I am quite prepared, if we can do it without any disrespect to the Crown of England, to bring our titles to the marketplace and make a bonfire of them.
I don’t read a ton of fiction, but Tom Wolfe’s death got me to pick up ‘The Bonfire of the Vanities.’ I’m a slow reader, but wow – I ended up devouring it in about six days. I’m fascinated with that period, the ’80s, when the country was turning around but it seemed like New York and other cities were just hopelessly lost.
When you do something, you should burn yourself up completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.
There’s a very big part of me that just wants to take all of comics history and toss it on the bonfire. I’d sort of like to get on to the future.
I remember the noise of the bells ringing at school as the effigy of Guy Fawkes we’d prepared earlier was carried out on a canvas stretcher, hoisted on to the huge bonfire and set alight. Then the revelry would begin. My school friends and I would all have sparklers we passed around, lighting one from another.
I destroyed all my geek stuff because I didn’t want to be a geek, and I regret it to this day. Consumed in the geek bonfire of the vanities was a collection of autographs and letters from Peter Cushing, Spike Milligan and Frankie Howerd, the first Doctor Whos, actual astronauts, and many more.
I destroyed all my geek stuff because I didn’t want to be a geek, and I regret it to this day. Consumed in the geek bonfire of the vanities was a collection of autographs and letters from Peter Cushing, Spike Milligan and Frankie Howerd, the first Doctor Whos, actual astronauts, and many more.
The yogi offers his labyrinthine human longings to a monotheistic bonfire dedicated to the unparalleled God. This is indeed the true yogic fire ceremony, in which all past and present desires are fuel consumed by love divine.
The 1950s felt so safe and smug, the ’60s so raw and raucous, the revolutions stacked one on top of another, in race relations, gender roles, generational conflict, the clash of church and state – so many values and vanities tossed on the bonfire, and no one had a concordance to explain why it was all happening at once.
Going to high school in rural Florida, we always partied down in the woods. Somebody – one of the rednecks – would leave class and mow a path out to a field, and we’d drive out there. Dude, every party I went to was lit by a bonfire. Acoustic guitar.
When I’m breaking in a character like Jessica Jones, I have this amazing opportunity to create her backstory. It’s all of the work that happens before I’m ever on camera… Writing ‘Bonfire’ was like doing all of that fun stuff; it was like 300 pages of prep work.
‘Bonfire’ was kicking around for a very long time. It was an idea I wanted to explore for a television show. Then I was given this weird gift of time when ‘Jessica Jones’ finished season one. I got really organized and just kind of banged it out, but it took a long time. It took two years to even have a first draft.
I remember trying to explain the class system to a Canadian friend when we started at RADA. The funniest thing was when I told her what bonfire night is all about. It’s quite dark when you start breaking it down.
I went to Cal Arts and AFI, and I worked on ‘Bonfire Of The Vanities.’ I got this grant from the Academy to be Brian De Palma’s apprentice director. And it was such a harrowing, disillusioning, awful experience.
With patience and persistence, even the smallest act of discipleship or the tiniest ember of belief can become a blazing bonfire of a consecrated life. In fact, that’s how most bonfires begin – as a simple spark.
I know how to make a little bonfire, fight off some coyotes, or whatever we got to do.
Building a little bonfire at night on the beach and lying on a blanket with my wife under the stars is not only sexy, it’s romantic.
When Edna O’Brien’s first novel, ‘The Country Girls,’ was published in 1960, her family and neighbors in the small Irish village where she was born tossed copies into a bonfire expressly set for that horrifying purpose.
The fact is that the British Museum had a complete specimen of a dodo in their collection up until the 18th century – it was actually mummified, skin and all – but in a fit of space-saving zeal, they actually cut off the head and they cut off the feet and they burned the rest in a bonfire.
I grew up in a small town in Alabama, and there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, so like our older siblings before us, we drove our pickup trucks out into the hayfield and lit a bonfire.
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