Here's a group of people - this is how the liberals think - a group of people, smokers, we hate 'em. They're yuk, they're filthy, they're dirty, they spread disease, yuk, but we need their money because we're funding children's health care programs. So we'll gladly get 'em addicted to the product, then we won't let 'em smoke 'em anywhere legally. We're gonna be pursuing these people every which way can but, by God, we're gonna make 'em pay for it.
Feeling weightless... it's so many things together. A feeling of pride, of healthy solitude, of dignified freedom from everything that's dirty, sticky. You feel exquisitely comfortable... and you feel you have so much energy, such an urge to do things, such an ability to do things. And you work well, yes, you think well, without sweat, without difficulty as if the biblical curse in the sweat of thy face and in sorrow no longer exists, As if you've been born again.
I think a lot of the production process is always giving yourself, like what I call like escape routes, like, if this scene doesn't play, if we realize we've had too many dirty scenes in a row, and it's like, because you don't have the luxury when you're in the middle of shooting, to see how these scenes play all in a row, kind of, you know what I mean. So, like we're always trying to like have insurance policies on, ok, if that doesn't work, we can just jump to this thing.
But whats it all worth, cant take it when you under this earth Rich men died and tried, but none of it worked They just rob your grave, Id rather be alive and paid Before my numbers called, historys made Somell fall, but I rise, thug or die Makin choices, that determine my future under the sky To rob steal or kill, Im wondering why Its a dirty game, is any man worthy of fame? Much to success to ya, even if you wish me the opposite Sooner or later we'll all see who the prophet is.
[T]his free and easy old-bachelor sort of life is quite full of fun and jollity. Pease and myself room together; and everything like order and neatness is banished from our presence as a nuisance--old letters and old boots and shoes, duds clean and duds dirty, books and newspapers, tooth-brushes, shoe-brushes, and clothes-brushes, all heaped together on chairs, settees, etc., in dusty and "most admired confusion." Now, what is there imaginable in clean, tidy private life equal to this?
What it 't to us, if taxes rise or fall, Thanks to our fortune, we pay none at all. Let muckworms who in dirty acres deal, Lament those hardships which we cannot feel, His grace who smarts, may bellow if he please, But must I bellow too, who sit at ease? By custom safe, the poets' numbers flow, Free as the light and air some years ago. No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains To tax our labours, and excise our brains. Burthens like these with earthly buildings bear, No tributes laid on castles in the air.
Life's dirty. Life's unclean you know. It's birth, it's sex, it's the intestinal tract. One big squishy, unsanitary mess. It never gets any cleaner either. You know, dust to dust, worms crawl in, worms crawl out, right Even though we know that, we still walk the walk, we still live the life. We're like a bunch of little kids. Little kids, you know, we jump in this big old pond of mud and we're slapping it all over our face, rubbing our hair all down our backs and we're making these glorious, gooey, mud pies. That's us.