Monroe Shoe Quotes

Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.

Give a girl the right shoes and she'll conquer the world.

Hey, Mrs. Jakes, how come people can’t afford new shoes or food, but they can still buy candy?” She smiled and waved him off. “Oh, people will always find a way to buy chocolate, Elliot. Chocolate is forever.

But that’s what the cool kids wear!  Whereas I, on the other hand, wear PayLess.  And not just any pair of PayLess shoes, mind you.  Oh, no!  I’m wearing the BOGO addition: buy one for son, get one for mom, all for nineteen-ninety-nine.  Like an informercial!

...and the handsome jester, Devil’s Gold, is shaking his bead-covered rattle, making medicine and calling us by name. We are so tired from our long walk that we cannot but admire his gilded face and his yellow magic blanket. And, holding each other’s hands like lovers, we stoop and admire ourselves in the golden pool that flickers in the great campfire he has impudently built at the crossing of two streets in Heaven. But we do not step into the pool as beforetime. Our boat is beside us, it has overtaken us like some faithful tame giant swan, and Avanel whispers: “Take us where The Golden Book was written.” And thus we are up and away. The boat carries us deeper, down the valley. We find the cell of Hunter Kelly,— . St. Scribe of the Shrines. Only his handiwork remains to testify of him. Upon the walls of his cell he has painted many an illumination he afterward painted on The Golden Book margins and, in a loose pile of old torn and unbound pages, the first draft of many a familiar text is to be found. His dried paint jars are there and his ink and on the wall hangs the empty leather sack of Johnny Appleseed, from which came the first sowing of all the Amaranths of our little city, and the Amaranth that led us here. And Avanel whispers:—“I ask my heart: —Where is Hunter Kelly, and my heart speaks to me as though commanded: ‘The Hunter is again pioneering for our little city in the little earth. He is reborn as the humblest acolyte of the Cathedral, a child that sings tonight with the star chimes, a red-cheeked boy, who shoes horses at the old forge of the Iron Gentleman. Let us also return’.” It is eight o’clock in the evening, at Fifth and Monroe. It is Saturday night, and the crowd is pouring toward The Majestic, and Chatterton’s, and The Vaudette, and The Princess and The Gaiety. It is a lovely, starry evening, in the spring. The newsboys are bawling away, and I buy an Illinois State Register. It is dated March 1, 1920. Avanel of Springfield is one hundred years away. The Register has much news of a passing nature. I am the most interested in the weather report, that tomorrow will be fair. THE END - Written in Washington Park Pavilion, Springfield, Illinois.

Three a.m. “God, sweetheart,” I said as I sat halfway up and rubbed at my eyes. “You’re just getting back?” She dropped her shoes to the floor and pulled her dress directly over her head, and I decided it was time to stop talking. There’d be plenty of time for questions later, when she wasn’t stripping her clothes off and crawling toward me and—goddamn—she was drunk. Sweet merciful heaven, drunk sex with Winnie Winslow was going to be amazing.

do you think MM stands for?” I asked. “March Madness?” replied Michael, who never ties his shoes. “Marilyn Monroe?” said Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food. “Mickey Mouse?” said Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes. “My Mom?” said Alexia, this girl who rides a skateboard all the time. Everybody was buzzing, which was weird because we’re not bees.

I fled down the street, limping from the loss of my shoe, hearing the horns of passing cars but not caring, just needing

March 17: Running across the rodeo grounds during a shot, Marilyn loses a shoe. But she keeps going, realizing the scene is now more dramatic. She is upset when Logan seems about to shout “Cut!” But then, he allows the cameras to run as the spectators roar. Marilyn, watching his indecision, loses some respect for her director and becomes distrustful.

May 28: Shooting begins on There’s No Business Like Show Business. Marilyn’s director, Walter Lang, does not seem to know how to handle her. Donald O’Connor, Marilyn’s love interest in the film, recalls that the director was afraid to ask her to take her shoes off in a scene because her bouffant hairdo and high heels made her look taller than O’Connor. Lang wants the actor to stand on an apple box. O’Connor goes to Marilyn and tells her, “[T]his idiot’s afraid to ask you to take off your shoes, but I’d feel very strange working with you, standing on an apple box.” Marilyn says, “Oh Christ, the guy’s nuts,” kicks off her shoes, and “everything was fine,” according to O’Connor.

May 31: Marilyn shoots scenes with Wally Cox, who is playing a shoe salesman. She makes thirty-eight takes of four camera set-ups (about two-and-a-half pages of the screenplay). June

she scrambled to stay on her feet. “You get to take whatever pictures and videos you want, but I can’t have a single picture of the two of us.” “Stop yelling at me,” Vanessa bit back defiantly. “You know what would happen if that got out.” “And the entire time,” Monroe barreled on, his voice getting louder and more agitated by the second. “I have to sit back and watch you go around dating every actor and musician that looks your way. Who is it now? That guy you met on your last set?” “Baby, you know it’s not like that,” Vanessa tried to argue as he picked the phone up off the table. “Like hell, it isn’t!” Monroe roared off camera. There was a crash, and Vanessa screamed, and then the image cut out again, and I wanted to screen. The image returned for just a second and then jittered once before finally coming fully back to life again. “Austin, stop!” Vanessa was sobbing now. The phone was shaking, and all I could see was the boat’s deck and Monroe’s shoes. “Do you even care about me!?” Monroe was still screaming, pacing back and forth. “I--” Vanessa attempted

While the sounds in the church were increasing, Elder Thomas made the regrettable mistake of increasing his volume too. Then suddenly, like a summer rain, Sister Monroe broke through the cloud of people trying to hem her in, and flooded up to the pulpit. She didn't stop this time but continued immediately to the alter, bound for Elder Thomas, crying "I say, preach it." Bailey said out loud, "Hot dog" and "Damn" and "She's going to beat his butt." But Reverend Thomas didn't intend to wait for that eventuality, so as Sister Monroe approached the pulpit from the right he started descending from the left. He was not intimidated by his change of venue. He continued preaching and moving. He finally stopped right in front of the collection table, which put him almost in our laps, and Sister Monroe rounded the alter on his heels, followed by the deacons, ushers, some unofficial members and a few of the bigger children. Just as the elder opened his mouth, pink tongue waving, and said, "Great God of Mount Nebo," Sister Monroe hit him on the back of his head with her purse. Twice. Before he could bring his lips together, his teeth fell, no, actually his teeth jumped, out of his mouth. The grinning uppers and lowers lay by my right shoe, looking empty and at the same time appearing to contain all the emptiness in the world. I could have stretched out a foot and kicked them under the bench or behind the collection table.

Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.

I should take my shoe off my sweaty foot and shake it around to impress this guy.