A Quote by Rodney Dangerfield
One night I came home. I figured, let my wife come on. I'll play it cool. Let her make the first move. She went to Florida.
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When I was growing up my mom was home. She wanted to go to work, but she waited. She was educated as a teacher. The minute my youngest sister went to school full-time, from first grade, mom went back to work. But she balanced her life. She chose teaching, which enabled her to leave at the same time we left, and come home pretty much the same time we came home. She knew how to balance.
My wife was born and raised in Italy until she was about 9, and then she came to America, and her mom was a great cook, and they have great recipes, and whenever her mom would come into town, we would have all these friends just randomly showing up at our house, and eventually we figured out why. They wanted Mama's cooking.
The Samaritan woman grasped what He said with fervor that came from an awareness of her real need. The transaction was fascinating. She has come with a buket. He sent her back with a spring of living water. She had come as a reject. He sent her back being accepted by God Himself. She came wounded. He sent her back whole. She came laden with questions. He sent her back as a source for answers. She came living a life of quiet desperation. She ran back overflowing with hope. The disciples missed it all. It was lunchtime for them.
When you have no kids, you can come home, play video games, watch TV. Now I come home and my wife is looking at me like, I want to get out the door. She's been with them all day. So, as soon as you come home, you're a human jungle gym, dancing, doing things with them.
But once I'd come up with it, I realized it really was the perfect plan. Instead of waiting for Maria to come to me, I was simply going to go to her and, well... Send her back to where she came. Or reduce her to a mound of quivering gelatinous goo. Whichever came first.
When my wife drives, there's always trouble. The other day she took the car. She came home. She told me, There's water in the carburetor. I asked her, Where's the car? She said, In a lake.
What I love about Gaga is her story, where she came from. Before she made it, before anyone knew who she was, I knew who she was and, to see her finally make it, I was so happy. If we were to work together that would be cool.
My wife, Keisha, came home once, and I had these violinists playing for her, and I'd prepared dinner for her, and I write poems. She's pretty amazing, so I like to celebrate that. She's really taught me how to celebrate life; that's something I've learned.
My daughter is 12, and we have an amazing relationship. She knows without a doubt that she can literally come to me with anything, and I will stifle myself and realize that if it's not what I want to hear, it's more important that she continues to come to me and tell me things and is honest with me than me getting mad at her or giving her my opinion right now. She has figured out a way to make me an amazing parent. She's a wonderful daughter.
I will tell you that I had a mother last night come up to me here in Tampa, Florida, after the debate. She told me that her little daughter took that vaccine, that injection, and she suffered from mental retardation thereafter.
Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them, so deep was the pain in her heart. She could not forget that this was the last night she would ever see the one for whom she had left her home and family, had given up her beautiful voice, and had day by day endured unending torment, of which he knew nothing at all. An eternal night awaited her.
In my home, who is my boss? If you ask my wife she'll say certainly not her. She claims that she can't make me do anything and so she's not my boss. I am. I'm pretty sure, maybe.
My wife is a writer. She grew up in Alaska. She told me she was moving to Boulder and that I could come with her if I wanted to. We were married at the time, so I chose to come with her.
I don't really believe in that "you need to make them come to you" kind of thing. I'm like, I'll come to her and if she's cool I'll stick around, and if she's not, then I'll leave at any time.
...In Paris she found Magnus, who was living in a garret apartment and paiting, an occupation for which he had no aptitude whatsoever. He let her sleep on a mattress by the window, and in the night, when she woke up screaming for Will, he came and put his arms around her, smelling of turpentine. "The first one is always the hardest," he said. "The first?" "The first one you love who dies," he said. "It gets easier, after.
My first date was with a girl named Cessi. We'd had a beautiful relationship over the phone all summer long. Then she came home and we met to go out for the first time to the movies. When I saw her I was petrified. I couldn't even look her in the eye to talk to her.
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