I was born in Chicago in 1927, the only child of Morris and Mildred Markowitz, who owned a small grocery store. We lived in a nice apartment, always had enough to eat, and I had my own room. I never was aware of the Great Depression.
I don't want to own something that you can't take into your apartment at night.
I've leased the apartment; my partner is going to come out here. But we're keeping our house in Chicago because real estate is a really good investment and also because it is just crammed with full of stuff!
I'm in a loft and the kitchen is in the very center of the apartment. The whole place revolves around it.
I lived in the studio apartment that I bought for four years before I bought it in 1989, so I was already in it. I began living there in 1985, so I've had the same address and phone number since then.
I find myself for whatever reason unable to live in the apartment I renovate and have to sell.
I have to be alone very often. I'd be quite happy if I spent from Saturday night until Monday morning alone in my apartment. That's how I refuel.
If my British film career was a girl, then I'd been hanging around outside her apartment a little bit too long.
My apartment is the equivalent of one room in my Toronto home. Now I understand why New Yorkers are on the streets at all hours. People don't want to stay inside for fear they'll go crazy.
We had a one bedroom, one bathroom, one closet apartment with four girls.
I had casually rented an apartment that cost $75 a month because I expected my writing to pay my way.
I spend my weekends sleeping and watching DVDs, and eating at restaurants within a 2-block radius of my apartment.
On the last day of my teaching career, I was sitting in my apartment, having a glass of wine, thinking I'm glad I did it, that I had been somehow useful, that I had learned something.
I got a family house for everybody to live in - my mom, my sisters and I. And I made sure that it has a separate apartment downstairs for myself. Family is more important than anything. We don't come from any money. So once I get them settled in, in a nice house, then I'll branch out and see if I can get something else.
When I was 11, I realised that I did not have to live the life my mother had: school, marriage, children, apartment, summer house.
I walk out of my apartment, and St. Vincent's is standing there like a ghost ship. That was the ground zero of AIDS in New York: a conservative institution that quickly adapted to its unconventional patients and made heroic efforts to try and save them.
It just seemed too weird to me. I don't know, maybe they were smoking a joint in the car downstairs from their parents' apartment. I had to go that far to put together a scenario of how they could have possibly recognized me.
I live in an apartment building built in 1925, and it hasn't been heavily renovated, so I feel very much connected to that time and what went on in that place.
Eventually it just got really crazy. Less and less oxygen in the apartment.
Such is the miraculous nature of the future of exiles: what is first uttered in the impotence of an overheated apartment becomes the fate of nations.
I'm in college at North Carolina State University. I'm about to start my sophomore year and have an apartment on campus with three buddies I've grown up with. I get to be normal when I'm there, and then I tour Thursday through Sunday.
I am imprinted with the whole sense of European history, especially German history, going back to World War I, which really destroyed all the old values and culture. My grandparents had been reasonably well-off but they became quite poor, living in an attic apartment.
If there's one thing you can say about my apartment it's that it's constantly evolving, constantly changing. I think that is the mark of a good apartment; you can never really be done - It's like a proper wardrobe.
After a few months in my parents' basement, I took an apartment near the state university, where I discovered both crystal methamphetamine and conceptual art. Either one of these things are dangerous, but in combination they have the potential to destroy entire civilizations.
My office has a view of low-cost housing, old East German prefabricated apartment buildings. It isn't an attractive view, but it's very helpful, because it reminds me to ask myself, whenever there is a decision to be made, whether the people who live there can afford our decisions.
There was just no way I could leave this little Martin guitar in my apartment overnight or even in the afternoon, and expect to find it there when I got back.
As of late, I am more of a homebody. I like having people over. You can smoke in the apartment. I'm just not into going out so much. The crowd is getting younger and younger.
I seemed to belong to three countries: I had an apartment in Paris, a house in Hollywood, and when I married British theater director Peter Hall, I moved to London.
I lived in New York for seven years, although I was always in denial about it. Even though I had an apartment there, I always pretended I was just visiting. I do love New York. But I'm a Londoner at heart.
I've recently started composting in my apartment, which is quite an adventure.
I wanted stores that would feel like a comfortable room in my apartment, cozy and colorful and different.
I don't have a car in Manhattan because you have to choose between a car and an apartment. It's that expensive.
I'm based in London now. I'm renting an apartment, making my own little home. It's great because I am around people all the time and I need my own space to get away from it all.
I'm not the type to pat myself on the back and all that, but somebody has to be lucky, right? When I got to Dallas, I was struggling - sleeping on the floor with six guys in a three-bedroom apartment. I used to drive around, look at the big houses, and imagine what it would be like to live there and use that as motivation.
I had my first apartment when I was 16. I got good grades, so my friends would be able to come over to 'study.' We'd party, and they'd cheat off me. Everybody won!
I found myself serving a sentence of public denial from the very second the raid on my apartment happened.