A Quote by Jerry Seinfeld

What's with this weird hotel custom of leaving a piece of chocolate on the pillow? I awoke thinking my brain had hemorrhaged some sort of fecal matter. — © Jerry Seinfeld
What's with this weird hotel custom of leaving a piece of chocolate on the pillow? I awoke thinking my brain had hemorrhaged some sort of fecal matter.
My most prized possession is my pillow. I can't travel or sleep without it. And it's, like, this really thin down pillow that really doesn't do anything, but it's weird: if I don't have it, I'm constantly thinking about not having it.
My mother worked in a chocolate factory, so when I came home from school, I had a piece of baguette with dark chocolate in it. I remember her smelling like chocolate.
Contact with men who wield power and authority still leaves an intangible sense of repulsion. It's very like being in close proximity to fecal matter, the fecal embodiment of something unmentionable, and you wonder what it is made of and when it acquired its historically sacred character.
Sometimes people feel mind is merely the - in some animal, the energy or something from the brain. Now there are little sort of curiosities or I think doubt sometimes a sheer sort of mental attitude, some change in our brain. So these fields, now scientists are showing some interest.
Being a parent is weird. It changes people in subtle and unsubtle ways. In my case, it awoke a kind of manic sentinel in my brain. Anything in the house that might be a threat to the kids or to my wife gets terminated - food, sharp edges, poor wiring.
I had a weird, empty feeling inside me. Not a bad sort of empty. It was a sort of lack of sensation, like being in pain for a long time and then suddenly realizing that you're not anymore. It was the feeling of having risked everything to be here with a boy and then realizing that he was exactly what I wanted. Being a picture and then finding I was really a puzzle piece, once I found the piece that was supposed to fit beside me.
When I'm alone in my hotel room in some foreign place, I feel very lonely. Then I tuck into my favourite chocolate - Chuckles or Whispers - for some comfort.
A friend of mine had died, and I went for an audition. It was weird and cathartic: the producer was very excited about the piece, but my brain wasn't working, and it all seemed really pointless and fickle. I told them I didn't want to be there any more, and left. It was the most terrifying and empowering audition experience I've had.
And something chocolate, of course. A meal was not a meal without some sort of chocolate for desert.
I was eating with the help of a nutritionist so I was definitely putting in the appropriate calories and vitamins and minerals into my body; however, it was still so little that if I had the tiniest piece of sugar, my brain would go crazy. If I had some alcohol during the run of that play, my brain would go crazy.
I love chocolate. Black chocolate with marshmallow inside, caramel inside. If I could only have two foods, I'd take some fantastic chocolate. And some terrible chocolate. I love the Clark Bar.
I think people choose to be offended by things as a way of bonding, as a hobby. They embed some piece of information into their brain without thinking it through because it's easier.
To me, the acceptable level of fecal matter is... zero.
Some people are aware of another sort of thinking which... leads to those simple ideas that are obvious only after they have been thought of... the term 'lateral thinking' has been coined to describe this orther sort of thinking; 'vertical thinking' is used to denote the conventional logical process.
I’m staring into chocolate eyes. although my brain is clouded and I’m dizzy, I know enough to register that chocolate is the opposite of blue. I don’t want blue. Blue confuses me too much. Chocolate is straight-forward, easier to deal with.
For some time there was a widely held notion (zealously fostered by the daily press) to the effect that the 'thinking ocean' of Solaris was a gigantic brain, prodigiously well-developed and several million years in advance of our own civilization, a sort of 'cosmic yogi', a sage, a symbol of omniscience, which had long ago understood the vanity of all action and for this reason had retreated into an unbreakable silence.
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