Those who talk on the razor-edge of double-meanings pluck the rarest blooms from the precipice on either side.
On what slender threads do life and fortune hang.
We may be likened to two scorpions in a bottle, each capable of killing the other, but only at the risk of his own life.
Those who stand on their toes are not steady.
Life is a flimsy branch over an abyss.
Hangs in the uncertain balance of proud time.
Any order is a balancing act of extreme precariousness.
This is the posture of fortunes slave: one foot in the gravy, one foot in the grave.
That's how it always is in the entertainment industry, your feet are always treading Jello.
The author lives with one foot in an everyday world and the other feeling about anxiously for a foothold in another more precarious one.
Money and power by themselves are a two-legged stool. You can balance on them for a while, but eventually you're going to topple over.
There is a feeling that events are in the air; all that is unpredictable is their timing. Perhaps we shall see several more years of peace, but it is equally possible that overnight some tremendous upheaval will happen.
Sometimes I think we're all tightrope walkers suspended on a wire two thousand feet in the air, and so long as we never look down we're okay, but some of us lose momentum and look down for a second and are never quite the same again: we know.
