A Quote by Bob Monkhouse
I'd like to die like my old dad, peacefully in his sleep, not screaming like his passengers.
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When I die, I want to die like my grandfather who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car.
My dad is my dad. I love him, and I realize that he's as famous as he is. Of course, I don't look at him like everybody else does. Because I know his little faults, I know his weaknesses. Nobody's perfect. But he's my dad. Just like your dad is to you.
When will you disembarrass yourselves of the lymphatic ideology of that deplorable Ruskin, which I would like to cover with so much ridicule that you would never forget it? With his morbid dream of primitive and rustic life, with his nostalgia for Homeric cheeses and legendary wool-spinners, with his hatred for the machine, steam power, and electricity, that maniac of antique simplicity is like a man who, after having reached full physical maturity, still wants to sleep in his cradle and feed himself at the breast of his decrepit old nurse in order to recover his thoughtless infancy.
My dad grew up with straight-up no running water. He slept in a twin bed with his two sisters and his mom, like 'Charlie And The Chocolate Factory' style: like, feet at the head, feet at the head alternating. And then I think his dad slept on, like, a bed of newspapers on a floor in their apartment.
Dad had great people investing in his life at a young age. His mother, his stepfather, his Boy Scout leader, his football coach. That's where integrity is planted, like seeds that are harvested later.
I like Colin Powell, I like his West Indian background, I like his intellect, I like a lot of things that he does and his style. What is at fault here is a policy that's taking this country to hell.
There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate - the genetic and neural fate - of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.
What if I accidentally hit somebody? Because my dad took one of his friends golfing, and it was, like, one of his first times and he knocked out a duck. Like, I'm scared that's going to happen.
There is no friend like an old friend who has shared our morning days, no greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise.
I will talk about Baker Mayfield. I like everything about his makeup. I like how his teammates really rally behind him. I like his eyes downfield. I like his accuracy with his deep throws. I like how he shows that fighter's spirit; when it comes time to come back, he's fighting through to come back, and I applaud those things.
His desperation and misery swept her up like a storm capturing the sea. She turned her mind to even these feelings, because they were his, like his terrified rage in the lift when they had first met, being wrapped in his arms in the cold well, being dazzled by his wonder at the woods and her home and her. Like being a child, awareness of him the morning chorus that woke her and the lullaby that sent her to sleep, his thoughts always her first and last song.I love you, Kami told him, and cut.
True. The one certainty about riding, Braygan, is that - at some time - you will fall off. It is a fact. Another fact you might like to consider, in your life of perpetual terror, is that you will die. We are all going to die, some of us young, some of us old, some of us in our sleep, some of us screaming in agony. We cannot stop it, we can only delay it.
It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
I'm kinda secretive, and I can't even say secretive because of my son. He's the type, like, he doesn't let his friends know who his mom is or his stepdad. He doesn't like me going to his school. If he gets into trouble at school, he's, like, dying. He's very low-key with it. He's always been like that since he was born.
There is no friend like the old friend, who has shared our morning days,
No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise:
Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold;
But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.
An evangelist no more imposes his views on others than a pilot imposes his views on his passengers when he lands a plane on a runway. I bet the passengers are glad!
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