Pryor Quotes

The reason people use a crucifix against vampires is because vampires are allergic to bullshit.

You can't talk about fucking in America, people say you're dirty. But if you talk about killing somebody, that's cool.

Everyone carries around his own monsters.---Richard Pryor

What I'm saying might be profane, but it's also profound.

As it stands right now, I lead Richard Pryor in heart attacks, two to one. However, Richard still leads me, one to nothing, in burning yourself up.

But thoughts don't care about truth and shit. They sit up in your mind and fuck with you whenever.

Strong isn't about not being afraid, Caitlin. It's about facing what you're scared of.

I believe the ability to think is blessed. If you can think about a situation, you can deal with it. The big struggle is to keep your head clear enough to think.

I’m more than twisted. I’m the worst kind of vampire… But you’re the one who’s craving me, so what does that make you?

If peace had a smell,it would be the smell of a library full of old, leather-bound books.

I never met anybody who said when they were a kid, "I wanna grow up and be a critic.

You breathe too fast to be convincing,' he goaded. 'You don't breathe enough to judge me.

The reason people use a crucifix against vampires is that vampires are allergic to bull shit.

Do you know how you felt when you would lean all the way back in a chair, and just before you were about to tip over, at the very last second, you'd catch yourself ? That's how I feel all the time.

You can only fight what you are for so long. Eventually the hand that nature has dealt you will make you become what you were meant to be. You have no control over it.

Who you gonna believe, bitch? Me? or your lying eyes?

Kane narrowed his eyes. ‘Where have you been all this time, Caitlin?’ She could see the suspicion in his eyes, the accusation. ‘Tied to a radiator.’ ‘What is it about you that makes people want to cuff you, huh?

Playing the martyr doesn’t suit you, Leila.’ ‘Maybe not, but playing the complete and utter bastard clearly suits you.

Crosses only scare vampires away because they're allergic to bullshit.

We die, you die. You die, we survive. I think there’s a pecking order in that, don’t you?

What are you most scared of, Caitlin? What I can do to you, or how I make you feel?

Last warning. I don't play nice.

You need me, Kane. Maybe even more than I need you.

I will not be threatened. Do you understand me?’ He leaned closer again, his lips less than a couple of inches from hers. ‘Now try saying it without trembling.

I'm already inside your head. And your body's most definitely next.

You’re a conceited bastard, aren’t you?’ ‘Decades of practice.

I see people as the nucleus of a great idea that hasn't come to be yet.

You upped the ante with the wrong vampire, Caitlin.

There's only so much temptation a vampire can take.

Aubrey Fitzwilliam hated being dead. It made things much harder than they needed to be.

I think you’re so busy reading between the lines, you’re missing the sentence on the page.

I can be a little prickly when people make assumptions about women.

*kiss*

This first part may be a little rough.' He waved a hand and did his best to appear as if he'd had enormous experience with levitating buildings.

The rarity of what you hold is more powerful than you can imagine. It is a gift for humanity and the most lethal curse to the vampires.

I’m not punishing you.’ ‘No?’ ‘No. You’d know if I was. Trust me.

I took that mint because I wanted to. I wanted to remember who I was. I wanted to remember my family. Most of all, I wanted to remember you. I wanted to remember what we are together, and how we got to that point. I wanted you to know I remember all of those precious moments. And if I don’t make it through this, I wanted to go knowing I love you. I wanted you to know I remember why I love you.

One reason punishment doesn't usually work is that it does not coincide with the undesirable behavior; it occurs afterward, and sometimes, as in courts of law, long afterward. The subject therefore may not connect the punishment to his or her previous deeds; animals never do, and people often fail to. If a finger fell off every time someone stole something, or if cars burst into flames when they were parked illegally, I expect stolen property and parking tickets would be nearly nonexistent.

I don’t do this relationship shit, Caitlin. But I see you because I want to see you; I’m with you because I want to be with you. That’s the truth.

Countless emotions could be masked by the sexual act, but a kiss, the most intimate and passionate of exchanges, concealed nothing.

And now here we are," he said. "Both knowing what you are, both knowing what I am. And that, my little fledgling sacrifice, must make me your worst fucking nightmare.

This was about getting inside her body, then her mind, before unlocking the chastity belt that was her heart, to steal the soul inside.

If peace had a smell, he thought, it would be the smell of a library full of old, leather-bound books.

the less people knew, the louder they got.

it’s not our mistakes that define us, but what we do about them.

And if any landscape can provide darkness, with a very real hint of menace, it is most surely the Fens.

One bite, Caleb, that’s all it will take.’ ‘Once more inside you could be all it takes,’ he whispered in her ear, making her stomach flip. ‘Right now, I’m willing to take the risk. Are you?

She exhaled curtly. ‘I’m a serryn. That’s all you see. I’m just something to be tortured, slain or sold off as a commodity. That’s hardly the most appealing of traits.’ ‘Tell your eyes that. Because you really shouldn’t look at me the way you do. No serryn has looked at me like that.

If only the choice of whom you fall for were that easy. None of us choose who we love, Jask. If it were about reason and logic and choice, it would be science, not emotion. It would stop being magic.

There should be a Stage IV of black identity—Unmitigated Blackness. I’m not sure what Unmitigated Blackness is, but whatever it is, it doesn’t sell. On the surface Unmitigated Blackness is a seeming unwillingness to succeed. It’s Donald Goines, Chester Himes, Abbey Lincoln, Marcus Garvey, Alfre Woodard, and the serious black actor. It’s Tiparillos, chitterlings, and a night in jail. It’s the crossover dribble and wearing house shoes outside. It’s “whereas” and “things of that nature.” It’s our beautiful hands and our fucked-up feet. Unmitigated Blackness is simply not giving a fuck. Clarence Cooper, Charlie Parker, Richard Pryor, Maya Deren, Sun Ra, Mizoguchi, Frida Kahlo, black-and-white Godard, Céline, Gong Li, David Hammons, Björk, and the Wu-Tang Clan in any of their hooded permutations. Unmitigated Blackness is essays passing for fiction. It’s the realization that there are no absolutes, except when there are. It’s the acceptance of contradiction not being a sin and a crime but a human frailty like split ends and libertarianism. Unmitigated Blackness is coming to the realization that as fucked up and meaningless as it all is, sometimes it’s the nihilism that makes life worth living. Sitting

she had only been able to imagine what Kane was like. And she realised just how limited her imagination had been as he consumed every inch of her, thrusting into her with such controlled force that every part of her ached.

...that aversives stop behavior, they don’t start it; and that fear and pain produce completely unpredictable and usually highly undesirable side effects, including being both exciting and reinforcing to the punisher. (p.15)

Shadow-reading was hard enough but attraction to the subject caused all sorts of problems, not least blocks. But having stared deep into those lethal navy eyes, having felt the potential of his cool hard body against hers, those sensuous lips against her neck and wrist, heard the caress of his whispers, she knew her job had only got harder.

There comes a point in some conversations where I simply quit and let reality do my talking for me.

You’re my addiction, Caitlin, keeping me sane at the same time as driving me crazy.

When it comes to love, time is nothing more than a socially induced marker of validity. When you simply know, time becomes irrelevant.

Rain meant hoods up, umbrellas up, deficiency of sound, lowered eyes. Rain disorientated and distracted people, making the kill or capture so much easier.

Vampires might bite, honey, but lycans tear.

People who have outrageous skills and abilities are the gold nuggets in the river bed of human history.

She hated him in that moment and she adored him. If she’d had any regrets, they’d gone.

it was nothing about feelings. It was sexual – pure and simple.

There is no right or wrong or good or evil indicative to either species – just the reasoning behind the choices each of us makes.

I couldn't help wondering where porpoises had learned this game of running on the bows of ships. Porpoises have been swimming in the oceans for seven to ten million years, but they've had human ships to play with for only the last few thousand. Yet nearly all porpoises, in every ocean, catch rides for fun from passing ships; and they were doing it on the bows of Greek triremes and prehistoric Tahitian canoes, as soon as those seacraft appeared. What did they do for fun before ships were invented? Ken Norris made a field observation one day that suggests the answer. He saw a humpback whale hurrying along the coast of the island of Hawaii, unavoidably making a wave in front of itself; playing in that bow wave was a flock of bottlenose porpoises. The whale didn't seem to be enjoying it much: Ken said it looked like a horse being bothered by flies around its head; however, there was nothing much the whale could do about it, and the porpoises were having a fun time.

Training is a loop, a two-way communication in which an event at one end of the loop changes events at the other, exactly like a cybernetic feedback system; yet many psychologists treat their work as something they do to a subject, not with the subject.

And one day,’ he said, ‘I’ll be able to offer you more than back-alley dives and tunnel floors. I’ll be able to give you what you deserve.’ ‘I don’t care where I am as long as I’m with you, Eden.

You’re a cold bastard, Caleb.’ She turned on her heels, fighting back the tears as she took the first two steps back down. ‘A cold bastard who feels a hell of a lot more than he should,’ he declared. ‘Who, despite what you have done to me here, still cannot see you walk away. Who cannot bear the thought of anyone else laying their hands on you. Who I would kill if they ever hurt you the way I have. I don’t want you to be a serryn, Leila. It’s the last thing I want. And you being the one I need to kill tears me apart more than you’ll ever know.

It wasn’t a fear associated with physical injury, but the prospect of real pain. A world where love and trust and kindness and intimacy were options. A world that, once she was inevitably forced to leave it again, would only exacerbate the loneliness and darkness of her reality.

As he [Sir Malcolm Sargeant, conductor of the London Philharmonic] stood in waist deep in the shallows of Whaler's Cove, the littler spinners came drifting over, sleek and dainty, gazing at him curiously with their soft dark eyes. Malcolm was a tactful, graceful man in his movements, and so the spinners were not afraid of him. In moments, he had them all pressing around him, swimming into his arms, and begging him to swim away with them. He looked up, suffused with delight, and remarked to me, 'It's like finding out there really are fairies at the bottom of the garden!

I roamed L.A. by night. I got repeatedly rousted by LAPD. I sensed that a cop-street fool compact existed. I behaved accordingly. I denied all criminal intent. I acted respectfully. My height-to-weight ratio and unhygienic appearance caused some cops to taunt me. I sparred back. Street schtick often ensued. I mimicked jailhouse jigs like some WASP Richard Pryor. Rousts turned into streetside yukfests. They played like Jack Webb unhinged. I started to dig the LAPD. I started to grok cop humor. I couldn't quite peg it as performance art. I hadn't read Joseph Wambaugh yet.

In stand-up, you do need to be having fun up there like Richard Pryor said, but you have to know yourself well, too. You have to know when you make different faces, or do different things, you get certain reactions. You start learning and it’s like playing a piano. You just know exactly what keys to stroke, ’cause really with comedy, you’re like fiddling with people’s souls. You resonate on the same frequency as them, trying to get them to relate.

At least I'm trying to understand you. But your mind is already made up. The truth is you want me to be like the others. You need me to be like them. You can't handle the fact that I'm different. I think that says more about you than me.

When the crowd is with you, the jokes are fresh, your timing is just right, and the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. You are exactly where you should be, and there is nothing better. Comedy is a rare gift from the gods, an awesome invention. It propels you right into the heart of the universe. No wonder all the great comedians had such destructive private lives. Lenny Bruce had to shoot up, Richard Pryor had to freebase. Sam Kinison was just as abusive towards himself as he was to the crowd. After you get the audience into that kind of frenzy, and you are being worshiped like the false idol you are, how do you leave the stage and transition back into real life? How can you just come down? How can you ease back into mortality? What will you do for an encore? What is there left to do but set yourself on fire?

Parish, get back into position!’ Max warned. ‘Do not go in there. I repeat, do not go in there.’ ‘We lose him now, we lose him for good,’ Caitlin declared. ‘And I am not going to let that happen.’ ‘You have insufficient backup. I repeat: insufficient backup.

This was war: a vast machine that chewed up people.

Love is fragile, It can easily break, So take care of it, Cherish it, Respect it.

If he touches me, I’ll kill him.’ ‘If he touches you, I’ll kill him,’ he said, gazing deep into her eyes.

It wasn’t enough. With that much damage, there was no way her blood would be effective quick enough. It would only delay the inevitable.

Honey, five-years-olds say what they think. Knowing what to say and when is called being an adult.

I believe you need to accept that just because something is different to you, it doesn’t make it bad, a threat or the enemy.

looked at the plaster on her arm,

The Facility.

Nobody should be allowed to have a baby until they have first been required to train a chicken

For all the alcoholics and addicts out there, you are loved, stopped being so stubborn and come in from the cold. Wherever you are, there is a brighter light in your sight. Move towards it every day, and keep moving towards it. Even the worst and strongest addiction is a choice—a choice not to fight, to give up, to indulge the impulse, or instead to accept the hands offered you to help, even from strangers, even from the state. Don’t hate those who gave up on you, it wasn’t their fault, you just wore them down. Show them they were wrong about you. Your troubles are meant to mold you into something better, not destroy you, so FIGHT! Another day comes for the better if you’re standing in the right spot for it to hit you. Find the right spot and stay there until it does.

In Pryor, I saw someone channel what I call minor feelings: the racialized range of emotions that are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of everyday racial experience and the irritant of having one’s perception of reality constantly questioned or dismissed. Minor feelings arise, for instance, upon hearing a slight, knowing it’s racial, and being told, Oh, that’s all in your head.

As with clicker-trained animals, deliberate use of intimidation almost certainly moves your learner off the SEEKING circuit and onto the conditioned fear path in the amygdala. You may get compliance, but learning slows way down.

I know you're not ready to believe it," he added. "Just like I wasn't. Until I met you I thought I could never love again. But here I am, yelling it down an alley because I am not letting you go without a fight. You said you're not the same, so prove it. Prove you're not the scared little girl anymore and turn and face me like the woman I know you are. Because that woman has changed me too, Sophie. That woman has made me fall in love again. So don't you dare walk away from me.

When you stop relying on aversive controls such as threats, intimidation, and punishment, and when you know how to use reinforcement to get not just the same but better results, your perception of the world undergoes a shift. You don’t have to become a wimp. You don’t have to give up being in charge. You lose nothing of yourself. You just see things you didn’t see before.

I’ve found that there’s no real comfort in success. There’s never time to slow down, sit back, and relax. But there did come a moment later in my career when I knew that I had truly made it as a comedian. After I presented Richard Pryor with the lifetime achievement award at the American Comedy Awards, we were backstage posing for pictures. He looked up at me and said, “I stole your album.” For a split second, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The great Richard Pryor stealing my material? I was honored and stunned at the same time. “In Peoria, I went into the record store and I put it under my jacket and I walked out,” he continued. “Richard, I get a quarter royalty on every album.” With that, Richard Pryor pulled out a quarter and handed it to me. To have your album stolen by Richard Pryor is quite an achievement.

The porpoises and whale themselves, in their quests for entertainment, often created problems. One summer a fashion developed in the training tanks (I think Keiki started it) for leaning out over the tank wall and seeing how far you could balance without falling out. Several animals might be teetering on the tank edge at one time, and sometimes one or another did fall out. Nothing much happened to them, except maybe a cut or a scrape from the gravel around the tanks; but of course we had to run and pick them up and put them back in. Not a serious problem, if the animal that fell out was small, but if it was a 400-pound adult bottlenose, you had to find four strong people to get him back, and when it happened over and over again, the people got cross. We feared too, that some animal would fall out at night or when no one was around and dry out, overheat, and die. We yelled at the porpoises, and rushed over and pushed them back in when we saw them teetering, but that just seemed to add to the enjoyment of what I'm sure the porpoises thoguht of as a hilariously funny game. Fortunately they eventually tired of it by themselves.

Rob glanced back at the glint of the blade as Caleb spun it once more. 'So what - you want information?' he asked,looking back at him'You want to talk'?. 'If talking means I ask questions and you answer them'. Rob exhaled sharply. 'Is that what the tickingclocks about?some kind of threat.

Feeling his smile against her neck,she couldn't contain her smirk. She slid her hand up his forearm,relishing in the tension,the strength, 'You noticed,' 'Of course I noticed.And you know I cant let you go until I've done something about it.' 'Aren't you supposed to avoid sex before a battle.' 'I'm a lycan, darling,' he said against her ear before kissing it.'Not a lightweight.

My idea of recreation in those busy years, was to leave the porpoise training for an hour or two, round up a bunch of children, and go play at training the ponies. I don't know where I found the strength.

George grinned. 'A pity you're perfectly dreadful at shooting.' Aubrey shrugged. 'I've had all the lessons. I'm adequate.' 'Adequate? I suppose it depends on what you mean. If you mean that you haven't actually shot yourself by accident, then by all means describe yourself as adequate.' George laced his fingers together and placed them on his chest. ''I'll come, then I might be able to spare you some embarrassment.' 'I'm honoured.

Nancy taught two hens to help her sort flowers to make leis. She set them down by a basket of three colors of plastic flowers. One hen quickly pulled out all the red flowers, and another the white ones, leaving the pink flowers in the basket.

What you said about me hesitating going in to the party, it wasn’t solely nerves that stopped me – it was the last place I wanted to be. I had a pile of paperwork on my desk all about you. Since five o’clock that morning I’d been reading report after report, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. Even as I got dressed to go out, I was thinking of you. Even when I was buying this dress, I wondered what you’d think if you saw me in it. Although it was three years away, I was already counting down the months I had left until that thing came from me. When I called that taxi to take me home, I thought about telling it to take me to the border of Blackthorn instead. I thought about walking into one of the clubs where I knew you hung around, a club just like this one. And my choice was nothing to do with the soul ripper; it was nothing to do with catching you – it was about me. It was about what I wanted. And I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.

A week later Mrs. Blythe, coming up from the village late in the afternoon, paused at the gate of Ingleside in an amazement which temporarily bereft her of the power of motion. An extraordinary sight met her eyes. Round the end of the kitchen burst Mr. Pryor, running as stout, pompous Mr. Pryor had not run in years, with terror imprinted on every lineament—a terror quite justifiable, for behind him, like an avenging fate, came Susan, with a huge, smoking iron pot grasped in her hands, and an expression in her eye that boded ill to the object of her indignation, if she should overtake him. Pursuer and pursued tore across the lawn. Mr. Pryor reached the gate a few feet ahead of Susan, wrenched it open, and fled down the road, without a glance at the transfixed lady of Ingleside. "Susan," gasped Anne. Susan halted in her mad career, set down her pot, and shook her fist after Mr. Pryor, who had not ceased to run, evidently believing that Susan was still full cry after him. "Susan, what does this mean?" demanded Anne, a little severely. "You may well ask that, Mrs. Dr. dear," Susan replied wrathfully. "I have not been so upset in years. That—that—that pacifist has actually had the audacity to come up here and, in my own kitchen, to ask me to marry him. HIM!" Anne choked back a laugh. "But—Susan!

I read a heap of books to prepare to write my own. Valuable works about art crime include The Rescue Artist by Edward Dolnick, Master Thieves by Stephen Kurkjian, The Gardner Heist by Ulrich Boser, Possession by Erin Thompson, Crimes of the Art World by Thomas D. Bazley, Stealing Rembrandts by Anthony M. Amore and Tom Mashberg, Crime and the Art Market by Riah Pryor, The Art Stealers by Milton Esterow, Rogues in the Gallery by Hugh McLeave, Art Crime by John E. Conklin, The Art Crisis by Bonnie Burnham, Museum of the Missing by Simon Houpt, The History of Loot and Stolen Art from Antiquity Until the Present Day by Ivan Lindsay, Vanished Smile by R. A. Scotti, Priceless by Robert K. Wittman with John Shiffman, and Hot Art by Joshua Knelman. Books on aesthetic theory that were most helpful to me include The Power of Images by David Freedberg, Art as Experience by John Dewey, The Aesthetic Brain by Anjan Chatterjee, Pictures & Tears by James Elkins, Experiencing Art by Arthur P. Shimamura, How Art Works by Ellen Winner, The Art Instinct by Denis Dutton, and Collecting: An Unruly Passion by Werner Muensterberger. Other fascinating art-related reads include So Much Longing in So Little Space by Karl Ove Knausgaard, What Is Art? by Leo Tolstoy, History of Beauty edited by Umberto Eco, On Ugliness also edited by Umberto Eco, A Month in Siena by Hisham Matar, Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton and John Armstrong, Art by Clive Bell, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful by Edmund Burke, Seven Days in the Art World by Sarah Thornton, The Painted Word by Tom Wolfe, and Intentions by Oscar Wilde—which includes the essay “The Critic as Artist,” written in 1891, from which this book’s epigraph was lifted.

I griped about it at lunch one day to Bill Weist and Dr. Leslie Squier, our visiting psychologists from Reed College. I'd been trying to train one otter to stand on a box, I told them. No problem getting the behavior; as soon as I put the box in the enclosure, the otter rushed over and climbed on top of it. She quickly understood that getting on the box earned her a bite of fish, But. As soon as she got the picture, she began testing the parameters. 'Would you like me lying down on the box? What if I just put three feet on the box? Suppose I hang upside down from the edge of the box? Suppose I stand on it and look under it at the same time? How about if I put my front paws on it and bark?' For twenty minutes she offered me everything imaginable except just getting on the box and standing there. It was infuriating, and strangely exhausting. The otter would eat her fish and then run back to the box and present some new, fantastic variation and look at me expectantly (spitefully, even, I thought) while I struggled once more to decide if what she was doing fit my criteria or not. My psychologist friends flatly refused to believe me; no animal acts like that. If you reinforce a response, you strengthen the chance that the animal will repeat what it was doing when it was reinforced; you don't precipitate some kind of guessing game. So I showed them. We all went down to the otter tank, and I took the other otter and attempted to get it to swim through a small hoop. I put the hoop in the water. The otter swam through it, twice. I reinforced it. Fine. The psychologists nodded. Then the otter did the following, looking up for a reward each time: swam through the hoop and stopped, leaving its tail on the other side. Swam through and caught the hoop with a back foot in passing, and carried it away. Lay in the hoop. Bit the hoop Backed through the hoop. 'See?' I said. 'Otters are natural experimenters.

Caroline rose. She studied him for a moment before sitting on his knee. He wasn't quite sure exactly how it happened. If pressed, he would have asked for three or four hundred pages to write a description of the series of impossibly graceful bendings and movements that ended with her perched there with one hand on his shoulder. He didn't understand - and he was sure that it defied physics - how Caroline could be so light on that tiny patch of his legs, and yet so weighty in the way her presence affected him. Her gaze, for instance, probably clocked in at about fifty or sixty tons, to judge from the effect it was having on him. He never wanted to move. Never, ever, ever. Let the heat death of the universe come along and he'd be quite happy to still have Caroline Hepworth sitting just like that, on his knee, looking at him without speaking. The tiny light of the shaded lantern was irrelevant. He saw everything, as if it were the brightest of middays. It was so perfect, so hoped for, that Aubrey knew it couldn't last. He glanced around. 'What are you doing?' Caroline asked very, very softly. 'Looking for whoever is going to interrupt us.' 'That's a pessimistic outlook.' 'Wars, especially, have a habit of ignoring the lives of people.' 'If you follow that through, it suggests living for the moment is best.' 'Live without planning? Without dreams? That sounds rather limited.' 'And that sounds rather like Aubrey.

In due course I would learn how to cover up for this event, but on that awful day I knew of nothing to say but: 'Well, I guess they aren't going to do that either, heh, heh." FINALLY Hoku and Kiko stopped staring suspiciously through the glass long enough to go over the six bars, gracefully arcing in and out of the water against the glass, making the beautiful picture they were supposed to. I waved frantically at Chris to stop right there, to quit while we were ahead. I thanked the politely clapping audience and suggested they come back in a month and see what Hoku and Kiko could really do (I didn't have the courage to order them to KEEP clapping, and louder, please, so that Hoku and Kiko would do the applause jump). Then I yanked out the mike plug, raced down the ladder into the trainers' little sitting room underneath the stage, and took up smoking again.