A Quote by Mike Pence

My late father used to say that they started out without two nickles to rub together and lived in that little house in Everroad Park West. — © Mike Pence
My late father used to say that they started out without two nickles to rub together and lived in that little house in Everroad Park West.
My father moved out to Park City in in the mid-'70s and lived in a Winnebago behind a hippie joint called Utah Coal & Lumber that was one of only two or three restaurants at that time. Park City was a sleepy little mining town, with not a condo in sight.
I lived in an attached house. My father used to drive into the wrong driveway all the time. He'd say, Damn it, how do you tell one of these houses from another?
I met people when we lived down in Raleigh who'd ask where I grew up, and I'd say about two hours west of Asheville, and they'd say they didn't know there was any North Carolina two hours west of Asheville. It was in many ways an isolated place.
I was a chubby boy. My pants used to wear out in the middle, and it was because my legs used to rub together. I wasn't obese, just chunky.
For a guy that grew up on 31st Street and Everroad Park West and played on Haw Creek and dreamed some day of serving in Washington D.C., from my boyhood, to have the opportunity to have represented my hometown in our nation's capital, and now to have the opportunity to serve the entire nation as vice president is ... it's just deeply humbling.
The other night I came home late, and tried to unlock my house with my car keys. I started the house up. So, I drove it around for a while. I was speeding, and a cop pulled me over. He asked where I lived. I said, "Right here, officer."
My father was the youngest of seven, and nobody lived to be 60. And so we were always sitting shiva in my house, and my father would say, 'Life goes on.'
There are many ways of knocking electrons out of atoms. The simplest is to rub two surfaces together.
My dad never graduated high school. He was a printing salesman. We lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath house in St. Louis Park, Minnesota. We weren't rich - but we felt secure.
I can build a house with my bare hands. In my late teens I was in a band with my friend Henrik, and his builder father thought we needed something to fall back on, so he taught us carpentry and bricklaying and we built a house over two years.
Communication Was never big in my house. We sat together over dinner, but the only sound you'd hear was crunching and chewing and the little ones asking for more, please. We lived, all boxed up in invisible containers. We hardly knew the people we called sister or father. Jackie and I were the exceptions to that rule.
Work is style, and there is style without thought; not in theory, only in fact. When I take a sentence in my hand, raise it to the light, rub my hand across it, disjoin it, put it back together again with a comma added, raising the pitch in the front part; when I rub the grain of it, comb the fur of it, re-assemble the bones of it, I am making something that carries with it the sound of a voice, the firmness of a hand. Maybe little more.
I don't stay out that late. I never really stay out that late. I used to, and after a while you begin to realize that a little sleep works wonders, you know?
You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over; You hearken to the lover's say, And happy is the lover. 'Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never: I shall have lived a little while Before I die for ever.
It was one of my dreams as a child, growing up in my little village with my cousins. We used to walk together, and I used to say, when you look at the world map, 'This town is there, that town is there, that river is there.' I used to say, 'One day, I'm going to travel these places.'
Now they got two little nice statues in Chariot Park to remember the gay movement. How many people have died for these two little statues to be put in the park for them to recognize gay people?
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