Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,ââ?¬â? For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock digg'd i the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,ââ?¬â? Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingrediants of our caldron. Fire burn, and caldron bubble.Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
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In LA the blood dries at night. The streets never cool down. The sound of helicopters fills the ears and sends knee jerk shots of panic, paranoia and animal savagery through the veins of the shuffled extras too numbed by glamour overload to notice that there's not a single intersection in the entire city where you can stand and not be an animal waiting to see your own intestines slide down your leg from a stray bullet. In this city they kill for the fuck of it, fuck for the hell of it and live for no reason. If I could have a nickel for every siren I've heard go screaming into the distance to some scene, I'd still be here, still be looking out the window of my room, still laughing at the fact that I can't get my window open very far because the security bars get in the way.
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The Media is an abstraction (because a newspaper is not concrete and only in an abstract sense can be considered an individual), which in association with the passionlessness and reflection of the times creates that abstract phantom, the public, which is the actual leveler. . . . More and more individuals will, because of their indolent bloodlessness, aspire to become nothing, in order to become the public, this abstract whole, which forms in this ridiculous manner: the public comes into existence because all its participants become third parties. This lazy mass, which understands nothing and does nothing, this public gallery seeks some distraction, and soon gives itself over to the idea that everything which someone does, or achieves, has been done to provide the public something to gossip about. . . . The public has a dog for its amusement. That dog is the Media. If there is someone better than the public, someone who distinguishes himself, the public sets the dog on him and all the amusement begins. This biting dog tears up his coat-tails, and takes all sort of vulgar liberties with his leg--until the public bores of it all and calls the dog off. That is how the public levels.
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Whats the deal with toilet paper these days? Its no longer called 'toilet paper'. There are little sissy names for it such as: 'bathroom tissue', and many others. [...]
[Pets] never complain. They never bite you, or pee on you because you don't call them 'k9s', or 'Felines'. They just go about their business, like humping your leg, or licking each others genitals.
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No crooked leg, no bleared eye, No part deformed out of kind, Nor yet so ugly half can be As is the inward suspicious mind.
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I hate it when my leg falls sleep in the middle of the day, because that means it'll be up all night
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When the morning's freshness has been replaced by the weariness of midday, when the leg muscles give under the strain, the climb seems endless, and suddenly nothing will go quite as you wish-it is then that you must not hesitate.
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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Our avian brothers are back to roost on the first leg of their annual sojourn south. Why them and not us Maybe it's because we humans are meant to be rooted in one spot.
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The effort to remold, in one's own life, the culture one has grown into is heavy with danger. The searcher is likely to be treated as a criminal or a madman, condemned and criticized by his own society, ridiculed, even persecuted. Even if he is more fortunate--even if he is simply ignored by others--he must begin his struggle as a cripple. For to consciously reject the generalized attitudes' of the parent society is to reject positive reference points that have helped him evaluate his actions and accomplishments.This is the price of freedom on the peripheries. We are able to free ourselves from our parent culture only by destroying parts of ourselves, much as an animal might escape the hunter's trap by gnawing off its own leg. But unlike the wounded animal, the detached person is doubly crippled; however he mutilates himself, he will never quite be free of the trap but will carry it with him in his new freedom.
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What is it but deliberate massacre when tens of thousands of tame, hand-reared creatures are every year literally driven into the jaws of death and mown down in a peculiarly brutal manner? A perfect roar of guns fills the air; louder tap and yell the beaters, while above the din can be heard the heart-rending cries of wounded hares and rabbits, some of which can be seen dragging themselves away, with legs broken, or turning round and round in their agony before they die! And the pheasants! They are on every side, some rising, some dropping; some lying dead, but the great majority fluttering on the ground wounded; some with both wings broken and a leg; others merely winged, running to hide; others mortally wounded, gasping out their last breath amidst the hellish uproar which surrounds them. And this is called 'sport!'
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The multitude will hardly believe the excessive force of education, and in the difference of modesty between men and women, ascribe that to nature, which is altogether owing to early instruction: Miss is scarce three years old, but she's spoke to every day to hide her leg, and rebuked in good earnest if she shows it; whilst little Master at the same age is bid to take up his coats, and piss like a man.
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The legitimate powers of government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others. But it does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket, nor breaks my leg.
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In the career of glory one gains many things; the gout and medals, a pension and rheumatism....And also frozen feet, an arm or leg the less, a bullet lodged between two bones which the surgeon cannot extract....all of these fatigues experienced in your youth, you pay for when you grow old. Because one has suffered in years gone by, it is necessary to suffer more, which does not seem exactly fair.
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I know a guy who had his doctor say, 'Take some weight off, go to a health club.' The man lost 20 pounds in one week! The machine tore his leg off!
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Many years ago, I was in a Broadway show and I had to wear a fox fur around my shoulders. One day my hand touched one of the fox's legs. It seemed to be in two pieces. Then it dawned on me.... her leg had probally been snapped in two by the steel trap that had caught it.
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If you don't think animal protection is a battle, consider the weapons we're up against: harpoon; leg-hold trap; cockfighting spur; puntilla (knife used in the slaughter of livestock in certain countries); ferao (used in Brazil to poke out the eyes of cattle before leading them to slaughter); hakapik (used to club baby seals)... among others!'
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We stopped eating meat many years ago. During the course of a Sunday lunch we happened to look out of the kitchen window at our young lambs playing happily in the fields. Glancing down at our plates, we suddenly realized that we were eating the leg of an animal who had until recently been playing in a field herself. We looked at each other and said, 'Wait a minute, we love these sheep--they're such gentle creatures. So why are we eating them?' It was the last time we ever did.
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My stories run up and bite me in the leg -- I respond by writing them down - everything that goes on during the bite. When I finish, the idea lets go and runs off.
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This is one of many ways vivisectors try to get their promised cures to humans' illnesses AND money for them: 'Urination: find out why an adult male dog lifts his leg to urinate while a female squats.'
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You can always tell youre in trouble when the good option involves a prosthetic leg.
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It's off the leg and into the left field of Doug Radar.
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Everyone realized that Computervision stock was the golden goose. But one grabbed the leg, another grabbed a wing, another got the neck, all pulling hard, and they realize now they could kill the goose if they keep this up.
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A bike rest on its leg because it is too tyred.
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C makes it easy to shoot yourself in the foot. C++ makes it harder, but when you do, it blows away your whole leg.
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C makes it easy to shoot yourself in the foot; C++ makes it harder, but when you do, it blows away your whole leg.
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When I was 17.. many years ago.. I was high on marijuana. My thought processes were slowed down. I was eating chicken at the time and suddenly realized I was gnawing on the leg of a chicken. I have not eaten meat or fish or used marijuana since. I did not need them.
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God asked Adam: 'What's wrong?' and Adam replied, 'I'm lonely.' So God said: 'Adam, I will make you a partner. She will wash and cook and clean for you, she will listen to what you have to say and never interrupt you. Whe won't nag you about your actions and she will even bear your children. She will stay loyal to you and never be influenced by other men.' So Adam asked, 'Well, what's his gonna cost me?'. 'An arm and a leg.' And Adam asked: 'Well what can I get for an rib?'. And the rest is history.
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I shot my leg during a rehearsal! Thank God they were blanks.
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Break the leg of a bad habit.
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