A Quote by Jim Brown

A liberal will cut off your leg so he can hand you a crutch. — © Jim Brown
A liberal will cut off your leg so he can hand you a crutch.
I think women in our global patriarchal culture are told to shut their body down. And when we don't know why, we start to cut our body off. You cut off your curves. You cut off your breasts. You cut off the curve of your tush. You cut off your sexuality... and it's relegated to the bedroom.
I had never 'taken a cutting' before ... Do you realize that the whole thing is miraculous? It is exactly as though you were to cut off your wife's leg, stick it in the lawn, and be greeted on the following day by an entirely new woman, sprung from the leg, advancing across the lawn to meet you.
A perfect man would never act from a sense of duty; he’d always want the right thing more than the wrong one. Duty is only a substitute for love (of God and of other people) like a crutch which is a substitute for a leg. Most of us need the crutch at times; but of course it is idiotic to use the crutch when our own legs (our own loves, tastes, habits etc.) can do the journey on their own.
I got what they called a diabetic stroke. Here's what it is, my left hand and my left leg. You know when your leg falls asleep? It's like that constantly. It's not painful, but it's so annoying. My leg is all tingly and my arm is all tingly.
A man's head is not like a scallion, which will grow again if you cut it off; if you cut it off wrongly, then even if you want to correct your error, there is no way of doing it.
I could cut my leg off. I could cut my arm off. I could gouge an eye out. I'd still probably survive. But not very well. And that's what we're doing to the oceans. It's the life-support system of this planet. We've been dumping in it. We've been polluting it. We've been destroying it for decades. And we're essentially maiming ourselves.
If you break someone's leg, shouldn't you have to be the crutch for a while?
I say to myself that I mustn't let myself be cut off in there, and yet the moment I enter my bag is taken out of my hand, I'm pushed in, shepherded, nursed and above all cut off, alone. Whitehall envelops me.
I was called up in the war and sent to a hospital. I dressed wounds, applied iodine, gave enemas, did blood transfusions. If the doctor ordered: "Brecht, amputate a leg!", I would reply, "Certainly, Your Excellency!", and cut off the leg. If I was told, "Perform a trepanning!" I opened the man's skull and messed about with his brains. I saw how they patched fellows up, so as to cart them back to the Front as quickly as they could.
Cut off my head, and singular I am, Cut off my tail, and plural I appear; Although my middle's left, there's nothing there! What is my head cut off? A sounding sea; What is my tail cut off? A rushing river; And in their mingling depths I fearless play, Parent of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever.
You can do all kinds of things with your instrument outside of its surface purpose. My bass is my crutch, but the best crutch I could have.
I can always go back to construction. That's great money, but the problem is you can cut off your hand.
I cut my hand swimming in the Caribbean, it gets infected, and Channel 9 is calling me saying they heard rumors I cut my fingers off.
Come here and take off your clothes and with them every single worry you have ever carried. My fingertips on your back will be the last thing you will feel before sleeping and the sound of my smile will be the alarm clock to you morning ears. Come here and take off your clothes and with them the weight of every yesterday that snuck atop your shoulders and declared them home. My whispers will be the soundtrack to your secret dreams and my hand the anchor to the life you will open your eyes to. Come here and take off your clothes.
I'm honored to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein.
I think Miss Moore was right to cut "The Steeple-Jack" - the poem seems plainer and clearer in its shortened state but she has cut too much... The reader may feel like saying, "Let her do as she pleases with the poem; it's hers, isn't it?" No; it's much too good a poem for that, it long ago became everybody's, and we can protest just as we could if Donatello cut off David's left leg.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!