A Quote by Maureen Lipman

Chutzpah' is best defined as a small boy peeing through someone's letter box, then ringing the doorbell to ask how far it went. — © Maureen Lipman
Chutzpah' is best defined as a small boy peeing through someone's letter box, then ringing the doorbell to ask how far it went.
A woman spent all Christmas Day in a telephone box without ringing anyone. If someone comes to phone, she leaves the box, then resumes her place afterwards. No one calls her either, but from a window in the street, someone watched her all day, no doubt since they had nothing better to do. The Christmas syndrome.
I can't be bothered with reality shows; I'd rather go and look through someone's letter box.
I saw someone peeing in Jermym Street the other day. I thought, is this the end of civilization as we know it? Or is it simply someone peeing in Jermyn Street?
[On the ringing of her doorbell or telephone:] What fresh hell is this?
I don't know about other writers, but for myself, to write I must be relatively quiet - it's very difficult to write with the telephone and the doorbell ringing and conversation going on; I'm not that good a writer to write through all that!
You wouldn't believe that I still have the bikers with the caps to the side at my door, ringing the doorbell.
I was chased by the press and the doorbell used to keep ringing throughout the night.
There is a small, but important, difference between peeing in the pool, and peeing into the pool.
My father was never very friendly. When I was growing up, I thought the doorbell ringing was a signal to pretend you weren't home.
Piglet opened the letter box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter than WOL had written to himself, had come slipping.
Getting up early means I can write for a few hours before anyone starts phoning me or ringing the doorbell.
It's so scary. And then I end up getting so nervous that I get like [I am] now. I get really hyper. [Squeals.] So then I go in interviews and I'm like, 'I'm like a chihuahua! I'm shaking and peeing!' And then afterwards, I'm like, 'I just talked about peeing on the red carpet.'
And here I am, instead of there. I'm sitting in this library, thousands of miles from my life, writing another letter I know I won't be able to send, no matter how hard I try and how much I want to. How did that boy making love behind that shed become this man writing this letter at this table?
If you're ringing my doorbell eight times every three minutes and hiding behind my garbage cans, I will call the police. That is literally harassment.
I think Christians fail so often to get answers to their prayers because they do not wait long enough on God. They just drop down and say a few words, and then jump up and forget it and expect God to answer them. Such praying always reminds me of the small boy ringing his neighbor's door-bell, and then running away as fast as he can go.
That's how I became the damaged party boy who wandered through the wreckage, blood streaming from his nose, asking questions that never required answers. That's how I became the boy who never understood how anything worked. That's how I became the boy who wouldn't save a friend. That's how I became the boy who couldn't love the girl.
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