Virginia Graham Quotes

Life is an X-rated soap opera.

Drama seems to kind of surround me.

Most drama in our lives is really rather squalid.

On a soap, happiness never lasts for very long!

There is the churning and the boiling of the sea, and the foam on top of it and that is what man is, churning and foam together.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? It's a madhouse. The minute those cameras go off, things just explode, everyone is just at each other in one way or another, in closets or cat fights here and there. It's nuts. You know, I can't be a part of it.

The Middle East is a very difficult stage to play upon. Without doubt, it is a good drama. And on occasion, there are situations so unimaginable, if not ludicrous, as to make them almost comic. But the cast is constantly changing, the audience is often disengaged, and it seems at times that no one is actually running the show.

I created a lot of drama and mess in my life.

I don't remember what they said, only the fury of their words, how the air turned raw and full of welts. Later it would remind me of birds trapped inside a closed room, flinging themselves against the windows and the walls, against each other.

But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot.

If we really talked about what's wrong with you, you'd need a 7-1/2-hour movie and nobody would know what category to put it in!

Life is a theatre of alarms and contentions.

There's an opera out on the turnpike, there's a ballet being fought out in the alley.

Every house is a mad-house at some time or another.

She was a stirrer of the pot, a lover of intrigue and distress, a creature who seemed to draw oxygen from the spectacle of people at each other's throat, everybody in a state of upset and talking about her.

Why are homosexuals addicted to soap opera? Because our lives are a vivid situation.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Whatever begins to be tranquil is gobbled up by something not tranquil.

The dust will not settle in our time. And when it does some great roaring machine will come and whirl it all skyhigh again.

Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.

Fiction is about stuff that's screwed up.

They sicken of the calm who know the storm.

He wanted to hit something or someone. He wanted to burn up the whole world, heal it, and burn it down again.

What I hated even more than the conflict was the lurid spectacle of a world of unreason.

I guess we're oil and water. (Phoebe) I'd say we're more like gasoline and a blowtorch. (Dan)