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Danny Wallace

Danny Wallace Quotes

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Famous Danny Wallace Quotes

“But why are the Terribles turning people mean?” he asked. “So that we fight. So that we argue. So that the world is a horrible place that we don't even want any more. I think they've started in Starkley, because it's so boring that hardly anyone ever comes here. They're testing things out and, if it works, I think they'll turn the whole world mean. And that's when they'll take over. When we're too mean to care.”

“The thing I realised instantly was that at first, Wag had blamed all of this on luck. But he'd made that luck happen. He just hadn't realised it. He'd made a series of 'correct' choices, which had let him, bass in hand, to his girl. Maybe we can all do that. Maybe we can all change our fortunes. Maybe there's no such thing as destiny - there's just a series of choices we create ourselves. I guess it's only when we look at how a No could have changed our lives for the worse that we realise the value of the tiny yeses that fly at us each day. - 293”

“If we have faith that some higher powers, some enlightened beings, are helping us to develop spiritually, then you begin to relate to life completely differently. And I suppose life starts to become a little more magical. Every opportunity must be seen as a chance to learn. We have to be open to whatever happens, good or bad. Because anything that happens is a chance to increase our wisdom, and to walk further down the path to enlightenment. So if you miss the bus, that's an opportunity to learn. If you become ill, that's an opportunity to learn something new, like compassion maybe. - 319”

“I mean No is power. No says, "I'm in charge." Think about how many times you've said yes in the past year, and how many times you would've liked to have said no instead. Maybe being able to say no is the one thing that keeps us sane. Some people go through their whole lives saying yes over and over again--yes to things they don't want to do but feel obliged to; yes to things that allow other people to take advantage of them, just because that's the way things are, the way things have always been. Some people need to learn how to say no. Because every time they say yes, they say no to themselves.”

“At first I assumed he was a Mexican, but slowly began to realise that a real Mexican probably wouldn't be wearing a sombrero in a London nightclub. And he'd probably have a real moustache, not a stick-on one. A Mexican with a stick-on moustache would be like a Super-Mexican, because he'd have two moustaches, and that'd be cool, because a Super-Mexican could probably use his poncho as a cape, and then I realised I was saying all this to the man's face.”

“Non so cosa ci sia all'interno di questa scatoletta di plastica, e non so nemmeno se lo saprò mai. E il problema sta tutto lì. Potrei saperlo; avrei potuto aprirla nel giro di un'ora, avrei potuto esaminarne il contenuto e sapere una volta per tutte se c'è una speranza...o meno. Ma se lo faccio, e poi scopro che c'è speranza, cosa succede se c'è solo quella? Solo un briciolo di speranza? Cosa succede se scopro che era solo una bolla di sapone? Perché se c'è una cosa che odio della speranza è che la speranza improvvisa è la strada spianata verso l'improvvisa disperazione.”

“I love London. I love everything about it. I love its palaces and its museums and its galleries, sure. But also, I love its filth, and damp, and stink. Okay, well, I don’t mean love, exactly. But I don’t mind it. Not any more. Not now I’m used to it. You don’t mind anything once you’re used to it. Not the graffiti you find on your door the week after you painted over it, or the chicken bones and cider cans you have to move before you can sit down for your damp and muddy picnic. Not the everchanging fast food joints – AbraKebabra to Pizza the Action to Really Fried Chicken – and all on a high street that despite its three new names a week never seems to look any different. Its tawdriness can be comforting, its wilfulness inspiring. It’s the London I see every day. I mean, tourists: they see the Dorchester. They see Harrods, and they see men in bearskins and Carnaby Street. They very rarely see the Happy Shopper on the Mile End Road, or a drab Peckham disco. They head for Buckingham Palace, and see waving above it the red, white and blue, while the rest of us order dansak from the Tandoori Palace, and see Simply Red, White Lightning, and Duncan from Blue. But we should be proud of that, too. Or, at least, get used to it.”

“"I saw you and I see you every day. I greet you every day. Can you read my eyes? I miss you every day. I love you every day. What was this guy’s story? Doorman? Bus driver? Receptionist? Who’s the girl? Has she noticed him? Is he anyone to her, or just the fella behind the counter at Benji’s? Why doesn’t he say something to her? But I knew why. Because there’s the creeping fear that these moments don’t actually exist outside your own head. No eyes meet across a crowded room, no two people think precisely the same thing, and if only one person actually has that moment, is it even really a moment at all? We know this, so we say nothing. We avert our eyes, or pretend to be looking for change, we hope the other person will take the initiative, because we don’t want to risk losing this feeling of excitement and possibilities and lust. It’s too perfect. That little second of hope is worth something, possibly for ever, as we lie on our deathbeds, surrounded by our children, and our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren, and we can’t help but quickly give one last selfish, dying thought to what could have happened if we’d actually said hello to that girl in the Uggs selling CDs outside Nando’s seventy-four years earlier. It’s the what if? The what then? And we know that if we go for it, if we risk it, we immediately stand to lose it. But weirdly, some part of us believes the feeling is two-way, because it must be; it’s too special not to be. We believe that something’s been shared, even if the evidence we have is … what? A look that lasted a breath longer than we’re used to? A second glance, when the glance could easily have been to check whether there are any cabs coming, or whether the jacket we’re wearing that’s caught their eye would look good on their boyfriend, or why it is we seem to be staring at them."”

“Vedete, una storia che finisce puoi affrontarla. Fa male, e per un po' è un dolore così lacerante che è come se i polmoni collassassero e il cuore implodesse ogni volta che ti rendi conto che se n'è andato. Ma man mano che passa il tempo, almeno per me, è quello che è rimasto, quelle briciole sul pavimento, che ti aiutano a continuare. Quelle modeste prove che ti aiutano a guarire, questa è l'idea che mi sono fatta.”

“Take the stupidest thing you've ever done. At least it's done. It's over. It's gone. We can all learn from our mistakes and heal and move on. But it's harder to learn or heal or move on from something that hasn't happened; something we don't know and is therefore indefinable; something which could very easily have been the best thing in our lives, if only we'd taken the plunge, if only we'd held our breath and stood up and done it, if only we'd said yes.”

“The sad thing is, I was discovering that you almost have to make a joke of being good to strangers. Up and down the country, these people doing their good deeds were doubtless being seen as slightly eccentric, when in reality and in an ideal world they should be deemed the most normal people of all.”