Ambition makes you look pretty ugly Kicking, squealing Gucci little piggy.
I'm an attention freak. I want all the women in the world, and if I don't get them, I fall to the ground and start kicking my feet.
You know, sometimes if you work - if you do a lot of takes and you work long hours, for me, at least, there is a delirium that starts kicking in on the fifteenth hour, and that can help. Below the just thirteenth hour is where I have a concern, because everybody's so tired.
What you've got to realise is that footballers, and me in particular, have seen everything in the changing room. Everything. I've seen the manager kicking off with the players, the players kicking off with him, players fighting each other, managers fighting, everything.
When I was in the 9th grade, on Halloween night, when you're supposed to go and out and burn your city, my mom made me go to 'Cirque du Soleil.' I was kicking and screaming. This girl came out onstage, and I was instantly mesmerized. I dropped out of school and became obsessed with her. I saw the show, like, 70 times.
I grew up in a show business family, so we've always had a great sense of balance, being so close to my parents. I've always known what is and isn't reality. Even my older brothers' early success 10 years ago didn't change me since there was such an age difference.
Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I don't believe you can write poetry, or compose music, or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels inside that fuel creativity.
"What was that technique you were using on those bastards?" "An ancient form called kicking ass."
That Asian guy is really good at kicking. Shocking. Someone is pressing 'A' really fast somewhere.
I forgot how it feel like to have the top of my foot hurt so bad from kicking people on the face.
On the night Test faced the Great One, this is what he'll see... twelve sharpshooters stinging, eleven eyebrows raising, ten spines a'bustin, nine noggins knocking, eight kicks a'kicking, seven punches punching, six suplexes smashing, five seconds of the people chanting The Rock's name... four Rock Bottoms, three People's Elbows, on your two buckteeth, and an ass-kicking all over New Orleans!
Getting dragged, kicking and screaming out of the ring, begging for mercy from whomever it is that fires me, and never be seen again. That's how I wanna go out. Haha, yeah, I don't want any.. hero's goodbye, or a big send off. I don't want a retirement ceremony. That's not how I'm built, I just wanna disappear into the sunset and have people, 'Man, that guy was a jerk. Wow, I'm glad he's gone.'
My father told me never to take my foot off a ladder to kick at someone who was kicking at me. When I did that, I would no longer be climbing. While they are kicking, my father told me, I should keep stepping. They can kick only one time. If I continued to climb, they would be left behind. In trying to hurt me, to impede my progress, they would get left behind because they allowed themselves to get sidetracked from their agenda.
I want to be Jacques Pepin. I want to have a nice 50-, 60-year career. I want to be on PBS when I'm 70-something, still kicking it, having a great time, showing up in Aspen to sign cookbooks. I just want to have a nice, big, long career.
I like to get up and get out. Otherwise you end up kicking about, and it's easy to flick the telly on; then before you know it, it is 11 A.M. and you haven't done anything.
Political correctness will die as it lived - kicking and screaming ad hominem abuse as a substitute for arguments.
I always wondered if those WWJD bracelets worked, so I bought one the other day. Well, a few minutes later, I was on a plane and this little kid was kicking my seat repeatedly, while his sister sang along with her walkman and their mother just sat there. I almost turned around and went off, and then I caught sight of my bracelet. What would Jesus do? So I lit them on fire and sent them all to Hell.
My leg was made for kicking things. Doesn't matter the circumstance, style or formation. It's all about putting your foot on the right spot of the ball and letting your leg velocity do the rest.
It's often been said, "Violence never solved anything." The simple truth is that when you are slammed up against the wall and the knife is at your throat, when a circle of teenagers is kicking you as you curl into a ball on the sidewalk, or when the man walks into your office building or school with a pair of guns and starts shooting, only violence, or the reasonable threat of violence, is going to save your life. In the extreme moment, only force can stop force.
Even if nonpolluting power were feasible and abundant, the use of energy on a massive scale acts on society like a drug that is physically harmless but psychically enslaving. A community can choose between Methadone and "cold turkey"-between maintaining its addiction to alien energy and kicking it in painful cramps-but no society can have a population that is hooked on progressively larger numbers of energy slaves and whose members are also autonomously active.
You are literally filled with the fruit of your own devices, with rats and mice and such small deer, paramecia, and entomostraceæ, and kicking things with horrid names, which you see in microscopes at the Polytechnic, and rush home and call for brandy-without the water-stone, and gravel, and dyspepsia, and fragments of your own muscular tissue tinged with your own bile.
Fighting is art and there is nothing more beautiful than the painted canvas of just totally kicking someone's ass.
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