A Quote by Bill Wyman

I live in a house that was built in 1480. It has a moat around it. It is like a little baby castle. — © Bill Wyman
I live in a house that was built in 1480. It has a moat around it. It is like a little baby castle.
I have built a moat around myself, along with ways over that moat so that people can ask questions.
I wouldn't like to live in a castle now, but I'd enjoy a visit to Restormel in Cornwall in its 13th century prime. It's a circular castle with the rooms built against the outer walls and quite intimate in size. Life there wouldn't follow the pattern of more classic castle design.
Our castle is not imposing, but is well built, and surrounded by a very fine garden. I live in the bailiff's house.
If you want to get to the castle, Groceries, you've got to swim the moat.
I wonder," she said. "Does this castle have a moat?" A group of servants were busy emptying the privy buckets into the moat when they were startled by a sudden drawn-out cry. They looked up in time see a scarlet-and-gold clad figure sail out of a first-story window, turn over once and then land with an enormus splash in the dark, rancid waters. They shrugged and went back to work.
No man knows where the Castle of King Death is. All men and women, boys and girls, and even little wee children should so live that when they have to enter the Castle and see the grim King, they may not fear to behold his face.
Now one of the most essential branches of English liberty, is the freedom of one's house. A man's house is his castle; and while he is quiet, he is as well guarded as a prince in his castle. This writ of assistance, if it should be declared legal, would totally annihilate this privilege.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
A little happy house is the strongest castle in this whole universe!
There is a business built around racial grievance. And that business is booming at such a level that white people are like hey, I'm going to adopt a whole new identity so I can benefit from being Baby Al Sharpton, Baby Jesse Jackson, and in academia, this has been embraced and she has been able to pull off this scam.
My stepfather is a baron. He has a castle in Belgium that's been in his family for hundreds and hundreds of years. It's not fancy; it's really sort of brimstone and dark. It's got a moat and a drawbridge.
Writing a book is like rearing children -- willpower has very little to do with it. If you have a little baby crying in the middle of the night, and if you depend only on willpower to get you out of bed to feed the baby, that baby will starve. You do it out of love.
I always wanted to be married for a little while before a baby. You know what? It does make me choose my wardrobe differently because if I wear something a little baggy, I'm like, "No, it looks like I'm having a baby!"
Every thought and word that a novelist thinks or writes is part of that castle constructed from sands on the beach of Me, including the turret or rampart or moat he may have thought or written on behalf of someone or something else.
I used to rent a house in Princeton, New Jersey, and whenever people came to visit me, I would drive them past Albert Einstein's house, which is the most ordinary house in Princeton - a house, let me assure you, that now a salesman wouldn't live in. I'd always say, "That was Albert Einstein's house." And they'd say, "What do you mean? Why would Albert Einstein live in a little house like that?" And I'd always say to people, "Because he didn't care!"
Once upon a time there was an island named Blogosphere, and at the very center of that island stood a great castle built of stone, and spreading out from that castle for miles in every direction was a vast settlement of peasants who lived in shacks fashioned of tin and cardboard and straw.
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