A Quote by Jonathan Safran Foer
I believed him. I was not stupid. I was his wife.
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Carter was so taken aback by her attack he dropped his knife. “You knocked him stupid,” he bellowed. “No,” Emily corrected in what she believed was a reasonable tone of voice. “He was already stupid. I knocked him out.
I don't have a favorite author; I have favorite books. 'Moby Dick' is a favorite book, but Melville was a drunk who beat his wife. 'Moveable Feast' by Hemingway, but I would not like him personally. He was a stupid macho person who believed in shooting animals for fun, but that book was incredible!
Nathan always believed his wife was trying to poison him but he didn't seem to mind. He said it made life kind of exciting.
Before the boat docked, however, he confessed because he was contemplating running for president, he couldn't separate from his wife. I believed him when he told me he faced a difficult choice between pursuing personal happiness and his political destiny.
Stupid religion makes stupid beliefs, stupid leaders make stupid rules, stupid environment makes stupid health, stupid companions makes stupid behaviour, stupid movies makes stupid acts, stupid food makes stupid skin, stupid bed makes stupid sleep, stupid ideas makes stupid decisions, stupid clothes makes stupid appearance. Lets get rid of stupidity from our stupid short lives.
The thing that you have to understand about those of us in the Black Muslim movement was that all of us believed 100 percent in the divinity of Elijah Muhammad. We believed in him. We actually believed that God, in Detroit by the way, that God had taught him and all of that. I always believed that he believed in himself. And I was shocked when I found out that he himself didn't believe it.
No man could bring himself to reveal his true character, and, above all, his true limitations as a citizen and a Christian, his true meannesses, his true imbecilities, to his friends, or even to his wife. Honest autobiography is therefore a contradiction in terms: the moment a man considers himself, even in petto, he tries to gild and fresco himself. Thus a man's wife, however realistic her view of him, always flatters him in the end, for the worst she sees in him is appreciably better, by the time she sees it, than what is actually there.
He who loses his money is forsaken by his friends, his wife, his servants and his relations; yet when he regains his riches those who have forsaken him come back to him. Hence wealth is certainly the best of relations.
When a husband's story is believed, he begins to suspect his wife.
Texas Governor Rick Perry now says his wife has been encouraging him to run for President. Remember first he told us God told him to run; now his wife is telling him to run. Of course, the big difference; if you ignore what God says you don't have to hear about it until the afterlife. That's the only difference.
To defend something is always to discredit it. Let a man have a warehouse full of gold, let him be willing to give away a ducat to every one of the poor - but let him also be stupid enough to begin this charitable undertaking of his with a defense in which he offers three good reasons in justification; and it will almost come to the point of people finding it doubtful whether indeed he is doing something good. But now for Christianity. Yes, the person who defends that has never believed in it.
I think it's particularly raw coming the day after the Electoral College, and Bill Clinton, he's taking this hard. It's been very hard to him. He thought his wife was gonna win. He believed she should have won. I think he believes, basically, it was an unfair result.
I do share with the lieutenant (Columbo) one very pronounced part of his personality - he loves to talk about his wife. You can't shut him up. I have the same problem. I can tell Shera stories till three in the morning. Shera is my wife.
I dearly believe in my heart that Goldberg is a family man who has a profound love for his wife and son and wants his family to see him as that superhero that people romanticize him being during the height of his fame.
Or perhaps a widow found him and took him in: brought him an easy chair, changed his sweater every morning, shaved his face until the hair stopped growing, took him faithfully to bed with her every night, whispered sweet nothings into what was left of his ear, laughed with him over black coffee, cried with him over yellowing pictures, talked greenly about having kids of her own, began to miss him before she became sick, left him everything in her will, thought of only him as she died, always knew he was fiction but believed in him anyway.
Democracy has at least one merit, namely that a Member of Parliament cannot be stupider than his constituents, for the more stupid he is, the more stupid they were to elect him.
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