A Quote by Howie Long

I used to live at Jack-in-the-Box. — © Howie Long
I used to live at Jack-in-the-Box.

Quote Topics

They are born, put in a box; they go home to live in a box; they study by ticking boxes; they go to what is called "work" in a box, where they sit in their cubicle box; they drive to the grocery store in a box to buy food in a box; they talk about thinking "outside the box"; and when they die they are put in a box.
I told her why we are here. I told you wouldn't hurt Jack." "The coffin?" I smiled. I couldn't help it. He was a 'jack in a box.
I don't know what the big deal about Cracker Jack is. Did you ever go buy a pack of Cracker Jack, thinking you'd get a prize and find no prize in the box? (pause) Here's the pitch.
There are a lot of great recording artists, like Jack White and Jack Johnson, who stay confined inside a very small box, but I'm more like Bon Iver, who recorded an album with programmed drums, and the next record was totally organic. I get that.
When I was young kid, I used to watch Jack Benny, and I thought the minimal aspect of what he did was revelatory. I loved Jack Benny.
I was so good at boxing because I worked hard. I worked harder than anybody. When other boxers used to box in the gym, three or four rounds, I used to box 10-20 rounds.
As a Middle Eastern male, I know there's certain things I'm not supposed to say on an airplane in the U.S., right? I'm not supposed to be walking down the aisle, and be like, 'Hi, Jack.' That's not cool. Even if I'm there with my friend named Jack, I say, 'Greetings, Jack. Salutations, Jack.' Never 'Hi, Jack.'
Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O, Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting - more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck! O, Jack, Jack!
Right now Jack lives with me. Jack is my Jack Russell. I also have a Yorkie named Ginger, but Jack and Ginger can't be in the same place at the same time because she is very jealous. Even if Jack's not in the same state, she would growl if she heard his name.
Things happen or they don't happen, that's all. Nothing is accomplished by sweat and struggle. Nearly everything which we call life is just insomnia, an agony because we've lost the habit of falling asleep. We don't know how to let go. We're like a Jack-in-the-box perched on top of a spring and the more we struggle the harder it is to get back in the box.
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack sat on a candle stick, cause fire is the devil's only friend.
To be black and an intellectual in America is to live in a box. On the box is a label, not of my own choosing.
All work and no play makes jack. With enough jack, Jack needn't be a dull boy.
I'm an insomniac lately. It's one of the many prizes you find in the Cracker Jack box of a crumbling [relationship].
Where in normal neighborhoods, they would play stick ball and hockey and baseball, we used to slap box and bring boxing gloves down the street and box each other.
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack go under the limbo stick.
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