Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him in can he pull us out.
It's bad enough in life to do without something YOU want; but confound it, what gets my goat is not being able to give somebody something you want THEM to have.
Every time that God gives us a child, it's His way of saying He trusts us-trusts us to offer love and to guide the child toward Him.
God, beauty, and your dreams are the only things really worth pursuing. When you do, you will find that they have all along been pursuing you." Marianne Coyne
It may be argued again that dissatisfaction with our life's endeavor springs in some degree from dulness. We require higher tasks, because we do not recognise the height of those we have.
Everyone needs a place where they can go to just ponder for a while. Silence is important; it's the only time you can hear the whispering of truth.
He'd been given an assignment to write about teen beauty pageants [...], which he'd accepted because he enjoyed blood sports as much as the next person.
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
The smallest grain of natural honesty and benevolence has more effect on men’s conduct, than the most pompous views suggested by theological theories and systems.
It’s not unlike a marriage, the partnership. All the effort and good intentions in the world can’t make things right if you choose poorly in the first place.
Oh, man," said Jack. "Everyone was nice to us when we looked rich. Now it feels like the whole world's against us.
I love Christmas. I never used to. I didn't hate it, but I could take it or leave it. But, as I got to the age of 25 or 26, Christmas became quite a big deal, and I love it now. I love the food, and I love sharing time with people.
Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused— in whose mind some pleasant associations are not awakened— by the recurrence of Christmas.
Well then..." I clear my throat once. "You are a fantastic actor," I say, breathless, and emotionally drugged up on Mr. Sexdorable.
One Christmas I had no money, and so I went home and just, like, wrote a poem; I mean, I didn't write them, but I just handed out poems as Christmas presents. Like, 'Here's a Pablo Neruda poem that really made me think of you.'
Ralphie: I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle! Mrs. Parker: No, you'll shoot your eye out.
Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] The old man stood there, quivering with fury, stammering as he tried to come up with a real crusher. All he got out was... The Old Man: Naddafinga!
Mr. Parker: What is the name of the Lone Ranger's nephew's horse? Mother: Ah... Victor! His name is Victor. Mr. Parker: How the hell did you know that? Mother: Everybody knows that!
Mother: Randy? What's wrong? Whatcha cryin' for? Randy: Daddy's gonna kill Ralphie! Mother: No he's not... Randy: Yes he is! Mother: No, I promise, Daddy is not going to kill Ralphie!
Boy in School: [Firemen come to pull Flick off pole] Holy cow, it's the fire department! Ralphie: Oh no... Boy in School: [policemen come] Wow, it's the cops!
Ralphie: [Giving his teacher a fruit basket instead of just an apple] I thought you might like something different. Ralphie as Adult: Yes, clearly, a little bribe never hurts.
