A Quote by Bernard Hinault

When I see pot-bellied cyclists wearing the 'maillot jaune,' it appals me. — © Bernard Hinault
When I see pot-bellied cyclists wearing the 'maillot jaune,' it appals me.
For me, the sexiest men don't know they're drop-dead gorgeous. Not that I'd ever rule out a pot-bellied plumber in the right circumstances.
There are a lot of women who live with pot-bellied pigs.
One day, I hope to have a pot bellied pig and a wombat as pets.
Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit.
Flight attendants need to think on their feet and walk on their toes. An emergency landing can't be steered by a pot-bellied cabin crew that crawls or belly-walks.
Me: "If you want me to be a teenager, don't send me to Support Group. Buy me a fake ID so I can go to clubs, drink vodka, and take pot." Mom: "You don't take pot, for starters." Me: "See, that's the kind of thing I'd know if you got me a fake ID.
Cyclists need to obey the Highway Code, not run red lights, and not ride with iPods on, and motorists need to be more respectful and look out for cyclists.
Since my act is a goofy reflection of what's going on in my life, I started doing pot jokes, and I noticed that audiences invariably love pot jokes. Even people who don't smoke pot think it's a funny subject. So when I started getting laughs, I started doing more material about it. When people come to see my shows, there are a lot of stoners in the audience, but there are also a lot of people who just like me. So I try to give a healthy mix, where people aren't going "There are too many jokes about pot!" or "There's not enough jokes about pot!"
Cyclists, I work with a number of cyclists. They are great athletes; they are great aerobic athletes. If you ask them to hit a baseball or golf ball, they can't do that.
Motorists in London have got to be immensely careful of cyclists. At the same time, cyclists in London are too often unwilling to obey the road signs. I've seen regular examples of people who just bolt through red lights.
I suspect most self-described 18-year-old Scandinavian women named Inga who collect and wear string bikinis are, in reality, more likely to be middle-aged, pot-bellied guys named Lou who collect and wear string cheese.
With the way I dress, I think my personality shows, so I don't always have to talk. Someone can see what I'm wearing, see what socks I'm wearing, and see what my vibe is, what kind of person I am.
All they do is warm their seats for their long tenures and eventually even their seats get dilapidated with the amount of money they hog in illegally and the only way it comes out is by tilting their huge pot-bellied frames to one side and emitting poisonous gases that not only depreciate their beloved seats but also the nation as a whole and then they shout 'Global Warming.' Hallelujah!
When somebody asks me who I'm wearing, I always see myself with a BabyBjoern, carrying a little tiny Karl Lagerfeld, like, 'I'm wearing Chanel.'
Take the case of the infinite ocean. There is no limit to its water. Suppose a pot is immersed in it: there is water both inside and outside the pot. The jnani sees that both inside and outside there is nothing but Paramatman. Then what is this pot? It is 'I-consciousness'. Because of the pot the water appears to be divided into two parts; because of the pot you seem to perceive an inside and an outside. One feels that way as long as this pot of 'I' exists. When the 'I' disappears, what is remains. That cannot be described in words.
I'll smoke pot every now and then. I cannot see a movie on pot. The number of movies I've seen thinking, This is probably the best I have ever seen, and then I'll see it again sober and think, What was I thinking?
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