Property is theft. Nobody "owns" anything. When you die, it all stays here.
I do not have many things that are meaningful to me. Except my doubts and my fears. And my art.
You can never loose a thing If it belongs to you.
I could croak with no warning, and the only tragedy anyone would experience would be showing up on the last day of my estate sale simply to discover that all remaining items had copious amounts of dog hair on them.
I have a whole closet in my house that's dedicated just to jackets and coats, stuff that I've collected over the years.
I'm so glad Courtney Love is here; I left my crack in my other purse.
I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
No one owns anything. Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realize that nothing really belongs to them. And if nothing belongs to me, then there's no point wasting my time looking after things that aren't mine.
My voice and movements are restricted by the things I own.
...home lies in the things you carry with you everywhere and not the ones that tie you down.
I usually carry my wallet, phone, Chapstick, and a snack at all times.
When you're standing in line at the airport, and your shoes are off, your belt is off, and your personal belongings are being closely scrutinized, and you're standing with your hands in the air, waiting to be patted down, do you feel protected? I don't. I feel like I'm the enemy.
It wasn't like the spare rooms of immigrants - packed to the rafters with all that they have ever possessed, no matter how defective or damaged, mountains of odds and ends - the stand testament to the fact that they have things now, where before they had nothing.
I think the relationship [in Aquarius] with her nephew shows that she's not nostalgic. She just wants to preserve what is important to her - her records, her books, even some furniture. She doesn't want to leave that house because it is her home. That is where her kids were born. After moving so much in my life, I was touched by Clara's need to stay in that apartment. I love her life, and that may be why I connected to her so strongly. We are the most alike when we are fighting for our rights.
Most of the clothes and accessories in my videos come from my wardrobe.
No one has ever put anything into my suitcase.
I have a very promiscuous relationship with all my objects.
Memory is curated. All this paraphernalia you collect to ward off forgetting
When I left home at sixteen I bought a small rug. It was my roll-up world. Whatever room, whatever temporary place I had, I unrolled the rug. It was a map of myself. Invisible to others, but held in the rug, were all the places I had stayed - for a few weeks, for a few months. On the first night anywhere new I liked to lie in bed and look at the rug to remind myself that I had what I needed even though what I had was so little. Sometimes you have to live in precarious and temporary places. Unsuitable places. Wrong places. Sometimes the safe place won’t help you.
I do hang on to things. I was so happy my father saved his army jacket. I grew up wearing that all through high school.
All property is theft, except mine.
My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. he was left handed. The thing that was descriptive about it though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up to bat
Maybe it was a good thing that Bones was putting Don's remains away instead of me. With my current emotional state, I'd probably think the only safe place for his ashes was tucked inside my clothes next to the garlic and weed.
It's hard to dance if you just lost your wallet. Whoa Where's my wallet But, hey this song is funky.
You may be less likely to pick on someone if you don't know what's in their briefcase or purse.
