Linda Ellerbee Quotes

My dressing room was right on the water, and I would climb out of my window and walk around on the roof, whenever I needed time to think, or whenever I couldn't get a scene together. My father even came out there on the roof with me. We just walked around and talked up there, just to get away from everything, and nobody could get to us there. I really do love that place very much. It holds a very deep-rooted place in my heart.

I'll put it out there: I love getting hugs.

I was re-watching 'E.T.' recently, and that scene where they're all around the pizza, bringing the pizza in, and gambling and stuff together, it's such an amazing tone, it's so rough, and nobody's really talking about anything, and it feels like you're in that room with them.

My daughter gets to paint my nails and put clips in my hair, and I love it.

If I meet pals, we do hug each other, and it's very nice, you know... it's something that's come on me late and became second nature, and it's first nature now!

Now, perfectly ordinary people will give each other hugs. I mean, it used to be that a hug was reserved for if you came back from Australia - you know, back in the '40s and '50s.

I'd rather kiss my best friend than kiss some random guy.

When I was a boy, it was paradise to go hunting with my father.

My father used to be a fisherman, so it always makes me feel close to him when I am there on the water catching my dinner.

I was about 10 when I first began to sing. My mother had been away for three weeks, and I learned 'Don't Cry for Me Argentina.' When she came back, I sang it in front of her, my auntie Linda, my father, my uncle Jim, and my grandmother.

One of my favourite scenes ever is in Mr India - when the kids are hungry and Sridevi comes with the pastries etc, and they become friends. It's impossible not to get teary-eyed.

It's good to have someone on the tour so close to you - I mean, like, my sister. There is no one closer to me on the tour, so I don't need any other friends than her. We always talk about everything; not only about tennis, but about all the other stuff around tennis.

My father read Charles Dickens to us as children, and at the end of virtually every novel he would choke up and start to cry - and my father NEVER cried. It always made me love him all the more.

When was the last time someone read aloud to you? Probably when you were a child, and if you think back, you'll remember how safe you felt, tucked under the covers, or curled in someone's arms, as a story was spun around you like a web.

I want to kiss you again, Tess.” “Why?” He chuckled, low under his breath. “Why? Because you’re beautiful, and because I want you. And I think you want me too.

My parents loved me. My father used to carry me around on my shoulders. I know my father loved me. All families love their children, and we were good boys.

Actually, I think friendship and love are exactly the same thing.

You aren't even angry with me anymore, Stefan, so let me up." He didn't budge. "It would be a misconception on your part, little Tanya, if you are thinking I have to be angry to make love to you." His head bent, his lips grazing her cheek all the way to her ear. With his warm breath sending tingles all over her, he continued in a whisper, "I wanted you last night, today a dozen times, right now more than ever. Tell me to love you, Tanya. Demand it of me!

The last time I put on this uniform (Cincinnati), I think I was eight, for a father-son game.

I suddenly remember being very little and being embraced by my father. I would try to put my arms around my father's waist, hug him back. I could never reach the whole way around the equator of his body; he was that much larger than life. Then one day, I could do it. I held him, instead of him holding me, and all I wanted at that moment was to have it back the other way.

I think this’ll definitely tide me over while we’re apart,”Bones laughed, dragging me into his arms with far more strength and quickness than was fair, considering I still had trouble making my limbs operate. “Oh, Kitten,” he murmured as his lips dragged down my throat. “You didn’t really think we were done, did you?

I think of friendship in terms of love.

It's bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They're not. They're just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.

This was a memory I wanted to keep, whole, and recall again and again. When I was fifty years old I wanted to remember this moment on the porch, holding hands with Cameron while he shared himself with me. I didn’t want it to be something on the fringes of my memory like so many other things about Cameron and myself.

If your trusted and people will allow you to share their inner gardern...what better gift?