Headshot Quotes

The only casting directors who’d be willing to call Tommy in on the basis of this headshot were the ones curious about what it was like to be murdered.

He auditioned with Lily, and he and Lily had incredible chemistry that sort of blazed off the scene. I’m just sitting here watching this on my computer, and you know, he was not the only person they’ve ever sent me to look at. I’ve gotten lots of headshots and this and that, and I’m watching the audition and I literally started crying because that was my Jace and Clary on the screen. And it’s an incredible feeling to see that even as an audition. This is amazing. He was snarky funny where he needed to be snarky funny, and he was badass where he needed to be badass. And he and Lily were incredible together

Ayden and Blake stared each other down. "Oh. My. God," Luna blurted from Ayden's back seat. "It's a love triangle." We all looked at her like she'd sprouted an alien from her head. "it's just like in a book. Two guys after one girl and-" I groaned. "That's ridiculous, Luna, this is not a love triangle." "Says the girl in the middle of a love triangle. Luna ignored my protests and prattled on. "Not one Hexy Boy but two. I've got to call Danica. Oooo," she squealed and clapped her hands,"We could have teams. Team Ayden and Team Blake. With T-shirt and buttons and-" "I could make a website," Lucian offered. "No!" My voice pitched with panic. "No teams. No shirts. No-" "I'll get you some headshots," Blake said, turning his profile towards Luna and Lucian. "I've been told the left is my best side. What do you think?" "Aurora's right," Ayden said. "This is buts. Blake you can follow us-" "Dude, you know no one would pick Team Ayden. You're just jealous." "That's not true. My team would be way bigger than yours." "Dare to dream, little man, dare to dream." "Care to make a wager on it?" "Absolutely." "Fine. How about-" "You two shut up!" I shoved myself out of the car.

If you don't believe it, go down to your local karaoke bar on a busy night. Wait until the third hour, when the drunk frat boys and gastropub waitresses with headshots are all done with Backstreet Boys and Alicia Keys and locate the slightly older Asian businessman standing patiently in line for his turn, his face warmly rouged on Crown or Japanese lager, and when he steps up and starts slaying "Country Roads," try not to laugh, or wink knowingly or clap a little too hard, because by the time he gets to "West Virginia, mountain mama," you're going to be singing along, and by the time he's done, you might understand why a seventy-seven-year-old guy from a tiny island in the Taiwan Strait who's been in a foreign country for two-thirds of his life can nail a song, note perfect, about wanting to go home.

A professional headshot in front of a bookshelf says you're an intellectual. A professional headshot peeking though a bookshelf says you're probably under a restraining order.

Is This Happiness" High up in the Hollywood Hills taking violet pills Writing all of my songs about my cheap thrills You're a hard man to love and I'm A hard woman to keep track of You like to rage, don't do that You want your way, you make me so mad Got your gun, I've got my dad Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness? High up in the Hollywood Hills crushing violet pills You've been trying to write a novel about your cheap thrills You think you're Hunter S. Thompson I think you're fucking crazy as the day's long Man to man, heart to heart I love you but you drive me so far Wish you well on that star Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Witch Hazel, Witch Hazel Betrayal, betrayal One gun on the table Headshot if you're able Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness? Is this happiness?

That's Becks. Always ready to offer a helping headshot.

I wonder if we are brave,” said Frog. Frog and Toad got out their head-shots and looked at them for a long time. “We look brave,” said Frog. “Yes, but are we?” asked Toad.

I've never taken a photograph of someone and created a persona, I've just discovered what was already there.

This is myself, and myself is a mess!" I hiss. I look around the room. Boys, boys, boys everywhere. Boys with perfect smiles. Boys with hair gelled up into flawless little spikes. Boys waving headshots in each other's faces. None of them looks anywhere near as nervous as I feel.

I leaned into my computer to give off the impression I was involved in something important, when actually I was reading [IMDB] trivia about the TV show The Wire. I’d ended up on the show page after following a trail of links that began with James Van Der Beek’s headshot. President Obama claims it’s his favorite show, and Omar is his favorite character.

Partners,” she said, and fired two rounds into his head.

Izzy looked at her mother and saw a sleeping alien. Iggy looked at Izzy's sleeping mother and saw Izzy's mother sleeping.

At the time of that headshot, I was twenty-three years old, but I looked both fourteen and eighty-seven.

I smiled up at him. "It's the name of the game you fucking moron. You need a Headshot to kill me.

Even when your mother is asking you to do her a favor (be a good girl) it sounds like she is asking you to wear a coat made out of clear plastic. How do words get like that? thinks Rachel. How do words become so gross and synthetic?

If you step a foot outside this room in that outfit, I’ll not only delete every picture on this camera, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.

If you were casting the part of the evil scientist who would prove the Caped Crusader's deadliest nemesis, you'd likely glance at the headshot of German-born psychiatrist Dr. Fredric Wertham, with his owl-like glasses and severe Prussian features, and think, "Nah, too on-the-nose.

For my friend Fong,” he says, and begins singing John Denver. If you didn’t know it already, now you do: old dudes from rural Taiwan are comfortable with their karaoke and when they do karaoke for some reason they love no one like they love John Denver. Maybe it’s the dream of the open highway. The romantic myth of the West. A reminder that these funny little Orientals have actually been Americans longer than you have. Know something about this country that you haven’t yet figured out. If you don’t believe it, go down to your local karaoke bar on a busy night. Wait until the third hour, when the drunk frat boys and gastropub waitresses with headshots are all done with Backstreet Boys and Alicia Keys and locate the slightly older Asian businessman standing patiently in line for his turn, his face warmly rouged on Crown or Japanese lager, and when he steps up and starts slaying “Country Roads,” try not to laugh, or wink knowingly or clap a little too hard, because by the time he gets to “West Virginia, mountain mama,” you’re going to be singing along, and by the time he’s done, you might understand why a seventy-seven-year-old guy from a tiny island in the Taiwan Strait who’s been in a foreign country for two-thirds of his life can nail a song, note perfect, about wanting to go home.

His head exploded. I’d never seen someone’s head explode. I never thought I would. Maybe in the movies, but not in real life. It’s amazing what a 12-gauge can do at close range.

Tanya Maw's sister is two years older, the perfect age gap for wisdom transmission.

Andi is in snooze city because sleeping is her all-time best coping mechanism.

Rachel had a theory about other humans: people are the most scared by what makes zero sense to them but that they cannot, no matter how they try, avoid.

The desire to please people is the desire to not be singular.

Thank god Izzy has a life where she is more than this, more than just my daughter performing my every wish.

Their coach stands outside the ring, in a neutral corner. He looks like the relative everyone wished declined the obligatory invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.

The granny roles will be easy for her because old people just get to say whatever everyone else is thinking. Like children and fools, grandmothers are not held to the same standards as the rest of society. They are given permission to wear their true feelings externally.

You are no one. No one will ever remember you. You'll die and then you'll be alone and forgotten and people won't have to pretend like you exist anymore, they won't be forced to pretend that your existence matters because your body will be rotted and gone and no one will have to say that you are real.

Rachel Doricko's grandmother wonders if people will ever live on other planets. It doesn't seem so far-fetched. Building a city in the dessert seems like an equally impossible challenge, and here she is, with her girl-boxer granddaughter, at a youth women's boxing tournament, sleeping in what looks like uninhabitable land.

Zaitsev records in his memoirs one difficult duel he had with a German sniper. While there is no actual proof of the identity of the German sniper, many believe that he was Heinz Thorvald, the head of the Berlin sniper school. Thorvald was also known as Erwin Konig. Zaitsev stated that the German sniper was difficult to find but when two Soviet soldiers were shot in the same area, Zaitsev and his partner Kulikov began searching the area for the German sniper. While searching, Zaitsev spotted a flash of light beneath a scrap of metal. As soon as Zaitsev’s partner, Kulikov placed a helmet on a rod and lifted it up to a window, Konig shot the helmet. Then when Konig peeked out of his hiding spot to determine if the victim was dead, he got a headshot from Zaitsev.

The lie is a weak wepon you attack and pucn and kick the damage is weak. But the truth makes headshot, there is such people just by telling the truth you can devastate them!

Caitlin Ross was a pretty blonde white girl in a room full of pretty blonde white girls. She looked over the sea of heart-shaped faces and sighed. Every open call was the same, a swarm of female actors putting the lie to all of her father’s ungrammatical assurances that Caitlin was “very unique.” The audition was for an all-white musical adaptation of A Raisin in the Sun, which the producers were re-titling Caucrasian. It would undoubtedly be horrible and it didn’t pay, but Caitlin hadn’t been working lately and was getting desperate to appear in something. When she had emailed the company her headshot and résumé she had claimed that a reviewer had once described her as “like a young, white Debbie Allen,” and almost immediately she was asked to come in and read for the part of Beneatha. She

If they’re not selling you something, then you’re the thing being sold to someone else. All

Flying with your rocket launcher, your task to begin with it to keep an eye out for cars with a red circle. You need to blow these up. Bear in mind that the timing with the rocket launchers takes a bit of getting used to if you’re not used to it. Keep an eye on Pierce’s health (it’s the green circle above him). You can damage him, so try not to! When Pierce talks about roadblocks, you need to aim your rocket between the two vehicles to clear the area. Boom! Headshot! Clear the roadblocks

Todo sucede por una razón,

Our hearts were glowing. Streaming RED. As he pulled the trigger... Headshots. Ripped apart. Unrecognizable. Faces that had been kissed. Pulverized. Brothers and sisters. Without a pulse... We were finished, utterly destroyed. And they were satisfied that they had shattered our pride.

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Nobody can ever possibly know what a specific body is good at unless they’re inside it.

Shaking it off, she heads down the hall past the framed headshots of Sadie, ages one through eight. There is space left for ten more years. After that, Vicky supposes, there will be something creepily obsessive about it, so the series will be discontinued. She suspects it may already be weird for Sadie when her friends come over.

Get 10 headshots with the Cycler Rifle (Multiplayer) to unlock this achievement worth 15.       Power

The short guy’s fuse blew faster than anticipated. He took a swing at Myron’s gut. Myron was still ready. One of the lessons Myron had learned over the years was how to take a punch. It was crucial if you were going to get into any physical confrontation. In a real fight, you almost always get hit, no matter how good you are. How you reacted psychologically often decided the outcome. If you don’t know what to expect, you shrivel up and cower. You get too defensive. You let the fear conquer you. If the blow is a headshot, you need to play the angles. Don’t let the punch land square, especially on the nose. Even slight head tilts can help. Instead of four knuckles landing, maybe it will only be two or one. That makes a huge difference. You also have to relax your body, let it go. You should turn away from the strike, literally roll with the punch. When a blow is aimed at your abdomen, especially when your hands are cuffed behind your back, you need to clench the stomach muscles, shift, and bend at the waist so it doesn’t wallop the breadbasket. That was what Myron did. The blow didn’t hurt much. But Myron, noting the taller guy’s nervousness, put on a performance that would have made De Niro take notes. “Aarrrggggghhh!

I'm head clown among those condemned for what they've inherited - this fool's paradise of drab transgressions, cookie-cutter villains, ballistic incontinence and headshot trivia.

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Dear Rebecca— You may have picked up on my growing disappointment with you this afternoon as our first meeting progressed. I have to say that though you seem quite personable in your electronic communications, in person your behavior is a little lacking in some of the traits that would let you get from a first to a second date with regularity. If Lovability had a rating system, I would award you 2.5 out of 5 stars; however, if it used a scale that only allowed for integral values, I would unfortunately be forced to round down to two. Here are some suggestions for what you could do to improve the initial impression you make. I am speaking here as a veteran of the online dating scene in LA, which is MUCH more intense than New Jersey’s—there, you are competing with aspiring actors and actresses, and a professionally produced headshot and a warm demeanor are the bare minimum necessary to get in the game. By the end of my first year in LA my askback rate (the rate at which my first dates with women led to second dates) was a remarkable 68%. So I know what I’m talking about. I hope you take this constructive criticism in the manner in which it is intended. 1. Vary your responses to inquiries. When our conversation began, you seemed quite cheerful and animated, but as it progressed you became much less so. I asked you a series of questions that were intended to give you opportunities to reveal more about yourself, but you offered only binary answers, and then, troublingly, no answers at all. If you want your date to go well, you need to display more interest. 2. Direct the flow of conversation. Dialogue is collaborative! One consequence of your reticence was that I was forced to propose all of the topics of discussion, both before and after the transition to more personal subjects. If you contribute topics of your own then it will make you appear more engaged: you should aim to bring up one new subject for every one introduced by your date. 3. Take control of the path of the date. If you want the initial meeting to extend beyond the planned drinks, there are many ways you can go about doing this. You can directly say, for instance, “So I wasn’t thinking about this when you showed up, but…do you have any plans for dinner? I’m starving, and I could really go for some pad thai.” Or you can make a vaguer, more general statement such as “After this, I’m up for whatever,” or “Hey, I don’t really want to go home yet, Bradley: I’m having a lot of fun.” Again, this comes down to a general lack of engagement on your part. Without your feedback I was left to offer a game of Scrabble, which was not the best way to end the meeting. 4. Don’t lie about your ability in Scrabble. I won’t go into an analysis of your strategic and tactical errors here, in the interest of brevity, but your amateurish playing style was quite evident. Now, despite my reservations as expressed above, I really do feel that we had some chemistry. So I would like to give things another chance. Would you respond to this message within the next three days, with a suggestion of a place you’d like us to visit together, or an activity that you believe we would both enjoy? I would be forced to construe a delay of more than three days as an unfortunate sign of indifference. I hope to hear from you soon. Best, Bradley

The only casting directors who’d be willing to call Tommy in on the basis of this headshot were the ones curious about what it was like to be murdered. I

, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.” A wintry smile touched my lips. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?

Andi Taylor is pumping her hands together, hitting her own flat stomach, thinking not of her mother sitting at home with her little brother, not of her car, which barely got her here, not of her summer job, her lifeguarding at the overcrowded community pool, not of the four-year-old she watched die, the four-year-old she practically killed, and his blue cheeks. When the girl lunges forward to reach the other girl, she misses, stumbles, readjusts her feet, and then the two girls lock eyes.

She had needed another person in her life to tell her that she was a real person, and that she might not be special, but that she was fine.

His vocabulary had been able to fit in a lunch box.

Whereas, Kate Heffer looked at her life and what lay before her and she allowed time and events to circle her. things occurring for the sole purpose that she could walk through them, be a part of them, and then move on. For Kate, time was a thing that existed only to have her in it.

That's the thing with children. So often what they do, what they think they should do, or what they think they are good at is just some product of something someone told them that they would be good at.

But she is also just a child - just a girl waiting to see what her life will be like compared to the lives of the other people she knows.

Artemis Victor has no idea what it takes to own a house, but she knows what it takes to beat other people, which is what owning property seems like, beating other people at owning a piece of the earth and making that piece of earth yours, not to be shared with other people, because the owning of the property is a product of your victory over other humans, as in, you won more dollars than them so now this slice of land is yours for keeps.

The stylists at the salon Artemis goes to never seem to listen. Don't cut too much, she tells them. I need it long, she says to them. She always leaves the salon feeling like some part of herself has been stolen.

Andi's father did things, Andi's mother said, bad things, and so Andi always felt she might have this badness inside her, though she wasn't sure exactly what that badness was.

When she arrived in Reno, Tanya Maw thought that Las Vegas, from the perspective of her car, had looked like one of Reno's parents. Was Las Vegas Reno's mother? If so, who was Reno's fathers?

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She will be loved by no one as thoroughly as her mother loved her younger half brother, and that will make Andi desperate and dogged for the entirety of her life.

Beating someone at something that matters more than them than anything is like squashing a fly. You can see the guts of a fly after it's been smashed.

It is this ability of Kate Heffer's to rewrite the reality of her own desires that will allow her to turn every narrative of her life into a self-fulfilling truth. She is, in this way, able to perceive and remember only those events that fit with her current perception of the world around her.

In Douglas, Michigan, there is a town square with a statue of a dog that saved someone during a war. Iggy Lang wants to be a war hero. She would do anything to be a war hero, and to have a statue made for her in a park, too. Iggy would kill people, be killed by people, or turn her body into a dog's body just to have a statue of her in a town square that people passed and touched and looked at, and stopped and talked about, with affection and joy. Maybe I just want to be a dog, thinks Iggy.

The beaches of Douglas, Michigan, were nothing like this. The beaches of Douglas, Michigan, looked like bathwater. I've been raised on bathwater, thought Izzy.

It can be intoxicating to play a sport that requires one to look in their opponent's eyes.

Decades into the future, Tanya Maw will, actually, become an actor. She will go to graduate school to learn how to fit her face into the faces of others.

Artemis thinks if she wins, if she's able to somehow beat her eldest sister, become the most fabled, the most brutal, the most beautiful of the Victor sisters, that a secret door will open for her, out into the world, away from her family, away from her mother, where Artemis has agency without her family that is greater than all the other types of agency she has previously known.

Kate thinks, Everything in my life has been leading up to this moment. This ability to believe that something as fickle and useless as time gone by has the human capability of intention is Kate's greatest hindrance, but also her greatest asset. Kate has the delusion of believing that events travel in a circle and that events circle her, which, while untrue, does lead to the competitive edge of entitlement.

In a village everyone knows everyone's business. In a village it's much, much easier to eat what you have been served.

The girl boxers who are left all went to bed early last night and slept the deep sleep of those much closer to birth than to death.

Girls are born with all of the eggs they will ever make. Tiny future fighters are nested inside the infant bodies of baby girls. Men are dead ends, but girls are infinite backwards and forwards.

Andi wasn't sure why the sight of her father's dead body had upset her so much less than the sight of the dead red-truck kid. It could have been because the boy's body was evidence of an unlived life.

It is amazing the power that a strange hat will give you.

Rachel laughs out loud when people call her pretty. It's always older or middle-aged women who say it. The women say it in the type of way that conveys that they have nothing to else to offer - no specifics. It comes out ragged and awful, always, not because Rachel doesn't believe she is capable of some kind of beauty, but because she knows she doesn't have the beauty that these middle-aged women want, and that they are lying through their teeth.

... this moment, this match, which she thought was the moment around which other moments circled, actually has absolutely no meaning in her life.

And now, finally, at the end, she gets to become slightly famous just by making her face a transparent sheet. What she feels about the characters around her gets to wear on her face at all times. Granny Tanya Maw never has to be kind.

... the lot of them believed in God in the way that one checks the weather forecast.

There are people who, just by looking at disasters, implicate themselves in the violence at hand. These people, the self-implicating people, are far less likely to be victors, but they are more emotionally intelligent, and more likely to be able to see details the others might miss.

It's a warmth that she'll feel again very few times in her life. It's almost like love, but it has a surer, less desperate edge to it.

What a sad thing, to be a good girl, thinks Rachel. God, how I hate the sound of it. Good girl, thinks Rachel, is mountains and mountains worse than good boy. All a good boy has to do to be good is put on a clean shirt. Nobody wants to be a good girl, thinks Rachel. There can't be a single girl in here who wants to be just fine.

Kate Heffer's parents won't be sad that she lost the fight, even though they spent all this money, and came all this way, and took all this time off work to perform as supporting parents, cheering their daughter on to become the best at something, even though the thing that she was apparently suited to become the best at is questionable, at best.

... and she has no intention of aging into collegiate boxing, and this was really just something she was trying, not something serious, not something she really cared about, not something that she gave the power to hurt her, or show her a glimpse of her true self in any way.

Like siblings, they were both annoyed and comforted by each other.

It can be intoxicating to play a sport that requires one to look in their opponent’s eyes.

As Rose Mueller moves on Tanya Maw, to the right and then to the left, and to the left again, she sees her own legs morphing into flowers. Her arms become a tangled web of thorny rose vines, and at the end of her arm, where Rose Mueller’s glove used to be, there is a pink bouquet. The bunch of flowers smashes into Tanya Maw’s face.

It was, is always, a big deal to traverse so many states, to be assigned to meet another you, an equal, another girl who lives in another world who also spends time alone hitting things with her hands.

Tanya Maw has a stray speck of black outside the center of her left eye. It’s like a small piece of her pupil broke off and is orbiting a black moon.

Rose Mueller loves every girl who agrees to fight against her because they have agreed to be with her without needing to speak to her.

face a bunch of times so I could hand out autographed headshots that had my YouTube information on it.

No one ever tells you that this is the most your career will ever amount to: your headshot glanced at for five seconds by a hung-over director, before being dropped to the floor. And promptly forgotten.

Chuck gave Emma a headshot

I should really take those devil horns off your headshot.” “After last night, maybe you should leave them.

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The MRI was over. “Those were the most expensive headshots I’ve ever received,” I thought.

I looked back out the door just in time to see one of the men’s heads explode from Rolly’s SAW. “What the fuck!” another one yelled, and then he turned to run back toward us, but was quickly taken out by a headshot that I assumed was from Bailey. The last guy looked at his dead buddies and simply dropped to the ground and cowered. Then his body went limp, and his brains spread out behind him as Bailey landed another headshot. “Oh shit,” Anna laughed. “Guess I forgot about our backup.” “Tav didn’t,” Paige said as she smirked at me. “You could’ve just told us that was your plan,” Tara said with an eye roll as the door shut. “Where’s the drama in that?” I asked with a grin.

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Here's the reality, guys: you save up for years to go 'Out West' and you spend everything you have in six months living in a roach infested hole in K-town, paying for "casting workshops" so you can meet managers and casting directors who don't give two shits about you. You cut your hair a little bit or grow a moustache and you have to get new headshots because people in Hollywood fundamentally lack imagination and can't even begin to fathom 'who you are as an actor' unless your headshot looks exactly like you do on the day of. And headshots cost $300 to shoot (on the cheap end) and $100 for make-up artists and $100 to retouch and $100 to print. Plus, you need a car to get around because mass transit in Los Angeles is a goddam joke. You need to get into class so you can learn how to unlearn all the shit you learned in college theater. Meanwhile, you're in love with the city because it's new and warm all the time and there are beautiful women everywhere. But you start getting this creeping sensation like everyone is a facade of a human being and beneath every beautiful face is spiritual rot, careerism, graft, nepotism, bull shit, lies, fakery, a need to be seen and an overwhelming whorism. But don't worry, guys, because you can always get a job working as a bartender where you can sneak booze from the well and forget for a few minutes what it's like to be on the bottom of the totem pole. That's a lot of fun, especially when you discover that cocaine means you can drink forever and not get too wasted until later. You'll get a DUI eventually, but fuck it, right? Around this time you start to get bitter. Really bitter, which you'll mistake as an 'evolution of your art.' You start looking for edgy rolls. You get a dumb haircut and try to make yourself look ugly. Maybe you hit the gym or start doing improv. Something to give you an edge. You start seeing young kids coming into town all bright eyed and bushy tailed and you say 'good luck' when you mean 'eat shit and die.' You wake up one day after endless commercial auditions that you really need to make rent but can't seem to book because you 'come off as an asshole' or don't smile enough...

Or be recognized when I’m abducting scary rapists from bars, breaking into real estate offices, or taking contracts to kill problem husbands while eating cheesecake in Panera. Through all of this, I had never stopped to consider that my headshot— which appeared in every copy of my books— was now an incriminating piece of evidence

The Survivors were the real Zombies now, for the next hour able to endlessly return from the dead to hunt us once again. Except now, not even a Headshot would put them down for long.