Jazz, to me, is one of the inherent expressions of Negro life in America: the eternal tom-tom beating in the Negro soul - the tom-tom of revolt against weariness in a white world, a world of subway trains, and work, work, work; the tom-tom of joy and laughter, and pain swallowed in a smile.
I came in on this movie after there had been a director and I came in after Tom Courtenay had talked to Ron Harwood about making a movie. So, you know Tom and Albert Finney had been friends since the beginning of their career as they became stars around the same time - Tom always reminds me that Albert was first with Saturday Night and Sunday Morning and then Tom with The Long Distance Runner.
Tom gets by, Navidson succeeds. Tom just wants to be, Navidson must become. And yet despite such obvious differences, anyone who looks past Tom's wide grin and considers his eyes will find surprisingly deep pools of sorrow. Which is how we know they are brothers, because like Tom, Navidson's eyes share the same water.
Mark Z. Danielewski
Tom's aunt Georgie spoke to me first, and Tom found me through her. At the time, I didn't actually think Tom was a big enough character to carry a story. If it had to be anyone from Saving Francesca, I thought, it would be Will Trombal or Tara. But the line in Francesca, 'I want to be the first male in the Mackee family to reach 40 and still have a liver' stuck with me, and in the end, Tom has been one of the biggest surprises. I'm glad I didn't kick him out of my head.
I was at a dinner party many years ago, sitting along from Tom Stoppard, who in those days smoked not just between courses, but between mouthfuls. An American woman watched in disbelief. "And you so intelligent!" "Excuse me?" said tom "Knowing those things are going to kill you" she said "and still you do it." "How differently I might behave" Tom said, "if immortality were an option
I was at a dinner party many years ago,sitting along from Tom Stoppard, who in those days smoked not just between courses,but between mouthfuls. An American woman watched in disbelief. "And you so intelligent!" "Excuse me?" said tom "Knowing those things are going to kill you" she said "and still you do it." "How differently I might behave" Tom said, "if immortality were an option
I didn't understand art, until one day Tom Brady took me to the museum, and we looked at the Picasso, and he said, 'Rob, that's a touchdown.' We looked at the Rembrandt and Tom said, 'Rob, that's another touchdown.' We looked at the Vermeer and Tom said, 'Rob, that's another touchdown.' And I said, 'No, Tom, that's just a field goal.'
Why, Tom - us people will go on livin' when all them people is gone. Why, Tom, we're the people that live. They ain't gonna wipe us out. Why, we're the people - we go on.' 'We take a beatin' all the time.' 'I know.' Ma chuckled. 'Maybe that makes us tough. Rich fellas come up an' they die, an' their kids ain't no good, an' they die out. But, Tom, we keep a-comin'. Don' you fret none, Tom. A different time's comin'.
With effort he opened his eyes again. Was someone there with him in the dusk? Yes. Someone was standing above him, looking down at him. Tom squinted, trying to see through the gloom. Then he realized: no. It was only the scorched painting on the wall. Those painted eyes with the line of blood trickling down beside them. 'Bad day, ' he thought up at them. 'It seems I've been murdered.' 'Yes, ' responded the eyes at once. 'That happens sometimes when you insist on telling the truth. People don't always appreciate it.' 'It's not so bad really, ' Tom told the eyes. 'Maybe I'll get to see you in heaven.' 'The road to heaven isn't death, Tommy. It's life.' Tom peered up at the eyes through the growing darkness. He thought he saw the whole painting recovered in its frame: Christ crucified, the rivulets of blood streaming down from under his crown of thorns. 'But you died.' Tom said to him. 'You died and went to heaven.' 'No, ' the eyes answered. 'I lived. That's the whole point. I lived. And now you have to live, Tom.
It struck her hard how it was often the ordinary acts that were angelic. Maybe there were angels in the sky and maybe there weren't. Maybe angels helped arrange for Tom to be the one to drive along right at that moment. She didn't know. But what she did know was that there were angels on the ground. She did know that Tom stopped the car, got out, and buried the kid's dead cat. He didn't have to, but he did. It was a small act, but it was huge. And that made Tom an angel to her, one no less divine than any angels that might be in the sky.
Izzi: Remember Moses Morales? Tom Verde: Who? Izzi: The Mayan guide I told you about. Tom Verde: From your trip. Izzi: Yeah. The last night I was with him, he told me about his father, who had died. Well Moses wouldn't believe it. Tom Verde: Izzi... Izzi: [embraces Tom] No, no. Listen, listen. He said that if they dug his father's body up, it would be gone. They planted a seed over his grave. The seed became a tree. Moses said his father became a part of that tree. He grew into the wood, into the bloom. And when a sparrow ate the tree's fruit, his father flew with the birds. He said... death was his father's road to awe. That's what he called it. The road to awe. Now, I've been trying to write the last chapter and I haven't been able to get that out of my head! Tom Verde: Why are you telling me this? Izzi: I'm not afraid anymore, Tommy.
Who is Tom? There is no Tom. If we sell a pair of shoes today, we give away a pair of shoes tomorrow. Originally we thought of "Tomorrow's Shoes," but I could only fit "TOMS" on the label. I had no idea everybody would want to meet him. There is no Tom; it's an idea for a better tomorrow.
Everybody granted that if "Tom" were white and free it would be unquestionably right to punish him-it would be no loss to anybody; but to shut up a valuable slave for life-that was quite another matter. As soon as the Governor understood the case, he pardoned Tom at once, and the creditors sold him down the river.
Once, when Tom was over here, to tease Rose, I asked him, "Before she was born, can you remember? Were things just the same as they are these days? Did it still rain and get dark and all the stuff it does now? Did the sun go up and down in exactly the same way?" Yes, " Tom said, and then he smiled at Rose and said, "No. Not really. Not exactly the same way.
John Steinbeck's 'The Grapes of Wrath' also speaks urgently to today's concerns: the cratered trail of dreams for Mexican immigrants seeking a promised land in the Western [United States]; the perfidy of banks in foreclosing on poor people's homes; and the insurgent urge of the book's protagonist, Tom Joad, to speak truth to police power. 'Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy,' Tom promises, 'I'll be there.' In Salinas, Calif., Ferguson, Mo., or Staten Island, N.Y., Tom's truth goes marching on.
Tom leaned in and spoke in a low, confidential voice, "Sir. You have a little something... " He lifted his forefinger surreptitiously to his own upper lip. Harrison brought his hand to his mustache to brush something off it, his eyes questioning. "What is it?" "Carpet remnant?" Tom suggested.
You must hold on to the sort of finger-painting aspect of music. That's something I learned, particularly from listening to Neil Young. Tom Waits is another one, because Tom's music is incredibly sophisticated and beautifully arranged, but he's using a toolbox that's unlike anybody else's.
Of all the things I've ever done, perhaps none was more difficult than turning away from my beautiful girl and walking away, leaving her there, never to look back. But my friend Tom, my ever-faithful good friend Tom said, pointing down the hall away from Cec's room, 'Life's that way. Let's go home.' And so we did.
His name was Tom Tombstone, and if he had a middle name it was probably Death. But I didn't call him Tom, or even Mr. Tombstone, because he introduced himself as Robert Winston. And I wondered how this stranger could shake my hand, look me in the eye, smile, and expect me to believe such a bold-faced lie?
Cameron threw her hands up in frustration. "What is this so-called 'look'?" Whatever it was, she was going to have to start taking extreme measures to guard against it. Amy grinned. "You know the Tom and Jerry cartoon where Tom hasn't eaten for days and he imagines Jerry looking like a ham? Kind of like that.
To do a movie with someone like Tom Hanks that when you tell your dad, your dad knows who Tom Hanks is - it feels like you're finally giving back to your parents. It's like you've actually done something that they can recognize, and there's something in me that makes them super proud.
The message that 'love' will solve all of our problems is repeated incessantly in contemporary culture - like a philosophical tom tom. It would be closer to the truth to say that love is a contagious and virulent disease which leaves a victim in a state of near imbecility, paralysis, profound melancholia, and sometimes culminates in death.
I always resented Tom [Hardy] for turning up on Band Of Brothers and getting the girl "" in fact, the only girl in a cast of hundreds of smelly men! I, on the other hand, spent eight months with my face squashed up against someone else's backside in one sodden trench after another. And it looks as if Tom might have got the girl again [in Colditz], damn his eyes.
I am truly crazy, I told myself. It's over. I am not fixable. I cannot tell Tom. I cannot even tell Francisco. So I won't tell anyone. My brain seemed out of control. Tom does not deserve a crazy wife and my children do not deserve a crazy mother. I finally get it. This is not just repressed memory. This is dissociative identity disorder.
Law looked dumbstruck, almost angry. He breathed, "Son of a bitch." And to Tom's surprise, Law got down on one knee and took his hand. "Tom, you beloved bastard, I love you. I need you in my life forever. I cannot imagine existence without you. Will you-God please say yes-grant me the honor and the privilege and save my life and marry me?
Sensing my delight at seeing his laptop, Tom asked me, "William, have you ever seen the Internet?" "No." In a quiet conference room, Tom sat me down at his computer and explained the track pad, how the motion of my fingers guided the arrow on the screen. "This is Google, " he said. "You can find answers to anything. What do you want to search for?" "Windmill." In one second, he'd pulled up five million page results-pictures and models of windmills I'd never even imagined.
Tom felt his darkness. His father was beautiful and clever, his mother was short and mathematically sure. Each of his brothers and sisters had looks or gifts or fortune. Tom loved all of them passionately, but he felt heavy and earth-bound. He climbed ecstatic mountains and floundered in the rocky darkness between the peaks. He had spurts of bravery but they were bracketed in battens of cowardice.
Tom Coburn never forgot that members of Congress are spending the hard-earned money of the people back home. Even a lot of conservatives end up forgetting that. Here's hoping that back in the private sector, Tom Coburn keeps up the fight for his beliefs and that he remains a constant reminder to lawmakers and the White House of ethical standards to which all should aspire.
My only companion from the outside world during nineteen years of isolation has been my personal hatred of Thursday Next. It's kind of like the old me suddenly taking over, and I promised myself that this was how I would act if I ever saw you.' 'I have the same thing, but with Tom Stoppard, ' I said. 'You'd kill Tom Stoppard?' 'Not at all. I promised myself many years ago that I would throw myself at his feet and scream "I'm not worthy!" if I ever met him, so now if we're ever at the same party or something, I have to be at pains to avoid him. It would be undignified, you see-for him and for me.
[Allison also recalled watching Nelson Mandela's release from prison with Gilchrist and Tom King, then sales director at Standard Life. As Mandela waved to the crowds he leaned towards his wife Winnie and whispered in her ear.] I wonder what he's asking her? ... I think it was 'Have we had that letter from Tom King yet telling us how badly our Standard Life mortgage has performed?'
She could have dropped you both off. whar's the worst she can do? cry hysterically?"the gears on the ute get stuck at the lights and will pushes tom's hand out of the way and and shoves it into the correct gear."it wasn't her" he mutters after a moment."sorry?" tom says."she didn't cry""then what?"it's too quiet except for the quiet for the crap engine sounding like a lawn mower."i cried"luca bursts out laughing beside will."yeah, well i did" will says. "And it's not the thing you want to do in front of a bunch on engineers.
she could have dropped you both off. whar's the worst she can do? cry hysterically?" the gears on the ute get stuck at the lights and will pushes tom's hand out of the way and and shoves it into the correct gear. "it wasn't her" he mutters after a moment. "sorry?" tom says. "she didn't cry" "then what?" it's too quiet except for the quiet for the crap engine sounding like a lawn mower. "i cried" luca bursts out laughing beside will. "yeah, well i did" will says. "And it's not the thing you want to do in front of a bunch on engineers.
Did you hear 'bout Ticklish Tom? He got tickled by his mom. Wiggled and giggled and fell on the floor, . . . . And all the more that he kept gigglin', All the more folks kept ticklin'. He shrieked and screamed and rolled around, Laughed his way right out of town. Through the country down the road, He got tickled by a toad. . . . . Giggling, rolling on his back He rolled on the railroad track. Rumble, rumble, whistle, roar- Tom ain't ticklish any more.
Growing up in Northern Ontario provided me with a strong affinity for the natural environment that was so eloquently responded to by Tom Thomson and his colleagues. The concept of this painting grew out of a number of forays into Algonquin over the years. From its conception I intended Algonquin to be a subtle tribute to Tom Thomson. But I also wanted it to be a response to the natural beauty that so typifies the grandeur of Ontario's first provincial park.
At its best, the US Open demands straight drives, crisp iron shots, brilliant chipping and putting, and strategic position play. Plus the patience of St. Francis and the will of Patton. At its worst, the Open eradicates the difference in ability between a Tom Purtzer and a Tom Watson and throws both in the same jail of high rough and high risk shots. This is the disturbing tendency in the Opens of the seventies and eighties, one which worries everyone in golf.
What about the contacts your mum had?' his dad asked. 'I rang and spoke to four very polite computers who gave me all these options and then cut out on me. Then I tried the post office, because they were advertising, and I spoke to another computer. Very rude, that one. Don't think it recognized 'Are you shitting me?' as an option.' 'You know why that is?' 'Why is that, Dominic?' Tom had asked drolly, because he knew he was going to be told why. 'Because we don't live in a society anymore, Tom. We live in an economy. We're not citizens. We're customers. That's what this government's done to us.
TOM WAS BORN IN 1942 WITH EYES OF BLUE AND THE DOCTORS SAID THAT HIS BIRTH WAS FAR TOO FAST HIS HEART STOPPED TWICE BUT YET HE SURVIVED AS HE TOOK HIS FIRST BREATHE HIS MOTHER TOOK HER LAST AND HIS FATHER KNEW THAT HE WASN'T TO BLAME BUT HE NEVER QUITE LOOKED AT TOM THE SAME AFTER THAT AND HE RARELY SPOKE ABOUT HER BUT WHEN HE DID HE SAID YOUR MOTHER USED TO SAY THIS "WHEN THE SKIES ARE LOOKING BAD MY DEAR AND YOUR HEART'S LOST ALL IT'S HOPE AFTER DAWN THERE WILL BE SUNSHINE AND ALL THE DUST WILL GO SKIES WILL CLEAR MY DARLING I'LL WAKE UP WITH THE ONE I LOVE THE MOST AND IN THE MORNING, I'LL MAKE YOU UP SOME TEA AND TOAST"
Tom Dancer's gift of a whitebark pine cone You never know What opportunity Is going to travel to you, Or through you. Once a friend gave me A small pine cone- One of a few He found in the scat Of a grizzly In Utah maybe, Or Wyoming. I took it home And did what I supposed He was sure I would do- I ate it, Thinking How it had traveled Through that rough And holy body. It was crisp and sweet. It was almost a prayer Without words. My gratitude, Tom Dancer, For this gift of the world I adore so much And want to belong to. And thank you too, great bear
Watching the Dallas Cowboys perform, it is not difficult to believe that coach Tom Landry flew fourengines bombers during World War II. He was in B17 Flying Fortresses out of England, they say. His cautious, conservative approach to every situation and the complexity of the plays he sends in do seem to reflect the philosophy of a pilot trained to doggedly press on according to plans laid down before takeoff. I sometimes wonder how the Cowboys would have fared all this years had Tom flown fighters in combat situations which dictated continuously changing tactics.
I met Tom Baker doing a voice-over when David [Arabella's friend, David Tennant] wasn't at all well known. We were doing this voice-over together and I said to Tom, 'Oh, my friend's a really, really big Doctor Who fan,' and he replied, 'Wait!' He got his cheque book out and asked, 'What his name?' I said 'David Tennant'. He wrote, 'To David Tennant, seventeen pounds forty five', signed it and I asked him what it meant. He said, 'He'll know'
I don't write romance novels, any more than Tom Clancy writes legal thrillers. Yes, I write about love and relationships and Tom Clancy writes a thriller, but what I do would not be accepted by romance publishers, since the romance genre has numerous requirements and I don't satisfy any of them. I write love stories, a completely different genre.
I know you adore Father, but he isn't the white knight you imagine him to be. He never was. True, he's charming and loving in his way. But he's selfish. He's a limited man determined to bring about his own end-" "But-" Tom grabs both my hands in his and gives them a small squeeze. "Gemma, you can't save him. Why can't you accept that?" I see my reflection on the surface of the Thames. My face is a watery outline, all blurred edges with nothing settled. "Because if I let go of that" - I swallow hard, once, twice - "then I have to accept that I am alone." The ship's horn howls again as it slips out toward sea. Tom's reflection appears beside mine, just as uncertain. "We're every one of us alone in this world, Gemma." He doesn't say it bitterly. "But you have company, if you want.
Oh, right. She doesn't know your secret identity.' Andy unzipped his sweatshirt and tossed it on a chair. 'So, Meg Ryan just sent Tom Hanks a book but... ' 'No, Meg Ryan just sent NY152 a book, which was then overnighted to Tom Hanks, who lives above Meg Ryan and knows she's Shopgirl, while she has no idea he's NY152.' 'I'm a little disturbed you know that movie so well.' 'It was actually a remake of a 1937 play called Parfumerie by Miklos Le¡szlo.' Paul blew out a breath. 'And it's really not as fun as they made it sound.' 'But hey, at least you can say you've got mail, ' Andy said, chuckling.
Mary Jane Hathaway
However, the daily life of the slaves in the South, as observed by many travelers, was obscured for all time by the relentless promotion of a single book, Harriet Beecher Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Even today, any black who dares to say that perhaps we are not as badly off as our brethren in the jungles of Africa is hooted down as an "Uncle Tom." [...] It was no accident that Harriet Beecher Stowe's book became the greatest best seller of its time - it was tirelessly promoted throughout the entire nation, in the most successful book promotion campaign in our history.
You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly""Tom's Aunt Polly, she is""and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.
What New York City football team did Joe Namath play for?" "The New York City Yankees!" A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, accompanied by more than a few loud groans. Bobby Tom silenced them all with a glare. At the same time, the glitter in his eyes dared any of them to contradict her. When he was certain every person there understood his message, he turned back to Gracie and gathered her into his arms. With a tender look and a gentle brush of his lips, he said, "Exactly right, sweetheart. I had no idea you knew so much about football." And that was how every last person in Telarosa, Texas, came to understand that Bobby Tom Denton had finally and forever fallen head over heels in love.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips