A blanket, no matter how thin, could be sliced thinner, and in this way one blanket could be used to keep a multitude of people warm. But not that warm.
A blanket can be rolled up, much like I roll up my emotions when I listen to political rhetoric.
A blanket could be used to show love, by providing warmth, comfort, and an itchiness of desire that cannot be satisfied by a single scratch.
A brick could be utilized to teach the danger of procrastination. Ignoring the brick and pretending everything will work itself out is not going to transform it into a wall.
A blanket and a brick could be put in a ring and paid to fight. Compared to MMA, it would be boring. But compared to boxing, it would be downright thrilling.
A brick could be surgically inserted in the chest of a man who needs a heart transplant. And for just $20,000 more dollars, that brick could be replaced with a new heart.
A brick could be used as a measurement of time. Yes, just think how stylish you’ll look with a brick duct taped to your wrist!
A brick can’t cure cancer. But who knows, maybe a brick combined with a blanket could. I’ll have to ask Dr. Burzynski about it.
A blanket could make a good hood on a car, because it’s flat and warm and I don’t currently have a hood. Or a car.
By the age of 18, I was very fat. My dad would say there's a Spall fat gene. But I was fat because I ate loads. I used to go and buy six or seven chocolate bars and eat my way through them.
Art can help a town by attracting a certain Bohemian population that adds life to the bars, character to the streets and a buzz to the name. Employers may then follow. But art can't do much if every town does it. There aren't enough Bohemians.
A sad fact of life lately at the Museum of Modern Art is that when it comes to group shows of contemporary painting from the collection, the bar has been set pretty low.
You are welcome to your intellectual pastimes and books and art and newspapers; welcome, too, to your bars and your whisky that only makes me ill. Here am I in the forest, quite content.
Memories shrink. Like a soap bar used over and over, they become deformed, weaker scented, too slight and slippery to hold.
I don’t think you’re going to start a riot, but until you prove you have more survival instincts than a seriously stressed out lemming, you’ll stay at the bar.
Sometimes what I wouldn't give to have us sitting in a bar again at 9:00 a.m. telling lies to one another, far from God.
The rabbi glanced over glumly from behind the jail bars. 'My faith in God is fine,' he said. 'It's people I'm not so sure about.
Only gay bars were full; the heterosexual joints were empty—the heteros massively committed to watching television with their falsely monogamous spouses.
You can cower,” she told them in a clear voice, wrapping her long shaking fingers around the cold iron bars. “But I will stand.
There was a sad fellow over on a bar stool talking to the bartender, who was polishing a glass and listening with that plastic smile people wear when they are trying not to scream.
It's like practicing pole vaulting your entire life, and then getting to the olympics and saying, ‘what the hell did I want to jump over this stupid bar for?
