Suitcase Quotes

I want to have two suitcases full of hair extensions by the time I’m 40.

The towels were so thick there I could hardly close my suitcase.

Like most artists, I live out of a suitcase.

My mother had bought a sewing machine for me. When I went away to college, she gave me a sewing machine, a typewriter and a suitcase, and my mother made $17 a week working as a maid 12 hours a day, and she did that for me.

I love Tumi because of the lifetime guarantee. And their luggage is just so solid. Looks good. Versatile. My carry-on bag is Tumi. My hanging bag is Tumi. My big suitcase is Tumi. All black. Love it.

I try to travel as light as possible to avoid baggage issues. Los Angeles airport is notorious for baggage delays, so I’ll often FedEx a suitcase ahead or back so I don’t need to stand around; it also minimises problems at check-in.

I am sick of living out of a suitcase.

My whole approach to wardrobe is, throw it in a suitcase and make sure they don’t press it, for Pete’s sake, so I can try to display some rumpled charm. Actually, I’m just a pig. I’ve got coffee stains on my pants. I think they’re coffee stains, anyway.

You wrestle one night, get up the next morning and fly out to the next city. You try to work out, you try to get some food into you and, lo and behold, you have to go work again. You are living out of a suitcase.

My grandfather left Cuba when Castro came into power and literally left everything. He had two suitcases and two kids and showed up in New Jersey and waited for my uncle to meet up with him. Imagine – there were no cell phones back then!

I wanted to feel at home so I’ve brought Yorkshire Tea Bags in my suitcase, as well as my slippers!

Everything important that I have done can be put into a little suitcase.

I’ve learned that you don’t need a lot in life. If it can’t fit into a suitcase, you don’t really need it.

I was from somewhere else. Then all of a sudden I was here, in New York. With one suitcase.

I’d like to learn how to cook. I’ve hauled around this big, old, heavy Martha Stewart cookbook in my suitcase to Cape Cod, L.A., Paris. I don’t know what possessed me.

I only travel with one suitcase – Mulberry does an incredible one. I always check it; the TSA restrictions are so tricky.

I love my little flat in Spitalfields. Lots of actors live out of a suitcase, so it’s nice to have a base to come back to.

A few years after I finished skating, someone asked where my medals were. I’m like, ‘In a suitcase somewhere.’ Now they’re nicely displayed in an ice rink, but medals don’t really mean that much. It’s the experience, the story of the skating, the love.

I became a vegetarian, and I carried around a suitcase full of vitamins and special drinks everywhere I went.

Two songs I like are ‘High Flying Adored’ and ‘Another Suitcase Another Hall,’ both from ‘Evita.’

I always have a suitcase ready to go. My wife and I are both very much like this. We’re both vagabonds, and we have been since the time we were married.

As long as I’m not living out of a suitcase, I’m happy.

When I moved to L.A., I had nothing but a computer, a lighting set, and a suitcase.

I’ve grown up putting my suitcase down, making new friends, and then having to pick it up again, like ‘Let’s move him to another foster home in six months’ time.’

Every summer my husband and I pack our suitcases, load our kids into the car, and drive from tense, crowded New York City to my family’s cottage in Maine. It’s on an island, with stretches of sea and sandy beaches, rocky coasts, and pine trees. We barbecue, swim, lie around, and try to do nothing.

I got cocky and I stopped taking my vitamins. It was an inconvenience to have a suitcase full of vitamins with me on the road. About two years ago, it caught up with me.

I’m from Miami, and when I was 18, I packed a suitcase and left for L.A. permanently to try and make it as an actor.

People say, ‘Where do you live?’ and I say that theoretically, I live in London, but basically that’s just where I go to change my suitcase. Otherwise, I’m always flying somewhere.

I came to New York with no money and just one suitcase. I had my family’s emotional support, but they weren’t able to help me financially.

After living out of a suitcase for years, it’s a feeling of peace to wake up in the night and know where I am.

If I am going somewhere exotic, I take an empty suitcase with me to bring back the objects I fall in love with.

I do pack a different dress for each city, and if there are two events in a city, I have to pack two. Even so, I am able to travel with only one large suitcase and a small hanging bag for the fluffier dresses.

I’m kind of a gypsy, so I love living out of a suitcase and going from place to place meeting people.

I was 19 when I got my first passport as an adult. I had moved from California to New York City and was living out of a suitcase, staying with friends. I’d just finished filming my first movie, ‘Ordinary People,’ but I didn’t know whether acting was what I wanted to do with my life.

I own more pairs of Calvin Klein underwear than I can count. At any given time, I probably have 50 to 60 pairs on deck. I travel with an entire suitcase of underwear and t-shirts, and they’re all Calvin Klein.

It’s great to just disappear, grab a suitcase, switch the answering machine on and just go somewhere else.

When I first had kids, I had a suitcase under my bed that I didn’t even put away, and I was excited about going to all of these new places all of the time.

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.

My suitcase must absolutely contain my iPod.

I love books; my suitcases are always full of them. Books and shoes. I read when I am sad, when I am happy, when I am nervous. My favourite British author is Jane Austen, and my favourite American one is John O’Hara.

I’m used to living out of a suitcase.

All I really had was a suitcase and my drums. So I took them up to Seattle and hoped it would work.

I feel like I live out of a suitcase. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m a happy traveller.

I had been living out of a suitcase in hotels, and that was getting to me, so I bought a new house in Hyderabad. I wanted the comfort and warmth of my own home when I return from hectic shootings.

You know what I’ve always wanted to do? I’ve always wanted to put a lung in a suitcase and send it through an airport security check. In effect, the guard would be looking at an X-ray of a lung.

I remember the beginnings of the Kurzweil reading machine. I was one of the first to meet Ray Kurzweil and purchase the reading machine in Boston. To think that the machine was at least two and a half large suitcases at the time, and now you have a camera and it takes a picture and you have sound.

The tempo is the suitcase. If the suitcase is too small, everything is completely wrinkled. If the tempo is too fast, everything becomes so scrambled you can’t understand it.

I’ve been acting for 25 years, living out of suitcases on theater tours or film locations.

We couldn’t afford anything. Suitcase, clothes, everything, Barellan people bought for me.

My kids miss me when I’m away, but I don’t mind living out of a suitcase. The U.K., U.S., France, Germany, Iraq… it’s such a thrill meeting people of different cultures, learning about and from them. It’s changed my perception about life, humanity and spirituality.

Miami gave me an opportunity to grow. I wanted to see if I was really a one-team guy, or if I picked up my suitcases and set up shop somewhere else, would I be able to make the team?

I’ve always hated the idea of carrying grudges and resentments around like a load of mouldy suitcases.

I am that dork who packs a bike helmet in her suitcase.

To me, the most worrisome part of traveling comes before any of the traveling actually occurs: the suitcase-packing process. It’s a challenging and anxiety-filled process – I am caught between wanting my suitcase to be light and worrying I am going to need every single item in my bedroom.

I love living on the road; I live out of a suitcase.

All of my art is suitcase-sized. I always paint in mediums that dry pretty quickly because I’ve got to throw them in my suitcase and go. And I have so much because of that, because it’s what I’ve always done to pass the time, and I like it.

People think being famous is so glamorous, but half the time you’re in a strange hotel room living out of a suitcase.

I’m a vagabond. I live out of one suitcase. I feel very comfortable in black. I feel very uncomfortable in anything else than black.

I’ve lived out of a suitcase for four years.

As I try to get around with a guitar, a banjo and a suitcase of high heels and dresses, I treasure that little ukulele.

Every country I would go to, even if it was just on a modeling job, I would go to their markets. If I went to Morocco for ‘Elle’ magazine, I would be in the spice markets during my off time and just come back with a suitcase full of stuff that I really wanted to try.

When the writing is going really well, whole days and weeks go by, and I suddenly realise I have all these unpaid bills and, my God, I haven’t unpacked, and the suitcase has been sitting there for three weeks.

I travel so much and am always living out of a suitcase, so my favorite saying is ‘Wherever you go, there you are’. I love it because it’s reassuring to me that you have to live in the moment wherever you happen to be.

I had a boom box, but I didn’t go too far with it because I had a really, really big one. It was like the size of a suitcase, and I was just a little kid.

I am Mother Jones. The Government can’t take my life and you can’t take my arm, but you can take my suitcase.

Action fiction is driven more by what than by who. Put that ticking nuclear suitcase under Manhattan, and it’s relatively easy to create suspense. Literary fiction is driven more by who than by what.

I’m a pretty organised packer, laying out everything beforehand, as I don’t like to take extra stuff. I’ve got a good eye for judging how much I can stuff into one suitcase. I’ve often not brought the right items, but I’d never avoided a chance to shop, unlike most men.

Everything I own can fit in two suitcases and a foot locker.

The temptation, when you go into Kickstarter, is that the first three days are wonderful, and you believe you’re a god. You go in your spreadsheet and think, ‘If every day’s like day one, we’re going to have suitcases of money arriving at the front door.’ Then, it dips into this slump.

I’ve never really considered packing my suitcase and heading to Hollywood.

The first thing, when I got the money, I knew I would support somebody. And the person I supported was my family. Because we were really in debt with the money. And – so I gave to my father this suitcase full of money. And he couldn’t believe it. And that was something very special.

I used to bodyguard for Muhammad Ali, Leon Spinks, Sugar Ray Leonard. I used to bodyguard a lot of diamond merchants; I would travel with a suitcase full of diamonds and take them from point A to point B. My reputation grew because I was a professional. I did my job, and I was courteous – a no-nonsense guy.

The greatest fear that haunts this city is a suitcase bomb, nuclear or germ. Many people carry small gas masks. The masses here seem to be resigned to the inevitable, believing an attack of major proportions will happen.

I’m used to traveling. I’m used to being in different areas of the world. Home is where my suitcase lands.

Touring is very grueling. It’s very taxing on the body and living out of your suitcase, going from city to city, night after night. It’s a tough job.

I’m a vagabond. I have a suitcase that is ready to go at a moment’s notice. The thought of being in one place for a long time, or playing one character for a long time, is terrifying for me.

The technology is just so far gone. It’s just like back in the day you needed a suitcase just to have a cell phone. The battery was so heavy, it was like carrying a gallon of soda around with you all day.

Its really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs.

I’ve always lived out of a suitcase. I was in a new city every three months. When I was a model, I traveled the world, and as an actor you’re traveling from movie set to movie set. So I’ve never been in one place long enough for anything super-bad to happen.

Until I was 42, I could fit everything that I owned into two suitcases.

My dad had a small suitcase stuffed with photos, mementoes from wherever he’d traveled as a Royal Navy gunner. Not that he gunned very much, as it turned out. I’d haul it out and go through it time and time again.

I cleaned my room – I’ve been living out of suitcases. I live in London; I’ve been here six years and I still haven’t got myself an English phone.

One day, I found my dad’s dressing-gown in an old suitcase, and it transported me back to when I was five and thought he was a god or a superhero who could do anything. After that, I wrote my first positive book about fathers, about my dad.

I used to overpack a lot and sometimes even forgot vital pieces of clothing, such as my swimming shorts and sandals. I’m much better now. I only take what I know I’m going to wear or use and always double-check my suitcase so I don’t have to rush to the nearest clothing store when I unpack at the hotel.

In the days before I had kids I used to take six books with me for a fortnight’s holiday. My suitcase used to be full of big trashy novels, maybe a bikini and some flip-flops. It was all I needed.

A freshly pressed suit is a miracle when you’re travelling. When your suitcase has turned all your clothes into creased rags, and you’ve crossed so many time zones that you can’t tell a Monday from a Thursday, putting on a freshly pressed suit for breakfast is like spending a week in a spa.

I have a fleet of Rimowa Topas aluminum suitcases! They’re all covered in stickers from around the world.

I do so much travelling in my work that my suitcase is always packed, with my passport ready. I rarely unpack, as I am constantly on the move.