Traumatic Event Quotes

I'm very proud of 'Will the Sun Ever Shine Again.' That was a song written very close to the 9/11 event.

1967 was the bleakest, darkest, most emotional period of my life.

When someone changes your face, it's really shocking and scary.

Ask anyone where they were when they heard of Diana's death, and they won't hesitate, because nobody can forget. Along with 9/11, it remains the most poleaxeing public event, news so shocking it made me shake, and drove everything else from my mind for days.

I have had stalkers over the years. The police deal with it but it is very scary. One man kept turning up where we filmed 'Countdown in Leeds,' which was scary. It was sad as he'd been sectioned and thought I was talking to him through the TV.

The abduction of a child is a tragedy. No one can fully understand or appreciate what a parent goes through at such a time, unless they have faced a similar tragedy. Every parent responds differently. Each parent copes with this nightmare in the best way he or she knows how.

In 2002, my daughter was diagnosed with a rare form of colon cancer. And it was such a shock, a surprise to us.

Metro Station, it was a crazy experience, because I felt like we just blew up really fast.

A tragedy's first act is crowded with supporting players, policeman scribbling in pads and making radio calls, witnesses crimping their faces, EMS guys folding equipment.

I've had more than 200 stitches taken in my head.

I had a wreck during a race in Michigan, which led to the hyperextension of my left leg and subsequent amputation.

I suffered a stroke in 2002 that made everything else in my life that happened to that point pale in comparison.

When I got out of the hospital, it was one of those classic things - you're looking death in the eye, and it changes you. I thought, I ought to go back on the road.

My dad gave me my first bike at 16. I soon fell off and was in a wheelchair for weeks. I haven't fallen since.

I was a postman one Christmas and I developed a morbid fear of dogs.

Yet somehow the thing that startled me most, after a week or two had passed, was that I had in fact survived.

"That was horrible. Horrible. That poor little guy." Pex was unrepentant. "Yeah, well, he asked for it. Calling us... all those things." But buried alive?! That's like in that horror movie. Y'know the one with all the horror." "I think I saw that one. With all the words going up on the screen at the end?" "Yeah, that was it. Tell you the truth, those words kinda ruined it for me."

I’m Armenian, and April 24th was another commemoration of the genocide of Armenia people by Turkey. The perpetrator never admitted the crime. I was raised with that, this question: how do you actually find the truth of such a traumatic event? I'm obsessed with that issue.

I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.

Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it.

I was three years old, so I actually don't remember much of the refugee process.

I went to New York to train as a chef, and I had the good or bad fortune, depending on how you describe it, of being right there during 9/11. It was one of the best and the worst experiences.

How is it that I'd nearly been smothered to death, and yet I could sit there and notice things like my stepbrother's abdominal muscles a few minutes later?

The closest thing to Roseanne Barr's singing the national anthem was my cat being neutered.

Looking back, all I can say is that the meeting with Bush was one of the most disgusting experiences in my life.