is if he’s here to ask me to work for him.” “Of course he’s here to ask you to work for him,” Lucetta said. “But that has absolutely nothing to do with calling him by his given name.” Millie opened her mouth, but before she could respond, something that looked remarkably like mud began seeping through the paper wrapped around the flowers she was holding. Moving to the closest table, she unwrapped the paper before setting her sights on Everett again. “Did you pull these flowers right out of the ground, Mr. Mulberry?” Everett smiled. “Please, call me Everett since Lucetta was kind enough to point out we’re friends, and of course I didn’t pull those right out of the ground.” Millie held up the flowers, exposing the roots still clinging to dirt. “You would have me believe you purchased these from a flower shop?” “It’s after ten. There are no flower shops open, but if you must know, I had Rosetta pluck those out of the ground for you.” A little girl of about five raised an incredibly dirty hand and waved at her right as Everett cleared his throat, drawing Millie’s attention. “I think you should view it as a mark in my favor that I remembered the flowers, especially since, again, I’m a little sensitive to them, but . . . you were quite vocal about what it would take to get you to work for me.” He sent her a far-too-charming smile. Ignoring the charm, Millie lifted her chin. “You might as well tell me what disaster struck your household now.” Everett shot a glance to the children and seemed to shudder. “Why would you assume something disastrous happened?” Setting the flowers, roots and all, aside, Millie crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Everett. You wouldn’t be bringing me flowers or children if something of a disastrous nature hadn’t occurred.” “The children are adorable, aren’t they?” “Of course they’re adorable, dear, which I’m sure you were hoping to use to your advantage,” Abigail said as she arrived in the drawing room, pushing a cart that seemed to be heavy with treats.

I’ve heard the most interesting rumors regarding you and the oh-so-dishy Mr. Haverstein,” Millie said. “I don’t believe dishy is a real word” was all Lucetta could think to respond. Millie waved that away with a flick of her dainty wrist. “I can’t be expected to know all the right words, Lucetta, and you’re stalling.” Lucetta blew out a breath, stirring the bubbles. “What have you heard?” “That you and Mr. Haverstein were caught in a most interesting situation in a storage room of all places, that he tried to save you from drowning twice in his, uh, moat from what I’ve been told, and . . . that he did save you once from a mad goat by the name of Geoffrey. I’ve also heard that you seem to enjoy his company, so much so that there’s been talk of marriage—but you rejected the marriage idea because of mysterious happenings occurring at Ravenwood.” “Bram didn’t save me from drowning twice. He almost caused me to drown both of those times.” “Again . . . stalling.” Tracing a finger through the bubbles, Lucetta took a second to gather her thoughts. “He’s explained away practically all the mysteries surrounding him, which has allowed me to come to the conclusion he’s not insane.” Millie’s eyes turned the size of saucers. “You had reason to doubt his sanity?” “He maintains a dungeon and has a castle where suits of armor go strolling about in the middle of the night—what else was I to conclude?” “A . . . dungeon?” “Yes, but I can’t explain that in any further detail, since the dungeon is part of a rather large secret that Bram has yet to divulge to anyone except his staff—and now me, of course.” Millie settled back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fair enough, but . . . tell me this, how do you feel about the man, especially since his sanity is no longer in question?” “That’s a little tricky to answer.” Millie sent her a look that had exasperation stamped all over it. “It is not. And since you’re the one who insisted Harriet and I dwell on exactly what our feelings were for Oliver and Everett just a few months back, I’m going to extend you the same courtesy. So . . . feelings—yours for Mr. Haverstein—what are they?” “He, uh . . . did mention that he’d like to court me.” “Court you?” “Yes, you know, call on me, take me for drives, bring me flowers, and . . . well . . . court me.” “That’s incredibly romantic.” “Well, yes, it is, but . . .” “You don’t want to be courted because you see that as a weakness of being female.” “What?” Millie rolled her eyes. “Lucetta, you and I have been friends for a very long time, and while you never talk about yourself much—as in ever—it’s always been clear to me and Harriet that you’ve got this attitude, if you will, about being a female. It’s one of the reasons I believe you’ve held yourself so distant from any gentleman who has ever shown an interest in you. And, it’s why you’re incredibly wary of men like Bram Haverstein, who clearly—and this is without me even knowing that much about him—is an old-fashioned man, one who enjoys swooping in and saving the damsel in distress.” “There’s that romance novel lover I’ve been missing.” Millie sat forward. “You know I’m right.” “So

What happened?” Tears blinded Millie for a second before she dashed them away. “I’ve been so silly.” “I don’t understand.” “I tried to pretend otherwise, but deep down I thought there was a chance . . .” “For you and Everett?” Millie waved a hand rather helplessly in the air. “I told you—I’ve been silly. It’s just that he’s been so . . .” “Interested in you?” Millie blinked. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but he has been nice, but . . . I suppose that’s just his nature.” “Everett is nice, but he’s not that nice, and he is interested in you. He’s just been fighting that interest.” “That makes me feel so much better.” Lucetta smiled down at Millie. “He’s your Mr. Darcy.” “That’s just a fairy tale, Lucetta. Real gentlemen don’t put their social position in jeopardy because they’ve fallen for someone not of their station.” “Oliver fell for Harriet.” “Since she turned out to have a fairly illustrious ancestry, that’s probably not the best example to use.

During the 'with strings' tour one night in Germany, a concertgoer calls out, "YOU ARE BORING!" between songs. He's German and he wants to rock. We play him a Scorpions riff, but it isn't enough. Again, I just don't understand why some people want everything to sound just like they expect. Life's too short for such boring predictability. You are boring, Sir.