Freebsd Fortunes 6: 745 of 2171 |
The local minister noticed a little girl standing outside of his
door with a basket of kittens.
"Hello, little girl, what do you have there?"
"These are my Democratic kittens," she replied.
Amused, the pastor said nothing. Two weeks later he saw the same little
girl with (apparently) the same basket of kittens.
"My, I see you still have your Democratic kittens.", he said.
"No, you see, these are Republican kittens," she answered.
"Two weeks ago they were Democratic kittens," he replied, puzzled.
"Two weeks ago they had their eyes closed."
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 746 of 2171 |
The `loner' may be respected, but he is always resented by his colleagues,
for he seems to be passing a critical judgment on them, when he may be
simply making a limiting statement about himself.
-- Sidney Harris
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 747 of 2171 |
The longer I am out of office, the more infallible I appear to myself.
-- Henry Kissinger
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 748 of 2171 |
The longer the title, the less important the job.
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 749 of 2171 |
The longest part of the journey is said to be the passing of the gate.
-- Marcus Terentius Varro
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 750 of 2171 |
The Lord gave us farmers two strong hands so we
could grab as much as we could with both of them.
-- Major Major's father
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 751 of 2171 |
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Indian Giver be the name of the Lord.
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 752 of 2171 |
The Lord prefers common-looking people. That is the reason that He makes
so many of them.
-- Abraham Lincoln
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 753 of 2171 |
The louder he talked of his honour, the faster we counted our spoons.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Freebsd Fortunes 6: 754 of 2171 |
The lovely woman-child Kaa was mercilessly chained to the cruel post of
the warrior-chief Beast, with his barbarian tribe now stacking wood at
her nubile feet, when the strong clear voice of the poetic and heroic
Handsomas roared, 'Flick your Bic, crisp that chick, and you'll feel my
steel through your last meal!'
-- Winning sentence, 1984 Bulwer-Lytton bad fiction contest.
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