Fed Off Quotes & Sayings

She tore off his grip, and then she was walking out the kitchen door, across the courtyard, through the ward-stones, and along the invisible barrier- until she found a spot just out of sight of the fortress.
The world was full of screaming and wailing, so loud she drowned in it.
Celaena did not utter a sound as she unleashed her magic on the barrier, a blast that shook the trees and set the earth rumbling. She fed her power into the invisible wall, begging the ancient stones to take it, to use it. The wards, as if sensing her intent, devoured her power whole, absorbing every last ember until it flickered, hungry for more.
So she burned and burned and burned. — Sarah J. Maas

Or one time, I'd even managed to restrain my violent temper when a pack of bawdy sailors had kidnapped one of my sea maidens, attempting to rape her. Instead of following my first inclination of sinking their ship, opening up a fissure in the earth so that lava spewed up from its guts and boiled them alive, I instead chopped off their balls, boiled them in onion water, and fed them to Bruce, my pet great white. I was rather proud of myself for that level of restraint. — Jovee Winters

Today I fed him right off the bat, and only checked Facebook twice. — Chila Woychik

I wait, washed, brushed, fed, like a prize pig. Sometime in the eighties they invented pig balls, for pigs who were being fattened in pens. Pig balls were large colored balls; the pigs rolled them around with their snouts. The pig marketers said this improved their muscle tone; the pigs were curious, they liked having something to think about. I read about that in Introduction to Psychology; that, and the chapter on caged rats who'd give themselves electric shocks for something to do. And the one on the pigeons trained to peck a button that made a grain of corn appear. Three groups of them: the first one got one grain per peck, the second one grain every other peck, the third was random. When the man in charge cut off the grain, the first group gave up quite soon, the second group a little later. The third group never gave up. They'd peck themselves to death, rather than quit. Who knew what worked?
I wish I had a pig ball. — Margaret Atwood

He sank into that kiss, and fed from me like a starving man holding off famine. I drank from his soul in preparation for the drought to come. And when he finally pulled away, my throat was thick with unspoken words, my heart heavy with every apology I'd ever denied him. But it was too late for promises. The time had come for goodbye. — Rachel Vincent

Throughout my career, I fed off the fuel of people not being able to understand me. — Eminem

Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one's ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York. — Sylvia Plath

The fire crackled up the stairs. It fed upon Picassos and Matisses in the upper halls, like delicacies, baking off the oily flesh, tenderly crisping the canvases into black shavings. — Ray Bradbury

The rage was in me, and if it wasn't for the rage, then I wouldn't know how to be calm. They feed off of each other. Just like when Malcolm X fed off Martin Luther King. They needed each other. — Gary Sheffield

What do you think Nate the Nose is going to do to us when he finds out we lost his shit? We're both going to be eating San Francisco Hot Dogs, Willie." Willie's eyes got wide. Apparently the idea of having his dick cut off, boiled, and fed to him on a bun with a side of fries was several times worse than a whack to the hernia. — Blake Crouch

Of course the town fed off all the sweat and labour of the miners and the poor selectors on the plains below but in those grand stone buildings they could bankrupt or hang you as they pleased. — Peter Carey

I saw 'The Grand Budapest Hotel.' I liked it. I saw 'The Fault in Our Stars,' and I could see why young girls like it. But it dropped off like crazy in the second weekend. I liked 'Fed Up' - I love documentaries. I go to a lot of documentaries. — Rob Reiner

Charles, a footman who had once worked on his father's farm and who loved animals, appeared and came over to help her prepare dishes of boiled chicken and brown rice for the cats and dogs waiting eagerly at their feet.
When guests were staying, Charles often assisted with the care of her furry brood. Without asking, he set to work, even taking a few moments to gather fresh meat scraps for Aeolus, her wounded hawk, and cut-up apple and beetroots for Poppy, a convalescing rabbit who had an injured leg. He gave her several more apple quarters for the horses, who got jealous if she didn't bring them treats as well.
Once all her cats and dogs were fed, Esme set off for the stables, laden pail in hand, Burr trotting at her heels. She stopped along the way to chat with the gardener and his assistant, who gave her some timothy grass, comfrey and lavender to supplement the hay she regularly fed Poppy. — Tracy Anne Warren

Twelve thousand years ago, everybody on earth was a hunter-gatherer; now almost all of us are farmers or else are fed by farmers. The spread of farming from those few sites of origin usually did not occur as a result of the hunter-gatherers' elsewhere adopting farming; hunter-gatherers tend to be conservative ... Instead, farming spread mainly through farmers' outbreeding hunters, developing more potent technology, and then killing the hunters or driving them off of all lands suitable for agriculture. — Jared Diamond

They forked up in the air for him, like trees branching in the night, and rained down sparks. They roared and whispered with their crackling voices, they had danced when he said the word. The flames here were both tame and mutinous, strange, silent beasts that sometimes bit the hand that fed them. Only occasionally, on cold nights when there was nothing but the flames to stave off his loneliness, did he think he heard them calling to him, but they whispered words he didn't understand. — Cornelia Funke

The evening being come, I return home and go to my study; at the entrance I pull off my peasant-clothes, covered with dust and dirt, and put on my noble court dress, and thus becomingly re-clothed I pass into the ancient courts of the men of old, where, being lovingly received by them, I am fed with that food which is mine alone; where I do not hesitate to speak with them, and to ask for the reason of their actions, and they in their benignity answer me; and for four hours I feel no weariness, I forget every trouble, poverty does not dismay, death does not terrify me; I am possessed entirely by those great men. — Niccolo Machiavelli

When I get home I'll still have to unload the dishwasher and clean my room. Last night my mom got so fed up of my messy floor in my room she picked it all up off the floor and put it on my bed so I would have to clean it up before I went to bed! — Stacie Orrico

Ginger Glazed Salmon 1 salmon fillet 1 small yellow onion, chopped 2 tablespoons honey 4 tablespoons grass-fed butter 1 teaspoon minced garlic 1 teaspoon minced ginger 1 teaspoon dill Juice of 2 small limes Salt and pepper, to taste Instructions: Massage the salmon fillet with half of the butter, season it with salt, pepper, and dill. Place it on a bed of chopped onions and cook in the oven until just pink and tender in the center. In a separate sauce pan combine the honey, juice of 2 limes, minced ginger, and minced garlic together with the butter to make a warm glaze. Pour this glaze over the salmon and place back in the switched off oven for 3-5 minutes. Remove and serve with a simple green salad. — Malik Johnson

It wasn't until I started to do 'Poison River' that the readership started falling. 'Poison River' started out very slowly and simply, but then it got really dense and complicated. I don't know, I think the readers just got fed up or burned out. They started dropping off. — Gilbert Hernandez

I could not figure out what they were doing in an ice cream shop, since they couldn't possible eat calories. I imagined they just fed off the misery of less cool people. — Leila Sales

To pile on the agony, once we reached Shantytown-a collection of shacks around the Exhibition that fed off the scraps of rich tourists - the ribbon on my bonnet decided today was the day it wanted freedom. It dangled before my face in a taunting display of rebellion. — Susan Dennard

I consider myself as a singer first, but something that really helped me come into my own is that there's not a separation between me singing and me playing the guitar. The two fed off the other. — Shawn Colvin

When he came back, he fed the fire, rolled out his pallet, turned off the light and laid down. After several minutes of quiet darkness, she heard his voice. "Sorry if I scared you. I don't roar that often."
-Ian to Marcie — Robyn Carr

She is an immense presence in the world. Tragedy and strength have so perfectly coalesced in her, as if one fed off the other. When she cries, it is not out of sorrow but out of a complex mass of emotions that address the trade-offs of life, the risks and the inevitable losses. Joy and sadness are two sides of the same thing. — Barbara Bode

Come on, Fishlegs," whispered Camicazi, whistling happily. "You know we have to do this. Besides, I feel like a bit of exercise. We've been cooped up in that hideout for way too long."
Frankly, at this point, Camicazi had grown so fed up that if Hiccup had suggested hang gliding off the toe-talons of the dragon Furious she'd have been up for it.
"A bit of exercise?" blustered Fishlegs. "A bit of exercise? This is not some kind of Viking version of Girls Keep Fit! — Cressida Cowell

Husbands and wives should have separate interests, cultivate different sets of friends and not impose on the other. You can't spend a lifetime breathing down each other's necks. We are very, very different people and yet somehow we fed off those varied differences and instead of separating us, it has made the whole bond a lot stronger. — Paul Newman

He'd been kidnapped, betrayed, almost fed to a Diamondscale - yes, a Diamondscale - and now, just to top things off, he was on the run with the man who was responsible for the whole mess. — Ruth Ford Elward

Angeline's gaze swiveled to Zoe.
"Why didn't you have us pick up
something?"
"Because that's not my job!" Zoe
lifted her head up high. "We're here to
keep Jill's cover and make sure she stays off the radar. It's not my job to
feed you guys."
"In which sense?" I asked. I knew
perfectly well that was a mean thing to
say to her but couldn't resist. It took her a moment to pick up the double meaning.
First she paled; then she turned an angry red.
"Neither! I'm not your concierge.
Neither is Sydney. I don't know why she
always takes care of that stuff for you.
She should only be dealing with things
that are essential for your survival.
Ordering pizza isn't one of them."
I faked a yawn and leaned back into
the couch. "Maybe she figures if we're
well fed, you two won't look that
appetizing."
Zoe was too horrified to respond,
and Eddie shot me a withering look. — Richelle Mead

Control your own time. Don't let it be done for you. If you are working off the in-box that is fed you, you are probably working on the priority of others. — Donald Rumsfeld

My attitude. It's what I fed off of as well. It's what made people like me. — Penelope Douglas

Okay," Alec said, slipping off his backpack. "This is it. Let's get ourselves fed and watered up. Then we're going in hot and heavy. — James Dashner

I was really sick of bands just ignoring the audience as a posture in rock music. And I think we fed off each other in terms of trying to engage the audience, not in a hammy way, but actually trying to be aware of the space that you are playing in and trying to connect in some way through the music. — Win Butler

There was a euphoria in the music and the way it was delivered, and as the crowds started to get bigger, it fed off itself until it became less about the band and more about being with all those people jumping up and down, drunk to the music. — Noel Gallagher

I go to the saltwater and wash off the blood, trying to decide which I hate more, pain or itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward and snap, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin."
It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach up and the tube lands squarely in my open hand.
"About time" I say, but I can't keep the scowl on my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give for five minutes of conversation with him. — Suzanne Collins

In my mind's eye I can still see the first night flight I made in Argentina. It was pitch-dark. Yet in the black void, I could see the lights of man shining down below on the plains, like faintly luminous earthbound stars. Each star was a beacon signaling the presence of a human mind. Here a man was meditating on human happiness, perhaps, or on justice or peace. Lost among this flock of stars was the star of some solitary shepherd. There, perhaps, a man was in communication with the heavens, as he labored over his calculations of the nebula of Andromeda. And there, a pair of lovers. These fires were burning all over the countryside, and each of them, aven the most humble, had to be fed. The fire of the poet, of the teacher, of the carpenter. But among all these living fires, how many closed windows there were, how many dead stars, fires that gave off no light for lack of nourishment. — Antoine De Saint-Exupery

A pretty face had been damaged by acne scars and she wore and extra forty pounds on her frame like a threat. Her eyes were dull with anger disguised as apathy. If she kept on her current path, she'd grow into the type of person who fed her kids Doritos for breakfast and purchased angry bumper stickers with lots of exclamation points. But right now, she was just another in a long line of pissed-off small-town girls with a shitty outlook. — Dennis Lehane

Why'd you quit?"
"I guess I was fed up with the whole thing. But I gave it my best shot. Surprised myself, really. I learned to think about people other than me, but in the end I just got kicked around by a cop. The way I see it, sooner or later everyone returns to his post. Except yours truly. For me, it was a game of musical chairs -- there was no place I could call my own."
"So what'll you do now?"
The Rat toweled off his feet.
"I might write a novel," he said a moment later. "What do you think?"
"I think it's a great idea."
The Rat nodded.
"What kind of novel?"
"A good novel. From where I stand, anyway. I doubt I have any special talent for writing, but if I stick with it at least I can become more enlightened. Otherwise, what's the point, right?"
"Right."
"So the novel will be for myself. Or maybe for the cicadas."
"The cicadas?"
"Yeah. — Haruki Murakami

The saddest thing was actually getting fed up with one another. It's like growing up in a family. When you get to a certain age, you want to go off and get your own girl and your own car, split up a bit. — George Harrison

It was one of those titles that just fed off of an inner fear every girl must have from time to time. Slut, bitch, prude, tease, ditz. They were all the same. Every girl felt like one of these sexist labels described her at some point. — Kody Keplinger

All of a sudden the burlap bag in her hands started to squawk and bulge wildly. "What is this?" Caleb's good humor was apparently restored. "It's a chicken, sodbuster. After you chop off his head, gut him, and pluck out all his feathers, he'll fry up real nice." Lily felt her lunch boil up into her throat. She'd fed plenty of chickens in her time, and certainly fried a few, but Rupert had usually been the one to kill them. "He looks delicious," she said in a small voice. Caleb, who had been about to lead his horse back to his grazing place, stopped in midstride and grinned at her. Not for another three sections of land would Lily have let him know she dreaded the task. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked a little stiffly. He shrugged. "Just a chicken dinner." After — Linda Lael Miller

Emma is the engine of this home, the person who propels it forward, keeps everyone fed and clothed and healthy and happy - and yet she's entirely alone within it, and getting lonelier with every item ticked off her checklist. This is what it comes down to: the flat-out invisible drudgery of family maintenance, the vanishing of personality as everyone else's accrues. — Harriet Lane

You folks feeling the economic pinch? Are you a little fed up with the economic news? It's bad. The department stores, this holiday season, no Santa Claus. They're laying off department-store Santa Clauses. So more bad news for John McCain. — David Letterman

The unnatural and increasingly rapid growth of the feeble-minded and insane classes, coupled as it is with steady restriction among all the thrifty, energetic and superior stocks constitutes a national and race danger which is impossible to exaggerate. I feel that the source from which the stream of madness is fed should be cut off and sealed before another year has passed. — Winston Churchill

I was always reaching for love, but it turns out love doesn't involve reaching. I was always dreaming of the big love, the ultimate love, the love that would sweep me off my feet or 'break open the hard shell of my lesser self' (Daisaku Ikeda). The love that would bring on my surrender. The love that would inspire me to give everything. As I lay there, it occurred to me that while I had been dreaming of this big love, this ultimate love, I had, without realizing it, been giving and receiving love for most of my life. As with the trees that were right in front of me, I had been unable to value what sustained me, fed me, and gave me pleasure. And as with the trees, I was so busy waiting for and imagining and reaching and dreaming and preparing for this huge big love that I had totally missed the beauty and perfection of the soft-boiled eggs and Bolivian quinoa. — Eve Ensler

Check it out." I point to the water. "The fish are getting a good feed. But I can't figure out what they're eating." Ivan moves in to investigate and his face screws up. "I just flushed the toilet. They're eating my poo!" For dinner that night, we don't eat barbecued red snapper. In fact, shit-fed red snapper is off the menu for good. — Torre DeRoche

Britney ends by saying, after scenes of throngs of paparazzi surrounding her car, after tearful interviews and tearless ones, after impersonations of her father and make-up artists, after she says she's not a victim of her success and tries to stay positive and hates being placed in categories, after she dances her fucking ass off to get back what she had, after she explains that she married K-Fed because she liked the idea of it (a revelation that socked me in the chest and made my dating life flash before my eyes), and after she says that "people shave their heads all the time"; after all that, she leaves me with this: "I go through life like a karate kid. — Elissa Washuta

Energy has to be fed from a source. If you don't feed the source, it dissipates entirely.
Same is true of liking a boy. If you cut off the thoughts, if you stop pinning, you're free to find a boy who is attainable. — Adriana Trigiani

The first time I cut all my hair off was when I was 19. I just got fed up going to the salon every week. I'd had enough! On a whim, it was off. It's low-maintenance. — Lupita Nyong'o

I'm suggesting that criminalizing chemically fertilized grass in favor of unnaturally-fed corn is not a rational trade off. — Joel Salatin

Sir? said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room. He's like one of those weird chappies in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. I've got a cousin who's what they call a Theosophist, and he says he's often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn't quite bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of animals slain in anger and pie. — P.G. Wodehouse

When I think of this trip, I see David and me in the front seat of the car. It's nighttime. It smells like chewing tobacco, soda, and smoke. (The smell of chewing tobacco is like a muddy lawn you've just fed a truckful of cough drops to.) The window is letting in a leak of cold air. R.E.M. is playing. The wheels are making their slightly sleepy sound of tape being stripped cleanly and endlessly off a long wall. On the other hand, we seem not to be moving at all, and the conversation is the best one I've ever had. — David Lipsky

During the Year of the Monkey, the press, which had hitherto generally supported the war or stuck to feel-good stories of heroism and mateship, vigorously changed its tune. The media reacted to growing middle-class disenchantment with the war: they did not initiate or promote anti-war feeling; they reflected and fed off it. — Paul Ham

Their pupils and their little charges are not nourished and fed by what they learn: the learning is passed from hand to hand with only one end in view: to show it off, to put into our accounts to entertain others with it, as though it were merely counters, useful for totting up and producing statements, but having no other use or currency. 'Apud alios loqui didicerunt, non ipsi secum' [They have learned how to talk with others, not with themselves] — Michel De Montaigne

The Mania Speaks


You clumsy bootlegger. Little daffodil.
I watered you with an ocean and you plucked one little vein?
Downed a couple bottles of pills and got yourself carted off to the ER?
I gifted you the will of gunpowder, a matchstick tongue, and all you managed
was a shredded sweater and a police warning?
You should be legend by now.
Girl in an orange jumpsuit, a headline.
I built you from the purest napalm, fed you wine and bourbon.
Preened you in the dark, hammered lullabies into your thin skull.
I painted over the walls, wrote the poems. I shook your goddamn boots.
Now you want out? Think you'll wrestle me out of you with prescriptions?
A good man's good love and some breathing exercises?
You think I can't tame that? I always come home. Always.
Ravenous. Loaded. You know better than anybody:
I'm bigger than God. — Jeanann Verlee

I just get excited doing shows. Off stage I am actually very feeble and must be spoon-fed because my hands are too brittle. — Dane Cook

A kind of wonder takes Chaucer over as he pants up Fleet Street and past the walled orchards and gardens of this lovely riverside suburb for princes of kingdom and Church.
This isn't mob action, not really, even if there were men back there shouting that they were off to break into Newgate Jail and set the prisoners free.
It's something else. Something he's never seen, or imagined.
These men don't loot. They aren't trying to get rich, or even just get fed. They're not remotely interested in picking up a few unconsidered trifles from the palaces they're passing, however lovely the houses are, however manicured the gardens.
They're here to destroy. And they know their targets. — Vanora Bennett

While others might feel manipulative, I feel powerless. Sometimes I just hurt so bad from the mean things that people do to me, real or perceived, or I'm so desperately feeling abandoned, that I withdraw and pout and go silent. At some point people get pissed off and fed up with that crap and they go away and then I'm left with nothing all over again. — Paul T. Mason

The Pentagon got fed up with its recruits getting ripped off by payday lenders and in 2007 got Congress to make it illegal to extend such loans to members of the military. But civilians remain fair game. — Timothy Noah

This is a sensationally bad idea, Ash." "So you said. About twenty times now." "You remember what Marielle did to Hush?" "Maw's teeth, Corvere. When my da got tortured in the Thorn Towers of Elai, they chopped his bollocks off and fed them to the scabdogs. What's your excuse? — Jay Kristoff

So, what is a stroke? In about 90 per cent of strokes, it's the result of blood flow to part of the brain getting cut off, depriving it of oxygen and killing off the part fed by the clogged artery. — Michael Greger

Ferris, himself fed up with construction delays and Burnham's pestering, had told Gronau to turn the wheel or tear it off the tower. — Erik Larson

[Eugenides] looked from Eddis to the window, where the visible sky was already dark. He looked back, his gaze a little sharper, and said, "You forgot me."
Eddis shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers..
"Don't lie," Eugenides said, pressing her. "You charged off in a haze of glory to chase the vile Mede from our shore, and you never gave me a thought until they were gone."
He twisted to address Attolia. "You forgot me, too," he accused.
Attolia answered cooly, "You were fed. — Megan Whalen Turner

Sam, can you, you know, like burn that concrete off her hands?"
"No. I can't aim that precisely."
"I don't even know what can be done," Edilio said as he fed the girl another microscopic bite of food. "You try and break that stuff off with a sledge hammer or something, or even a hammer and a chisel, it's going to really hurt. Probably break every bone in her hands, man."
"Who would have done this to her?" Lana wondered.
"That's a Coates Academy uniform," Astrid answered. "We're probably not far from there. — Michael Grant

And turns out, it's not Republicans throwing granny off a cliff ... It's the Fed!? — Neil Cavuto

If you had walked through the pleasant Tuscan countryside in the 1890's, you might have come upon a somewhat long-haired teenage high school dropout on the road to Pavia. His teachers in Germany had told him that he would never amount to anything, that his questions destroyed classroom discipline, that he would be better off out of school. So he left and wandered, delighting in the freedom of Northern Italy, where he could ruminate on matters remote from the subjects he had been force-fed in his highly disciplined Prussian schoolroom. His name was Albert Einstein, and his ruminations changed the world. — Carl Sagan

Would we as a nation be better off dealing with the truth rather than believing fantasies that prop up the Status Quo and the Fed's dearly beloved measure of the economy, the stock market? How often does accepting illusion help us navigate real life? Short answer: never. — Charles Hugh Smith

They've been lying from the start. From the first time we read the words 'once upon a time,' we're fed the idea that these girls - these gorgeous, demure, singing-with-the-wildlife girls - get a happy ending. And I get it. Poor thing had to do some chores around the house, fine. But the idea that she needs a magic old lady to come down and skim off the dirt so the prince will see her beauty? That's ridiculous. Maybe she should have been working on her lockpicking skills instead of serenading squirrels. She could have busted out, hitched a ride to the castle, and impressed the prince with her safe-cracking prowess. Sorry, magic-fairy lady. She didn't need your help. — Kelsey Macke

A Book of Glass
On the table, a book of glass. In the book only a few pages with no words But scratched in a diamond-point pencil to pieces in diagonal Spirals, light triangles; and a French curve fractures lines to
elisions.

The last pages are simplest. They can be read backwards and
thoroughly. Each page bends a bit like ludicrous plastic. He who wrote it was very ambitious, fed up, and finished. He had been teaching the insides and outsides of things

To children, teaching the art of Rembrandt to them. His two wives were beautiful and Death begins As a beggar beside them. What is an abstract persona? A painter visits but he prefers to look at perfume in vials.

And I see a book in glass - the words go off In wild loops without words. I should Wake and render them! In bed, Mother says each child Will receive the book of etchings, but the book will be
incomplete, after all.
But I will make the book of glass. — David Shapiro

They are all very serious people with stern expressions on their faces. They discuss nothing but important matters and like to philosophize a great deal, while at the same time everyone can see that the workers are detestably fed, sleep without suitable bedding, thirty to forty in a room with bedbugs everywhere, the stench, the dampness, and the moral corruption ... Obviously all our fine talk has gone on simply to hoodwink ourselves and other people as well. Show me the day nurseries that they're talking about so much about. And where are the libraries? Why, they just write about nurseries and libraries in novels, while in fact not a single one even exists. What does exist is nothing but dirt, vulgarity, and a barbarian way of life ... I dislike these terribly serious faces, they frighten me, and I'm afraid of serious conversations, too. We'd be better off if we all would just shut up for a while! — Anton Chekhov

The first Fae I ever fed off didn't survive. Purely by accident. I was young and still learning my strength. She was a red head. Caused quite a ruckus when I took the body home. I was being a gentleman, bringing back their stinking carcass and they try to kill me. Turns out dinner was actually some sort of princess. Damn, there are over fifty princesses. Were they really going to miss one? - Varian — Bridget Blackwood

Everybody's born to do a certain thing
and if you're dead jimmy you've found it.
And if you're good at something,
just keep doing it
until you're fed up ... then do something else.
look..
You're here to make babies and look after the place.
You know ?
(Billy Connolly) Spoken Word on
Spiritual city: -Off of Glastonbury Song — Mike Scott

Well, I think as long as people are talking about stimulus, I think the Fed will be thinking about cutting rates because monetary policy is the better way to go because you can turn it on and turn it off. — Franklin Raines

She comes to me when she wants to be fed. And after I feed her
guess what
she's off to wherever she wants to be in the house, until the next time she gets hungry. She's smart enough to know she can't feed herself. She's actually a very smart cat. She gets loved. She gets adoration. She gets petted. She gets fed. And she doesn't have to do anything for it, which is why I say this cat's taught me more about women, than anything my whole life. — Rush Limbaugh

Both Lear and Washington held fast to paternalistic assumptions about African slavery, believing that enslaved men and women were better off with a generous owner than emancipated and living independent lives. Decades later, Southerners would justify the institution of slavery with descriptions of the supposed benefits that came with enslavement. According to many Southerners, slaves were better cared for, better fed, sheltered, and treated almost as though they were members of the family. Northern emancipation left thousands of ex-slaves without assistance, and Southerners charged that free blacks were living and dying in the cold alleyways of the urban North. Many believed Northern freedom to be a far less humane existence, one that left black men and women to die in the streets from exposure and starvation. But — Erica Armstrong Dunbar

Fire and hope are connected, just so you know.
The way the Greek told it, Zeus put Prometheus and Epimetheus in charge of creating life on earth. Epimetheus made the animals, giving out bonuses like swiftness and strenght and fur and wings.
By the time Prometheus made man, all the best qualities had been given out. He settled for making them walk upright, and he gave them fire.
Zeus, pissed off, took it away. But prometheus saw his pride and joy shivering and unable to cook. He lit a torch from the sun and brought it to man again.
To punish Prometheus, Zeus had him chained to a rock, where an eagle fed on his liver. To punish man, Zeus created the first woman-Pandora-and gave her a gift, a box she was forbidden to open.
Pandora's curiosity got the best of her, and one day she opened that box. Out came plagues and misery and mischief. She managed to shut the lid tight before hope escaped.
It's the only weapon we have left to fight the others. — Jodi Picoult

I actually think that history has fed off the restlessness of cyber space, of kind of the frantic, segmented nature of the way we lead our lives. People want to be connected. — Simon Schama

In the morning, when she wishes me to wake, she crouches on my chest, and pats my face with her paw. Or, if I am on my side, she crouches looking into my face. Soft, soft touches of her paw. I open my eyes, say I don't want to wake. I close my eyes. Cat gently pats my eyelids. Cat licks my nose. Cat starts purring, two inches from my face. Cat, then, as I lie pretending to be asleep, delicately bites my nose. I laugh and sit up. At which she bounds off my bed and streaks downstairs
to have the back door opened if it is winter, to be fed, if it is summer. — Doris Lessing

Over the years of being stuck in this shit hole called life, I had debated religion and church, souls and freewill, heaven and hell.
I had come to a few conclusions. Mankind was too self-serving to understand what He had wanted from them. It wasn't a million dollar church, it wasn't perfection, it wasn't about how many times you prayed or apologized or that one day a month where you fed the homeless. And you weren't banished to hell for that one time you told someone to fuck off. You didn't end up in hell for that time you were a bitch to your fellow man.
It took a lot to end up there, and man worked at it with crazed enthusiasm. They worked harder at chiseling their way into hell, than any other action. — L.A. Kennedy

I think by the time I was born, my parents had pretty well run the gauntlet with their kids. The novelty had kind of worn off by the time the twelfth child was born. I was lucky to get fed and changed, picked up and taken to school. — Owen Hart

The Father wipes the silver chalice with a beautiful linen rag large as a small tablecloth, turns the cup two inches each time to keep you from having to drink where the last worshipper lipped it, as if that takes care of the germs. But I don't care, I always reach out very piously - that's to say, in slow motion, the way you move for some reason to take and eat the body of Our Savior - reach out and lay my hand over the Father's in somber reverence to the moment and then press down as the silver rim clears my upper lip and suck a slug of wine that should have fed six communers. I have to, because the bread of His body is stuck to the roof of my mouth like a rubber tire patch, and if I can't wash it loose by swishing His blood around, I'm going to have to dig it off with a finger, in slow motion, and possibly gag. When — Padgett Powell

Maybe God is only the most powerful poetic idea we humans're capable of thinkin'," he said one night, after a few drinks. "Maybe God has no reality outside our minds and exists only in the paradox of Perfect Compassion and Perfect Justice. Or maybe," he suggested, slouching back in his chair and favoring her with a lopsided, wily grin, "maybe God is exactly as advertised in the Torah. Maybe, along with all its other truths and beauties, Judaism preserves for each generation of us the reality of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob, of Moses - the God of Jesus." A cranky, uncanny God, D.W. called Him. "A God with quirky, unfathomable rules, a God who gets fed up with us and pissed off! But quick to forgive, Sofia, and generous, — Mary Doria Russell

Three or four days later he was still thinking about seal flipper pie. Remembered the two raw eggs Petal gave him. That he invested with pathetic meaning.
'Petal,' said Quoyle to Wavey, 'hated to cook. Hardly ever did.' Thought of the times he had fixed dinner for her, set put his stupid candles, folded the napkins as though they were important, waited and finally ate alone, the radio on for company. And later dined with the children, shoveling in canned spaghetti, scraping baby food off small chins.
'Once she gave me two eggs. Raw eggs for a present.' He had made an omelet of them, hand-fed her as thought she were a nestling bird. And saved the shells in a paper cup on top of the kitchen cabinet. Where they still must be. — Annie Proulx