I always like to see enlightened parents like that; it gives me hope for the future.
Verbing weirds language.
There is not enough time to do all the nothing we want to do.
Calvin: Look, a dead bird! Hobbes: It must've hit a window. Calvin: Isn't it beautiful? It's so delicate. Sighhh. . . once it's too late, you appreciate what a miracle life is. You realize that nature is ruthless and our existence is very fragile, temporary, and precious. But to go on with your daily affairs, you can't really think about that. . . which is probably why everyone takes the world for granted and why we act so thoughtlessly. It's very confusing. I suppose it will all make sense when we grow up. Hobbes: No doubt.
What's the point of wearing your favorite rocket ship underpants if nobody ever asks to see 'em?
We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are.
I asked mom if I was a gifted child. She said they certainly wouldn't have paid for me.
For the moment, the jazz is playing; there is no melody, just notes, a myriad tiny tremors. The notes know no rest, an inflexibleorder gives birth to them then destroys them, without ever leaving them the chance to recuperate and exist for themselves. . . . I would like to hole them back, but I know that, if I succeeded in stooping one, there would only remain in may hand a corrupt and languishing sound. I must accept their death; I must even want that death: I know of few more bitter or intense impressions.
Political power without economic power is sterile.
My neglected duties crowd around me in my dreams, murmuring.
Very nice sort of place, Oxford, I should think, for people that like that sort of place. They teach you to be a gentleman there. In the polytechnic they teach you to be an engineer or such like. See?