"Our first conversation was on the phone. I was in the bathtub, and I had to tell him that I was in the bathtub because I was afraid he would think I was, like, playing in the toilet when he heard water swishing around. [. . . ] Then we had breakfast in Santa Monica, and I spit egg inside of his mouth when I was talking.
You're so full of crap, you could pass for a toilet.
Endangered forests are being slaughtered for toilet paper
When I walk out into the street or go to the toilet, I don't think of myself as being black. Of course, other people think of me as black when I walk into a pub. Obviously being black is a part of me.
There are 41 million people who do not have access to a toilet in Pakistan and as a result they are defecating in the open. And open defecation has significant health and nutritional consequences.
It's not hard to tell we was poor - when you saw the toilet paper dryin' on the clothesline.
Montague's just been found in a toilet, Sir.
My aunt in Knoxville would bring newspapers up, which we used for toilet paper. Before we used it, we'd look at the pictures.
I quite enjoy fame, especially when you go to conventions in America where they treat you like a god with stretch limos and the whole fame thing, but then when you come back to Britain, you end up changing in a toilet in a theatre off West End and that's really good, because that is what it's about.
With toilet books, people don't review them that much. They don't really pay much attention to them. It's just like, "Oh, okay. I'll put this in your stocking. "
She cleans a toilet inside and out under a minute. More like terrifying
No one goes to the toilet in novels. You'd think none of us had bladders.
The film studios learned to our dismay but to their pleasure that if they spent $200 million making a film they could make half a billion on it. So they were not interested anymore in quality films. . . They can't afford to be that risky at those prices. Consequently you're getting a lot of remakes, sequels, dopey comedies full of toilet jokes. . .
Today, the degradation of the inner life is symbolized by the fact that the only place sacred from interruption is the private toilet.
After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone or on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who writes dirty words in a public toilet to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do.
I just saw an ad the other day that I couldn't believe. There was this woman-and I think it's degrading to womankind-she was going out of her mind over a new product called "A Thousand Flushes. " Here she was in her toilet, saying, "Oh, I love this product!" and, "My life is complete!" Good God-if your joy depends on "A Thousand Flushes," you're sick!
You spend your whole life trying to get known and then you spend the rest of it hiding in the toilet.
It was not long after sunrise, and Stephen Waterman, fresh from his dip in the river, had scrambled up the hillside from the hut in the alder-bushes where he had made his morning toilet.
How are we doing, Simon?" she whispered into the small microphone in her collar. "Just about. . . " Simon started slowly. And then he stopped. "Wow. " "What?" she asked, panic in her voice. "Nothing," he said too quickly. "What?" she asked again. "Well. . . it's just that. . . your boobs look even bigger on TV. " Kat took that opportunity to turn and glare at the nearest security camera. In his bathroom stall thirty feet away, Simon nearly fell off the toilet.