I’m just terrible. At talking. With words.
Oh, man, pop singers are terrible actors. We’re all bad.
There is something great and terrible about suicide.
I was a terrible actor. The analytical part of my mind never quite let go.
Nothing like being in a dream, then waking up to a nightmare.
I said of the world around us.”Is it not terrible?
I had a terrible education. I attended a school for emotionally disturbed teachers.
Going to any loud place is terrible for me. I’m bad at loud restaurants.
One forges one’s style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
Not understanding anything is terrible, because I communicate very much in my real life.
Whenever something good happens to me, it’s usually followed by something terrible.
I think I was a terrible husband, I think I’m a terrible boyfriend.
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