Although I have never doubted (heaven knows why) that we were going to win the abomination, there had been times when I had not thought – perhaps "thought" is wrong – when I had not felt it possible that it would ever end.
If we can keep a reasonable level of audience, we believe in the work, we believe in the creative team we think we have, perhaps the most outstanding ensemble cast in all of television.
We share Hitler's planet and some of his preoccupations; we have perhaps changed less than we think.
Like a number of other rock musicians whose hits have stopped coming, Bowie perhaps thought that he could remake himself as a playwright — or something.
This crazy suggestion came from the mind of HuffPost Taste editor Julie Thomson, who we perhaps thought had gone insane for a moment.
Speaking on France's channel Canal + last week, Semoun, looking slightly mournful, said that his friend "has always been paranoid, he sees enemies everywhere" and wondering wryly if it was "all my fault" that Dieudonné one day overhead him discussing Shabbat with his aunt and perhaps thought he had detected a "conspiracy" that had "traumatized" him.
Of course, this does not mean that the Duchess could not have scribbled it somewhere or, perhaps, thought it.
And then, later, someone — perhaps Stanton at the time, or perhaps only Hay long afterward — thought that there was more point and solemn originality in what someone else (Hay from the very moment, perhaps?) thought he had heard, and decided to change it.
Until the point at which the story begins, Henry has perhaps allowed himself to think that these insular tastes are enough to bind them together.
If it was full of maggot cheese, we thought, we had perhaps overstated our culinary fearlessness.
