I think I'm the only senator who does not see a president when I look in the mirror.
. . . they tended towards the simple pleasures in life: drinking, whoring and fighting, preferably all three at once.
He had the prettiest hair she had ever seen on a man: dark brown, almost black, and soft like sable, it fell down to his shoulders. She wondered what he'd do if she threw some mud in it. Probably kill her.
You snore worse. At least I don't turn into a lion in my sleep. " "I only did it once. " "Once was weird enough, thank you.
What do you do to your hair?" "Dust, hair gel, and a little gun oil. " "Ever thought of patenting the recipe?" "No.
He referred to you as his little snack. " "He's a sweetie.
There was something very comforting about him, and I was not sure if it was his easy manner or his complete immunity to my scowling.
For my own children, I do want for them to look back and remember that it was me in the kitchen, that I was doing the packed lunches, that we were there on the school run, that we did take a bus. I want them to remember those things, because those are the things that I remember from my own childhood and that have been incredibly important to me.
We are not disturbed by what happens to us, but by our thoughts about what happens to us.
What still concerns me the most is: am I on the right track, am I making progress, am I making mistakes in art?
If there is a species which is more maltreated than children, then it must be their toys, which they handle in an incredibly off-hand manner. Toys are thus the end point in that long chain in which all the conditions of despotic high-handedness are in play which enchain beings one to another, from one species to another --cruel divinities to their sacrificial victims, from masters to slaves, from adults to children, and from children to their objects.