Cheapskates Quotes

I met a real looker. He picked me up at the two dollar slot machines, so you know he's no cheapskate." Grandma Mazur

Hey, great idea: if you have kids, give your partner reading vouchers next Christmas. Each voucher entitles the bearer to two hours' reading time *while the kids are awake*. It might look like a cheapskate present, but parents will appreciate that it costs more in real terms than a Lamborghini.

Cheapskates...are too self-confident - and frankly too smart - to spend money on things they don't need and probably don't even want, simply to impress others or just because they can.

Free food!" mumbled Hamilton, his mouth full. "No wonder you're rich. You don't have to pay for anything." "Since when is it free?" Jonah demanded. "If I don't leave a big tip, it'll be all over Europe that the Wiz is a cheapskate! They'll seat me behind the sound-man from the penguin movie at the Oscars!

To quote Gandhi yet again, "If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.

If you're looking for something more in life, you're likely to find it in something less.

Penny for your thoughts,' asked Gwen. 'Cheapskate,' said Ianto. 'Never heard of inflation? Thoughts are a bit pricier than that these days.' 'OK,' said Gwen. 'A pint down the local tomorrow for your thoughts.' Ianto smiled. 'That's more like it.

You can’t just come out and say what you have to say. That’s what people do on airplanes, when a man plops down next to you in the aisle seat of your flight to New York, spills peanuts all over the place (back when the cheapskate airlines at least gave you peanuts), and tells you about what his boss did to him the day before. You know how your eyes glaze over when you hear a story like that? That’s because of the way he’s telling his story. You need a good way to tell your story.

Well,’ I tried, ‘I suppose it’s the thought that counts.’ ‘Yes. He thought we wouldn’t notice he’s a complete cheapskate

Next to the defeated politician, the writer is the most vocal and inventive griper on earth. He sees hardship and unfairness wherever he looks. His agent doesn’t love him (enough). The blank sheet of paper is an enemy. The publisher is a cheapskate. The critic is a philistine. The public doesn’t understand him. His wife doesn’t understand him. The bartender doesn’t understand him.

Next to the defeated politician, the writer is the most vocal and inventive griper on earth. He sees hardship and unfairness wherever he looks. His agent doesn’t love him (enough). The blank sheet of paper is an enemy. The publisher is a cheapskate. The critic is a philistine. The public doesn’t understand him. His wife doesn’t understand him. The bartender doesn’t understand him. These are only some of the common complaints of working writers, but I have yet to hear any of them bring up the most fundamental gripe of all: the lifelong, horrifying expense involved in getting out the words. This may come as a surprise to many of you who assume that a writer’s equipment is limited to paper and pencils and a bottle of whiskey, and maybe one tweed sports coat for interviews. It goes far beyond that. The problem from which all other problems spring is that writing takes up the time that could otherwise be spent earning a living. The most humble toiler on Wall Street makes more in a month than ninety percent of writers make in a year. A beggar on the street, seeing a writer shuffling toward him, will dig deep into his rags to see if he can spare a dime. . . .

Suddenly the air got colder, and a black cloud appeared - the black cloud that you saw before, since Snodrog was, at bottom, a cheapskate. Only this time the cloud looked like an overdone hamburger, and it hovered low over the Shuffly's head. Then Snodrog's devious machine spread under the Shuffly's unsuspecting feet a glistening patina of Generalizations, and the immobilized hulk slid the hill into the valley below, ricocheting off trees with a sound like wet sponges being slapped on kitchen sinks.

We as humans only learn through failure and if you fail along the way, take note of it then move on. This only gets easier as time goes on.

Rich people are notoriously cheap.

no task is so simple that, with sufficient effort, it can’t be made complicated—this

My heart in my throat and my soul flying, I whisper, “Ten carats? So tiny. God, you’re a cheapskate, gangster.” He hugs me, hard, kissing the top of my head, my earlobe, my neck. Into my ear he says softly, “Marry me.” Of course it had to be a command, not a question. My voice cracks when I answer. “Let me get a look at this tiny ring first. I’ll let you know in a minute.

Hallorann pushed the button that lowered the passenger side window and hollered: “Those avocados is too damn high, you cheapskate!” Masterton looked back over his shoulder, grinned widely enough to expose all three gold teeth, and yelled back, “And I know exactly where you can put em, my good buddy.” “Remarks like that I keep track of, bro.” Masterton gave him the finger.

She's nowt spesh, didn't even have any ornaments. All her walls were painted white, no wallpaper, just black and white photos in black frames, big things they were. There was no carpet on the floor, bare floorboards and she could only afford to have one flower in a vase. Who buys just one flower Lil? Bit of a cheapskate if you ask me. All top show and no knickers, I reckon.

Local Girl Missing, Feared Dead. Beneath it was a photo of me-my most recent school photo. “Oh, no.” My heart filling with dread, I took the paper from Mr. Smith’s hands. “Couldn’t they have found a better picture?” Mr. Smith looked at me sharply. “Miss Oliviera,” he said, his gray eyebrows lowered. “I realize it’s all the rage with you young people today to toss off flippant one-liners so you can get your own reality television shows. But I highly doubt MTV will be coming down to Isla Huesos to film you in the Underworld. So that can’t be all you have to say about this.” He was right, of course. Though I couldn’t say what I really wanted to, because John was in the room, and I didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. But what I wanted to do was burst into tears. “Is that about Pierce?” John looked uneasy. Outside, thunder rumbled again. This time, it sounded even closer than before. “Yes, of course, it is, John,” Mr. Smith said. There was something strange about his voice. He sounded almost as if he were mad at John. Only why would he be? John had done the right thing. He’d explained about the Furies. “What did you expect? Have you gotten to the part about the reward your father is offering for information leading to your safe return, Miss Oliviera?” My gaze flicked down the page. I wanted to throw up. “One million dollars?” My dad’s company, one of the largest providers in the world of products and services to the oil, gas, and military industries, was valued at several hundred times that. “That cheapskate.” This was all so very, very bad. “One million dollars is a lot of money to most people.” Mr. Smith said, with a strong emphasis on most people. He still had that odd note in his voice. “Though I recognize that money may mean little to a resident of the Underworld. So I’d caution you to use judiciousness, wherever it is that you’re going, as there are many people on this island who’ll be more than willing to turn you in for only a small portion of that reward money. I don’t suppose I might ask where you’re going? Or suggest that you pay a call on your mother, who is beside herself with worry?” “That’s a good idea,” I said. Why hadn’t I thought of it? I felt much better already. I could straighten out this whole thing with a single conversation. “I should call my mom-“ Both Mr. Smith’s cry of alarm and the fact that John grabbed me by the wrist as I was reaching into my book bag for my cell phone stopped me from making calls of any sort. “You can’t use you phone,” Mr. Smith said. “The police-and your father-are surely waiting for you to do just that. They’ll triangulate on the signal from the closest cell tower, and find you.” When I stared at him for his use of the word triangulate, Mr. Smith shook his head and said, “My partner, Patrick, is obsessed with Law & Order reruns.

Sometimes I try to imagine how I'd be if I were Polish or Russian instead of Moroccan ... Maybe I'd do ice dancing, but not in those cheapskate local competitions where you win chocolate medals and T-shirts. No, real ice skating, like in the Olympics, with the most beautiful classical music, guys from all over the world who judge your performance like they do at school, and whole stadiums to cheer even if you go splat like a steak.

45 Mercy Street In my dream, drilling into the marrow of my entire bone, my real dream, I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill searching for a street sign - namely MERCY STREET. Not there. I try the Back Bay. Not there. Not there. And yet I know the number. 45 Mercy Street. I know the stained-glass window of the foyer, the three flights of the house with its parquet floors. I know the furniture and mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, the servants. I know the cupboard of Spode the boat of ice, solid silver, where the butter sits in neat squares like strange giant's teeth on the big mahogany table. I know it well. Not there. Where did you go? 45 Mercy Street, with great-grandmother kneeling in her whale-bone corset and praying gently but fiercely to the wash basin, at five A.M. at noon dozing in her wiggy rocker, grandfather taking a nap in the pantry, grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid, and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower on her forehead to cover the curl of when she was good and when she was... And where she was begat and in a generation the third she will beget, me, with the stranger's seed blooming into the flower called Horrid. I walk in a yellow dress and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes, enough pills, my wallet, my keys, and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five? I walk. I walk. I hold matches at street signs for it is dark, as dark as the leathery dead and I have lost my green Ford, my house in the suburbs, two little kids sucked up like pollen by the bee in me and a husband who has wiped off his eyes in order not to see my inside out and I am walking and looking and this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime. Pull the shades down - I don't care! Bolt the door, mercy, erase the number, rip down the street sign, what can it matter, what can it matter to this cheapskate who wants to own the past that went out on a dead ship and left me only with paper? Not there. I open my pocketbook, as women do, and fish swim back and forth between the dollars and the lipstick. I pick them out, one by one and throw them at the street signs, and shoot my pocketbook into the Charles River. Next I pull the dream off and slam into the cement wall of the clumsy calendar I live in, my life, and its hauled up notebooks.

broke” Hillary to hit the Wall Street speech circuit, lending her 2008 campaign $13 million of her own money had turned Hillary in 2016 into both a cheapskate and a ravenous fund-raiser.

That night, though, Mom was getting things ready for a party at the restaurant, so I had to bum a ride with Jack and Julie. Jack said they didn’t need a chaperon, but it was just talk. He always helped me when it mattered. While we were waiting for Julie, I asked him about the one detail that was bothering me. “I’m supposed to meet her there,” I said. “Do I meet her inside the gym or outside?” “Do you have a date or not?” “More or less.” Jack grinned and shook his head. “Well, it’s not that simple,” I told him. “She can’t go out on dates, so she’s coming with her parents, and I’m supposed to meet her.” Jack broke out laughing. “You’re singing the freshman blues again, Eddie. Everything ends up half-baked.” “So where do I meet her on a half-baked date?” “Inside,” he said. “That way you won’t have to pay for her ticket.” “I don’t want to look like a cheapskate.” “Why hide the truth? Besides, her parents are bringing her, right? You don’t want to meet her father, do you?” “I don’t know.” “Look, he’ll just shake your hand and give you a dirty look. That’s what freshman girls’ fathers always do.” “Really?” “So save the hassle and the money. Wait inside.” I ended up waiting right inside the door. When Wendy and her father came in, she was careful to keep things looking casual. She pretended not to notice me at first, then said, “Oh, hi, Eddie,” and introduced me to her father as a boy in her algebra class. He shook my hand and gave me a dirty look. For a minute I thought the three of us would end up sitting together, but her father decided not to join us in the student rooting section. Wendy and I found an empty bench in the bleachers and were alone for twenty or thirty seconds before two of her friends came along, then three of mine. Then some friends of theirs. And finally Wayne Parks squeezed into a spot on the bench behind us. All through the game he kept leaning forward and making comments like “Where’s the ref keep his Seeing Eye dog during the game?” Even if Wendy and I hadn’t had an audience, we couldn’t have done much talking. During every time-out the Los Cedros Spirit Band, sitting three rows behind us, blasted us off the benches with fight songs. To top things off, Wendy’s father sat across the aisle and stared at us all night. And the Los Cedros Panthers blew a six-point lead in the final minute and lost the game at the buzzer. Before Wendy and I had our coats on, her father showed up beside us, mumbled, “Nice to meet you, Willy,” and led her away. The night could have been worse, I guess. I didn’t break an ankle or choke on my popcorn or rip my pants. But I had a hard time being thankful for those small favors.

him. I can do business on my own. So I came in to Newcastle. But it’s the same story. Cheapskates.’ She eyed him carefully, as though weighing his usefulness to her. ‘I want to go to London. There is more money there. And I want some introductions.’ Charlie took a deep breath. She wasn’t pulling any punches. But then, she was from Russland. He’d heard that the Russian police were more often than not involved in the rackets themselves. He hesitated, glanced at Elaine Start meaningfully, and nodded. She shook her head in disapproval, but when he frowned at her she murmured something into the recording device, and then switched off the tape. She folded her arms over her splendid breasts, demonstrating her disagreement. He dragged his eyes away from temptation and turned back to Ludmila Paderewski, or whatever her name really was. He didn’t

Are you recycling the speech from Ethan’s wedding? Dude, if you can’t remember how to string a few sentences together, you should’ve hired someone else to write you a new one, cheapskate.

The cheapskates next door never succumbed to the wave of “debtor dementia” that has swept across America in recent generations. I define debtor dementia as “a semidelusional state commonly triggered by assuming a home mortgage or other large debt.” It’s the body’s way of protecting that portion of the human brain that deals with rational thinking. Because of the size and scope of the transaction, the dollars involved seem like Monopoly money and the idea that you’ll ever live to see the loan paid off seems like a fairy tale. Pretty soon, taking out a home equity loan or racking up a few grand on a credit card you can’t pay off seems to make perfect sense. As

Buy Ketchup in May and Fly at Noon: A Guide to the Best Time to Buy This, Do That and Go There, by Mark Di Vincenzo.

the wine of choice for cheapskates is the second-cheapest wine on the list.

The trouble with the profit system has always been that it was highly unprofitable to most people. —E. B. White

I was doing my solo routine for requests one night, and an old geezer who’d won a bundle at the racetrack that day came in with a doll who could have been his granddaughter but obviously was not. They danced over to the piano in a spastic flutter, cheek-to-cheek, and the old boy waved a dollar bill at me and asked if I could play “I Love You Truly.” I just stared at him and shook my head negatively. He was startled and the young girl slapped his hand with the dollar, knocking it into the top hat, and she shouted, “How dare you insult him with a dollar, you cheapskate!” Then she grabbed a twenty-dollar bill out of the bundle that protruded from his breast pocket and dropped it in my lap. “Hey, wait a minute,” I called. “Did you say ‘I Love You Truly’?” and I played the first few bars haltingly, as though striving to recall them. He nodded vigorously, and I went ahead with the tune

At last, the shoes were the right gift. No, of course they weren’t. They didn’t have a specific label on the box. They hadn’t been made by the right company. They weren’t the six-hundred-quid pair she’d mentioned. More like eighteen-ninety-nine from fucking Shoe Zone. Cheapskate twats.

Never marry a man whose mother gifts you flimsy jewellery on the pretext of fashion,” Mr. Mehra had advised her. “She’s either a cheapskate or she doesn’t like you.

When I'd asked her about what she might like to happen after she died, she said, "I plan to die on trash night, so I can be put out in a Hefty bag." Also, she was a cheapskate: She disapproved of spending on the dead what could go to the living.

Personally I’m just disinterested in my appearance in general, and clothing and clothes shopping specifically. That’s probably not always a good thing, even for me.

For me, cooking is one of the greatest joys in life,” cheapskate Becky Connor told me. “It’s so rewarding to know that you made this meal yourself, and think about how much more it would have cost you in a restaurant.

I went in for some hot dogs, and walked out with a hot tub.

Roughly one-third of those polled swear by the use of coupons; one-third vehemently opposes the use of coupons; and the last third say they occasionally use coupons. It’s like the Civil War out there, only there are three sides and it’s even bloodier.

My great-grandmother so preferred the crustiness of the bread she grew up eating in Czechoslovakia that when she moved to this country she’d let her store-bought American-style bread go stale before she ate it.

Beverages—both alcoholic and otherwise—are typically marked up 300 to 600 percent or more by dining establishments

cheapskate family of four saves roughly $3,000 a year by cooking nearly all of its meals at home. Invest that savings as your kids are growing up, and even at a 5-percent rate of return you’ll have about $100,000 in their college fund by the time they enroll.

We can choose a date. Now we just have to get that cheapskate bustard to settle on the terms.” Angamma never swears but often says things that sound close.

Almost as soon as I became interim chair I began to notice the ways that the Hillary campaign seemed not to respect the DNC and its staff. I had to beg the campaign to hire two buses to bring up the staff to Philadelphia to celebrate the nomination. Cheapskates. They were sitting on close to half a billion dollars.

The easiest dollar you’ll ever earn is the one you’ve already earned and don’t lose or waste.

If you can’t afford to pay for it now, you simply can’t afford it. “If

Will Rogers once said, “Too many people spend money they haven’t earned, to buy things they don’t want, to impress people they don’t like.

If a person lives frugally and acts in a cheap manner, isn't the person living a redundant life?