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'Homefront' was written by Sylvester Stallone. He actually wrote it for himself, which is, for me, an amazing privilege: To be handed a script by Sly that he wrote for himself, that he asked me to do.
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'Homefront' was written by Sylvester Stallone. He actually wrote it for himself, which is, for me, an amazing privilege: To be handed a script by Sly that he wrote for himself, that he asked me to do.
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The best luck always happens to people who don't need it.
Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy.
For the mentally disturbed, Marie knew these sandwich visits might be the only dependable moments in their lives. She also knew she delivered the sandwiches for her own sanity. Something would crumble inside of her if she ever walked by a homeless person and pretended not to notice. Or simply didn't care. In a way, she believed that homeless people were treated as Indians had always been treated. Badly. The homeless were like an Indian tribe, nomadic and powerless, just filled with more than any tribe's share of crazy people and cripples. So, a homeless Indian belonged to two tribes, and was the lowest form of life in the city. The powerful white men of Seattle had created a law that made it illegal to sit on the sidewalk. That ordinance was crazier and much more evil than any homeless person. Sometimes Marie wondered if she worked so hard at anything only because she hated powerful white men. She wondered if she went to college and received good grades just because she was looking for revenge.
So they had all had more troubles than she. Did that really make them superior? If two men were walking along the street and a brick fell on one, missing the other, did that make the injured one a better person?
Some people envied Ronan__ money. Adam envied his time. To be as rich as Ronan was to be able to go to school and do nothing else, to have luxurious swathes of time in which to study and write papers and sleep. Adam wouldn__ admit it to anyone, least of all Gansey, but he was tired. He was tired of squeezing homework in between his part-time jobs, of squeezing in sleep, squeezing in the hunt for Glendower. The jobs felt like so much wasted time: In five years, no one would care if he__ worked at a trailer factory. They__ only care if he__ graduated from Aglionby with perfect grades, or if he__ found Glendower, or if he was still alive. And Ronan didn__ have to worry about any of that.