Quotes from Carrie Fisher

You know what would be so cool? To get to the end of my personality and just lay in the sun.

Oh! Before I forget! My mother wants you all to know that this comes from my father's side. She's as normal as the day is long.

you have a penis and a job, being handsome is a fantastic bonus but hardly a necessity.

But imagine this though. Imagine having a mood system that functions essentially like weather - independently of whatever's going on in your life. So the facts of your life remain the same, just the emotional fiction that you're responding to differs. It's like I'm not properly insulated - so all the bad and the good ways that you and most of the people in adjacent neighborhoods and around the world feel - that pours directly into my system unchecked. It's so fun.

I WOULD LIKE to not be able to hear myself think. I constantly hear my mind chattering and jabbering away up there all by itself. I wish it would give me a fucking break. Write, don't think, write. You're not thinking properly, Ms. Fisher, I suggest you write. If anyone reads this when I have passed to the big bad beyond I shall be posthumorously embarrassed. I shall spend my entire afterlife blushing.

It's a man's world and show business is a man's meal, with women generously sprinkled through it like overqualified spice.)

who do I think I would've been if I hadn't been Princess Leia? Am I Princess Leia, or is she me? Split the difference and you'd be closer to the truth.

I think that if I could give a name to what I feel it would go away. Find the word that describes the feeling and say it over and over until it's merely a sound.

I WISH YOU would love me more so that I could love you less.

She: One of us is boring. He: Why do you say that? She: Because … well, we're just sitting here, not talking. He: What's wrong with that? She: Well, I don't know. Probably nothing—it's just that we don't need each other for it. He: For what? She: Being quiet.

I know how closely most of us tend to hold on to whatever cache of patience we've managed to amass over a lifetime and I appreciate your squandering some of your cherished stash here.

A tiny part of me felt like I'd won the man lottery and here I was both counting and spending the money. Our skin agreed. We pressed our luck—first his, then mine, then ours—until we had smoothed our way into the thick of it, until nothing else was possible except to get through to each other, in and on through each other, until we eased into the other side.

Not that I've ever had much use for reality—having spent much of what I laughingly refer to as my adult life attempting to escape it with the assistance of a variety of drugs.)

For Billie and Barack, who make my world a better place. Despite the obstacles you've had to overcome--whether posed by my antics or the uber-unfortunate antics of the Tea Partiers and the rest of their distressing ilk--long may you wave.

So, what happens is you go to space and you become weightless. So far so good, right? But then your body expands??? But your bra doesn't—so you get strangled by your own bra. Now I think that this would make for a fantastic obit—so I tell my younger friends that no matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.

Samuel Johnson once said that remarrying (and he's not talking about marrying the same person here, just remarrying) is the "triumph of hope over experience." So for me, remarrying the same person is the triumph of nostalgia over judgment.

But no matter what the dictionary says, in my opinion, a problem derails your life and an inconvenience is not being able to get a nice seat on the un-derailed train. Given that, I've had three and a half problems. A dead guy in my bed, substance abuse, and manic-depression.

But ultimately I feel I'm very sane about how crazy I am.

I have never been much at nonverbal communication. Additionally, I don't have much of an attention span, and what I lack in patience I make up for in ambivalence and an inability to sleep.

is. It's a man's world and show business is a man's meal, with women generously sprinkled through it like overqualified spice.)

And based on the lives depicted on those shows, I knew my life was a different sort of real. It was the only reality I knew, but compared to other folks—both on television and off—it eventually struck me as a little surreal, too. And eventually, too, I understood that my version of reality had a tendency to set me apart from others.

She wondered if she was in the midst of an anecdote that, for reasons of proximity, she was not yet able to perceive.

because my father has had so many face-lifts that he looks Asian himself.

I feel so agitated all the time, like a hamster in search of a wheel.