The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick.
I think it would be bizarre to pick somebody to speak at the convention based on their sexual preference, because once you go down that road, why don't you pick a transvestite?
Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.
I think any girl who comes to Hollywood with sex symbol or bombshell hanging over her has a rough road.
I don't know anybody's road who's been paved perfectly for them, there are no manuals, you don't know what life has in store for you.
There's a hunger and a fervor that I have, but there's no person I'm going to push to the side to get where I'm going. I want to create my own road.
The 60s passed and faded and I grew older, and in 1987 bought a house in upstate New York, and it turned out that John Brown was buried down the road from my house and that he had lived there longer than anywhere else and his house was still standing.
I'm on this road for the rest of my life.
The first attempt at a response: there must have been a fall, a decline, and the road to salvation can only be the return of the sensible finite into the intelligible infinite.
One of the dreariest spots on life's road is the point of conviction that nothing will ever again happen to you.
The sea from Dunkirk to Dover during these days of the evacuation looked like any coastal road in England on a bank holiday. It was solid with shipping.
I'd rather have huge success and huge failures than travel in the middle of the road.
I try to live my life where I end up at a point where I have no regrets. So I try to choose the road that I have the most passion on because then you can never really blame yourself for making the wrong choices. You can always say you're following your passion.
Good things do not come easy. The road is lined with pitfalls.
All I've ever wanted to do was play music and go on the road and make records.