A Quote by Wilson Mizner

I hate careless flattery, the kind that exhausts you in your efforts to believe it. — © Wilson Mizner
I hate careless flattery, the kind that exhausts you in your efforts to believe it.
There is no tongue that flatters like a lover's; and yet, in the exaggeration of his feelings, flattery seems to him commonplace. Strange and prodigal exuberance, which soon exhausts itself by flowing!
If this day means anything, it means that you are now in the contingent of the responsible. You must be kind, yes, but you must also look beyond your own house. We're depending on you for your efforts and your vision. We are depending on your eye and your imagination to identify what wrongs exist and persist, and on your hands, your backs, your efforts, to right them.
Men sometimes think they hate flattery, but they hate only the manner of flattering.
We sometimes imagine we hate flattery, but we only hate the way we are flattered.
He who says he hates every kind of flattery, and says it in earnest, certainly does not yet know every kind of flattery.
They say one of the greatest forms of flattery is for your son to follow in your footsteps. And so I enjoy that greatest form of flattery, without a doubt.
I believe that love--not imitation--is the sincerest form of flattery. Your imitator thinks that you can be duplicated; your lover knows you can't.
We sometimes think that we hate flattery, but we only hate the manner in which it is done. [Fr., On croit quelquefoir hair la flatterie; maid on ne hait que a maniere de flatter.]
Sheer flattery got me into the theater. Flattery always works with me, particularly the flattery of women.
Love me or hate me, it's one or the other. Always has been. Hate my game, my swagger. Hate my fadeaway, my hunger. Hate that I'm a veteran. A champion. Hate that. Hate it with all your heart. And hate that I'm loved, for the exact same reasons.
I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.
Black women I'm talking to you, because it's not white women, it's not Latino, it's not Native American - I checked, it's y'all. The self hate is ridiculous. Why do you hate yourself so much, why do you hate your texture, why do you hate your culture, why do you hate your history?
Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose and the shape of your lips? Who taught you to hate yourself from the top of your head to the soles of your feet?
Curly hair is not just a hairstyle: it's kind of a lifestyle. There is something really free and careless about it and loose and kind of naughty. I love it.
Baloney is flattery laid on so thick it cannot be true, and blarney is flattery so thin we love it.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!