Flea stared at us, "I can't decide what's worse. Losing family members or not having a family member to lose.
Win and you are the superior being in all the universe; lose, and may the fleas of a million rodents, infect your every orifice.
That woman doesn't have the sense God gave a retarded flea.
The kid makes you sick. He looks the part, he walks the part, he is the part. He's six-foot something, fit as a flea, good-looking - he's got to have something wrong with him....Hopefully he's hung like a hamster! That would make us all feel better!
I'm on the verge of a total breakdown. Sciatica. Taxes. Cars. Fleas, possibly. It's an absurd existence.
A king there was once reigning, Who had a goodly flea, Him loved he without feigning, As his own son were he!
Arguing whether or not a God exists is like fleas arguing whether or not the dog exists. Arguing over the correct name for God is like fleas arguing over the name of the dog. And arguing over whose notion of God is correct is like fleas arguing over who owns the dog.
Team speed for Christ's sake. You got bleeping' bleep bleep little fleas on the bleeping' bases getting picked off, trying to steal, getting thrown out, taking runs away from you. You get some big bleep bleepers that can hit the bleeping ball out of ballpark and you can't make any bleep bleeping mistakes.
Beauty is startling. She wears a gold shawl in the summer and sells seven kinds of honey at the flea market. She is young and old at once, my daughter and my grandmother. In school she excelled in mathematics and poetry. . . Beauty will dance with anyone who is brave enough to ask her.
I just discovered the Santa Monica flea market, every Sunday. I go weekly. There's a lot of interesting things there.
I used to collect frames. I've been collecting accessories since I was 11-years-old, creeping around flea markets and sales and everything. Whenever I saw unusual eyeglass frames, I bought them.
He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. "Fleas?" I said.
Oh God almighty, another Detroit monster is Chad Smith of the Chili Peppers. Their music is intoxicating between Flea and Chad Smith. They're contemporary because they're still making good records, but I don't think there's anything new that has a groove and soulfulness. The Chili Peppers just stink of soul-and that's the ultimate compliment. They continue what James Brown created.
A culture cannot lie down with dogs and not become utterly infested with fleas. The dogs, in this case, are the mongrel media and the corporate overlords who have grown fat on manufactured controversy and fear mongering.
I don't trust happiness. I turn it over as if it were a glass at a flea market or a rug at a souk, looking for chipped rims or loose threads.
A blind, anemic, weak-kneed flea on crutches would have a greater chance of defeating a herd of a thousand wild stampeding elephants, than the enemy has of defeating God.
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