Chris Rock Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Chris Rock. Here they are! All 100 of them:

You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named "Bush", "Dick", and "Colin." Need I say more?
Chris Rock
Comedy is the blues for people who can’t sing.
Chris Rock
Only dumb people try to impress smart people. Smart people just do what they do.
Chris Rock
You know, some people say life is short and that you could get hit by a bus at any moment and that you have to live each day like it's your last. Bullshit. Life is long. You're probably not gonna get hit by a bus. And you're gonna have to live with the choices you make for the next fifty years.
Chris Rock
Yeah, I love being famous. It's almost like being white, y'know?
Chris Rock
I don't get high, but sometimes I wish I did. That way, when I messed up in life I would have an excuse. But right now there's no rehab for stupidity.
Chris Rock
We got so much food in America we're allergic to food. Allergic to food! Hungry people ain't allergic to shit. You think anyone in Rwanda's got a fucking lactose intolerance?!
Chris Rock
If you can keep your son off the pipe and your daughter off the pole, you're ahead of the game.
Chris Rock
Men are as faithful as their options.
Chris Rock
Wealth is not about having a lot of money; it's about having a lot of options.
Chris Rock
If you're black, you got to look at America a little bit different. You got to look at America like the uncle who paid for you to go to college, but who molested you.
Chris Rock
You cannot win in a fight against women, cause men have a need to make sense
Chris Rock
Women need food, water, and compliments That's right. And an occasional pair of shoes.
Chris Rock
I do what I can do when I can do it.
Chris Rock
I used to work at McDonald's making minimum wage. You know what that means when someone pays you minimum wage? You know what your boss was trying to say? "Hey if I could pay you less, I would, but it's against the law.
Chris Rock
You don’t need no gun control, you know what you need? We need some bullet control. Men, we need to control the bullets, that’s right. I think all bullets should cost five thousand dollars… five thousand dollars per bullet… You know why? Cause if a bullet cost five thousand dollars there would be no more innocent bystanders. Yeah! Every time somebody get shut we’d say, ‘Damn, he must have done something ... Shit, he’s got fifty thousand dollars worth of bullets in his ass.’ And people would think before they killed somebody if a bullet cost five thousand dollars. ‘Man I would blow your fucking head off…if I could afford it.’ ‘I’m gonna get me another job, I’m going to start saving some money, and you’re a dead man. You’d better hope I can’t get no bullets on layaway.’ So even if you get shot by a stray bullet, you wouldn't have to go to no doctor to get it taken out. Whoever shot you would take their bullet back, like "I believe you got my property.
Chris Rock
Only a woman can make you feel wrong for doing something right.
Chris Rock
It wasn't an excuse. It was a fact. He'd had to make his way alone, and no one—not rock stars, not professional athletes, not software billionaires, and not even geniuses — ever makes it alone.
Malcolm Gladwell (Outliers: The Story of Success)
Men lie the most, women tell the biggest lies.
Chris Rock
You can only offend me if you mean something to me.
Chris Rock
Anyone who makes up their mind about an issue before they hear the issue is a fool.
Chris Rock
Do you know? What the fuck do women want? l know what you want: everything.
Chris Rock
You don’t need no gun control, you know what you need? We need some bullet control. Men, we need to control the bullets, that’s right. I think all bullets should cost five thousand dollars… five thousand dollars per bullet… You know why? Cause if a bullet cost five thousand dollars there would be no more innocent bystanders.
Chris Rock
If a woman tells you she's twenty and looks sixteen, she's twelve. If she tells you she's twenty-six and looks twenty-six, she's damn near forty.
Chris Rock
Only married people understand you can be miserable and happy at the same time.
Chris Rock
When I hear people talk about juggling, or the sacrifices they make for their children, I look at them like they're crazy, because 'sacrifice' infers that there was something better to do than being with your children.
Chris Rock
I live in a neighborhood so bad that you can get shot while getting shot.
Chris Rock
You don't pay taxes-they take taxes.
Chris Rock
When you meet somebody for the first time, you're not meeting them, you're meeting their representative.
Chris Rock
But I am not impressed with America’s progress. I am not impressed that slavery was abolished or that Jim Crow ended. I feel no need to pat America on its back for these “achievements.” This is how it always should have been. Many call it progress, but I do not consider it praiseworthy that only within the last generation did America reach the baseline for human decency. As comedian Chris Rock says, I suppose these things were progress for white people, but damn. I hope there is progress I can sincerely applaud on the horizon. Because the extrajudicial killing of Black people is still too familiar. Because the racist rhetoric that Black people are lazier, more criminal, more undeserving than white people is still too familiar. Because the locking up of a disproportionate number of Black bodies is still too familiar. Because the beating of Black people in the streets is still too familiar. History is collapsing on itself once again.
Austin Channing Brown (I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness)
You got a gun, you don't have to work out.
Chris Rock
Gay people got a right to be as miserable as everyone else.
Chris Rock
بعضهم يقول إن الحياة قصيرة، وأنك قد تموت في حادث سيارة في أي لحظة، فعليك أن تعيش كل يوم كأنه آخر أيامك. هذا هراء. الحيـاة طويلة. ومن المحتمل جداً أنك لا تموت في حادث سيارة، وعندها عليك أن تعيش مع نتائج خياراتك لمدة خمسين عاماً
Chris Rock
Charlie Brown is the one person I identify with. C.B. is such a loser. He wasn't even the star of his own Halloween special.
Chris Rock
I've seen women who don't have great relationships with their dads, and it all comes down to this: You have to tell girls you love them every day.
Chris Rock
Every town has the same two malls: the one white people go to and the one white people used to go to.
Chris Rock
There are only three things women need in life: food, water, and compliments.
Chris Rock
Chris Rock observed, “This is the first society in history where the poor people are fat.
Steven Pinker (Enlightenment Now: The Case for Reason, Science, Humanism, and Progress)
Now that I have children, I realize taking care of my children is more fun than anything in the whole world.
Chris Rock
Comedians tend to find a comfort zone and stay there and do lamer versions of themselves for the rest of their career.
Chris Rock
If your work is so smart that only smart people get it, it’s not that smart.
Chris Rock
Are they real fires? Or are people just reacting to something? Just because there’s an alarm going doesn’t mean it’s a fire. And I think that people are confusing the two. It’s only a fire when it offends the fans, and the fans turn on you. Tosh has fans, and they get the joke. If you’ve watched enough Tracy Morgan, you let the worst thing go by. When did Tracy Morgan become Walter Cronkite? You have to mean something to me to offend me. You can’t break up with me if we don’t date.
Chris Rock
A sense of humor is great - it goes a long, long way in a marriage.
Chris Rock
Black people dominate sports in the United States. 20% of the population and 90% of the final four.
Chris Rock
School shootings were invented by blacks... and stolen by the white man.
Chris Rock
ALL THOSE GOOD COPS YALL LOVE BRINGING UP WHEN YOU SAY NOT ALL COPS ARE BAD SEEM TO NEVER BE AROUND WHEN THEIR COMRADES ARE KILLING INNOCENT PEOPLE
Chris Rock
Have you seen that Chris Rock movie about hair?’ No, I haven’t seen that Chris Rock movie about hair. I don’t need to see a Chris Rock movie about black hair when I have my own head of black hair for reference. But if I had $1 for every white person who has asked me if I’ve seen that movie and then proceeded to educate me on the problems with my own damn hair and the black hair industry I’d have enough money to keep myself in Indian Remy for life.
Ijeoma Oluo (So You Want to Talk About Race)
The movies, I thought, have got the soundtrack to war all wrong. War isn't rock 'n' roll. It's got nothing to do with Jimi Hendrix or Richard Wagner. War is nursery rhymes and early Madonna tracks. War is the music from your childhood. Because war, when it's not making you kill or be killed, turns you into an infant. For the past eight days, I'd been living like a five-year-old — a nonexistence of daytime naps, mushy food, and lavatory breaks. My adult life was back in Los Angeles with my dirty dishes and credit card bills.
Chris Ayres (War Reporting for Cowards)
Doing something really profound and personal is bigger than a fad. It's not some passing fancy. It's always number one.
Chris Rock (Rock This!)
Everyone has favorite criminals. Mine are pimps. We can all rob a bank; we can all sell drugs. Being a pimp is a whole other thing.
Chris Rock
If a homeless person has a funny sign, he hasn't been homeless for that long. A real homeless person is too hungry to be funny.
Chris Rock
90% of U.S. mass shootings are committed by white people aged 14-56. For some reason I've never ONCE heard a white person called a terrorist.
Chris Rock
Only women, children, and dogs are loved unconditionally whereas men are loved conditionally (, - and that's not right.)
Chris Rock
Chris Cornell: I think Pearl Jam was the band that set the perfect example. Their big video, "Jeremy," propelled them into becoming TV stars and one of the biggest rock bands on the planet, so they stopped making videos, which was proof positive that that wasn't where they wanted to be. And that made a lot of sense to me. Nirvana doing an Unplugged at the same time that they did it and making a video for "Heart-Shaped Box," that didn't make a lot of sense to me, because it seemed clear to me that Kurt was pretty disillusioned by the situation that he was being put in. It felt like, If he's so unhappy, he shouldn't be doing this kind of stuff.
Mark Yarm (Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge)
Anything you can suck at should make you nervous.
Chris Rock
We are mortal. Nothing that touches us or we touch here is forever. Even rocks are rubbed small by the river.
Chris Bohjalian (Hour of the Witch)
A man is only as faithful as his options
Chris Rock
It's the times. Young people these days." "No respect for their elders. The way they throw rocks at our houses." "We used to throw rocks." "Yeah, but we did it respectively.
Chris Willrich (Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #261 (Tenth Anniversary Month Double-Issue I))
It was an admission of defeat. ... He knew he needed to do a better job of navigating the world, but he didn't know how. He couldn't even talk to his calculus teacher, for goodness' sake. These were things that others, with lesser minds, could master easily. But that's because those others had had help along the way, and Chris Langan never had. It wasn't an excuse. It was a fact. He'd had to make his way alone, and no one--not even rock stars, not professional athletes, not software billionaires, and not even geniuses--ever makes it alone.
Malcolm Gladwell (Outliers: The Story of Success)
His mouth comes down on mine, harder now, more demanding, a raw, hungry need in him rising to the surface. “You belong to me,” he growls. “Say it.” “Yes. Yes, I belong to you.” His mouth finds mine again, demanding, taking, drawing me under his spell. “Say it again,” he demands, nipping my lip, squeezing my breast and nipple, and sending a ripple of pleasure straight to my sex. “I belong to you,” I pant. He lifts me off the ground with the possessive curve of his hand around my backside, angling my hips to thrust harder, deeper. “Again,” he orders, driving into me, his cock hitting the farthest point of me and blasting against sensitive nerve endings. “Oh … ah … I … I belong to you.” His mouth dips low, his hair tickling my neck, his teeth scraping my shoulders at the same moment he pounds into me and the world spins around me, leaving nothing but pleasure and need and more need. I am suddenly hot only where he touches, and freezing where I yearn to be touched. Lifting my leg, I shackle his hip, ravenous beyond measure, climbing to the edge of bliss, reaching for it at the same time I’m trying desperately to hold back. Chris is merciless, wickedly wild, grinding and rocking, pumping. “I love you, Sara,” he confesses hoarsely, taking my mouth, swallowing the shallow, hot breath I release, and punishing me with a hard thrust that snaps the last of the lightly held control I possess. Possessing me. A fire explodes low in my belly and spirals downward, seizing my muscles, and I begin to spasm around his shaft, trembling with the force of my release. With a low growl, his muscles ripple beneath my touch and his cock pulses, his hot semen spilling inside me. We moan together, lost in the climax of a roller-coaster ride of pain and pleasure, spanning days apart, and finally collapse in a heap and just lie there. Slowly, I let my leg ease from his hip to the ground, and Chris rolls me to my side to face him. Still inside me, he holds me close, pulling the jacket up around my back, trailing fingers over my jaw. “And I belong to you.
Lisa Renee Jones (Being Me (Inside Out, #2))
Who's judging American Idol? Paula Abdul? Paula Abdul judging a singing contest is like Christopher Reeve judging a dance contest!
Chris Rock
Why are you all looking at me like I want to take my pet rock for a walk?" Conner asked.
Chris Colfer (The Enchantress Returns (The Land of Stories, #2))
As Chris Rock famously put it: “Do you know what it means when someone pays you minimum wage? I would pay you less, but it’s against the law.
Malcolm Harris (Kids These Days: Human Capital and the Making of Millennials)
He said I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war, if you can tell me something worth fighting for. Oh and I'm gonna buy this place, that's what I said. Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head
Chris Martin
It’s like that Greek dude who keeps pushing the rock up the hill over and over.
Chris Philbrook (Dark Recollections (Adrian's Undead Diary, #1))
The moral of the story is if some stupid idiot is trying to push you around, don't be afraid to show some attitude, stand your ground, and rock them like a hurricane.
chris jerico
The moral of the story is if some stupid idiot is trying to push you around, don't be afraid to show some attitude, stand your ground, and rock them like a hurricane.
Chris Jericho (No Is a Four-Letter Word: How I Failed Spelling but Succeeded in Life)
Cheers fur listenin, ladies an gentlemen. We’ve been Huns an Roses. Ayrshire’s original and best loyalist rock band! Goodnight!
Chris McQueer (HWFG: Here We F**king Go)
Conscious realism contends, to the contrary, that no physical object is conscious. If I see a rock, then that rock is part of my conscious experience, but the rock itself is not conscious. When I see my friend Chris, I experience an icon that I create, but that icon itself is not conscious. My Chris-icon opens a small portal into the rich world of conscious agents; a smiling icon, for instance, suggests a happy agent. When I see a rock, I also interact with conscious agents, but my rock-icon offers no insight, no portal, into their experiences.
Donald D. Hoffman (The Case Against Reality: Why Evolution Hid the Truth from Our Eyes)
pole. I can’t have my girls on the pole, man. Chris Rock was right. I got a mission in life now and it’s keeping my baby girls away from skeevy dudes who go to strip clubs.” “You used to go to strip clubs.” “Exactly. No way I want my baby girls around any dude like me. Or you. Or Alex’s kid. I see the way he looks at my girls.” Tag eyed him as though sizing him up.
Lexi Blake (Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9))
Everybody's so busy wanting to be down with the gang. "I'm conservative", "I'm liberal", "I'm conservative". Bullshit! Be a fucking person! Lis-ten! Let it swirl around your head. Then form your opinion. No normal, decent person is one thing, okay? I've got some shit I'm conservative about, I've got some shit I'm liberal about. Crime, I'm conservative. Prostitution, I'm liberal!
Chris Rock
What would you like to bet on that? A thousand?” “A thousand dollars?” Tag nodded. “Yes. I have to go big. Have you seen what college costs these days? I have to make sure those girls get into Ivy League schools or they’ll end up on the pole. I can’t have my girls on the pole, man. Chris Rock was right. I got a mission in life now and it’s keeping my baby girls away from skeevy dudes who go to strip clubs.
Lexi Blake (Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9))
Chris loved to look at every type of plant, animal, and bug he hadn’t seen before on the trail and point out those he did recognize. He enjoyed walking along small streams, listening to the water as it traveled, and searching for eddies where we could watch the minnows scurry amongst the rocks. On one Shenandoah trip, while we were resting at a waterfall, eating our chocolate-covered granola bars and watching the water pummel the rocks below, he said, “See, Carine ? That’s the purity of nature. It may be harsh in its honesty, but it never lies to you”. Chris seemed to be most comfortable outdoors, and the farther away from the typical surroundings and pace of our everyday lives the better. While it was unusual for a solid week to pass without my parents having an argument that sent them into a negative tailspin of destruction and despair, they never got into a fight of any consequence when we were on an extended family hike or camping trip. It seemed like everything became centered and peaceful when there was no choice but to make nature the focus. Our parents’ attention went to watching for blaze marks on trees ; staying on the correct trail ; doling out bug spray, granola bars, sandwiches, and candy bars at proper intervals ; and finding the best place to pitch the tent before nightfall. They taught us how to properly lace up our hiking boots and wear the righ socks to keep our feet healthy and reliable. They showed us which leaves were safe to use as toilet paper and which would surely make us miserable downtrail. We learned how to purify water for our canteens if we hadn’t found a safe spring and to be smart about conserving what clean water we had left. At night we would collect rocks to make a fire ring, dry wood to burn, and long twigs for roasting marshmallows for the s’more fixings Mom always carried in her pack. Dad would sing silly, non-sensical songs that made us laugh and tell us about the stars.
Carine McCandless (The Wild Truth: A Memoir)
I know some of you must be thinking, This is a preposterous and thinly veiled attempt to obscure the use of relaxers, weaves, and lace fronts. Trust me on this one: Unless she tells you otherwise herself, every black woman’s hair, though it may change dramatically from day to day in ways that defy nature, is absolutely her God-given, though possibly magically altered, hair. White people: Do not broach this topic. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen the Chris Rock documentary Good Hair. Like your favorite movie Frozen suggests, “Let It Go.
Justin Simien (Dear White People: A Guide to Inter-Racial Harmony in "Post-Racial" America)
Chris Rock, Cast Member: How can anyone hate the guy? A lot of people have problems with Lorne. A lot of people I've met from the show come from these great backgrounds, and they're not used to working for people. And you know he hired you to work for him, there's no working with. You're only working with if you count the money at the end of the night. Otherwise you're working for. And when you're working for somebody, you're going to have to do shit you don't want to do. And sometimes they're not going to talk to you. And that's what working for people is.
Tom Shales (Live from New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live)
He said only, “Bad people. Some very bad people.” Uncle Chris’s mouth flattened into a small, thin line. Then he nodded crisply. He knew all about bad people. John was speaking in a language he understood. “Is it drugs?” Uncle Chris asked, in a hushed voice. I looked at John, in his black jeans and T-shirt, with his long dark hair, and studded leather wristbands. I could see why Uncle Chris had asked. To someone of his generation, it would have to be either drugs, or…well, a rock band. John gave me a barely perceptible shake of his head. No, his eyes begged me. Don’t. “Yes,” I said, glancing back at Uncle Chris. “It’s drugs.” John’s gaze instantly rolled towards the sky. “Piercey,” Uncle Chris said, exhaling gustily and dragging a hand through his hair. “We talked about this. I thought you were the one I didn’t have to worry about.” We had talked about something along those lines, I remembered, outside this very house, the night before Jade was killed. But it had been about Uncle Chris giving me driving lessons. I didn’t recall drugs being mentioned. “Well,” I said. “Things are a little messed up right now. That’s why we’re here. I wanted to make sure Alex is okay.” “Alex?” Uncle Chris threw me a look of alarm. “Don’t tell me Alex is doing drugs.” I could see now why John had been against lying about the drugs thing. I’d thought it would simplify things. But it was only making them worse. “He’s not,” I said quickly. If Alex got out of all this alive, he was going to kill me.
Meg Cabot (Underworld (Abandon, #2))
You aren’t doing it to me. I’m not falling into that trap.” “What would you like to bet on that? A thousand?” “A thousand dollars?” Tag nodded. “Yes. I have to go big. Have you see what college costs these days? I have to make sure those girls get into Ivy League schools or they’ll end up on the pole. I can’t have my girls on the pole, man. Chris Rock was right. I got a mission in life now and it’s keeping my baby girls away from skeevy dudes who go to strip clubs.” “You go to strip clubs.” “Exacty. No way I want my baby girls around any dude like me. Or you. Or Alex’s kid. I see the way he looks at my girls.” Tag eyed him as though sizing him up. It made Ten nervous. Tag slapped the table. “Two thousand. I bet you two grand you’re getting married at the end of this. Come on, man.
Lexi Blake (Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9))
With little effort, he rolled his late lover off the edge of the cliff and watched, grimacing, when her dainty body bounced off a rocky outcropping. True, he planned on packing her back to France, or to another of his associates. And true, he didn't see her death as a great loss, but he wouldn't have wished her bashed on the rocks, even in death. However, this was the most expedient way to rid himself of an inconveniently dead mistress.
Chris Karlsen (Silk (The Bloodstone, #1))
[Phone interview transcript between author Roorda & Vershawn A. Young, author of Your Average Nigga: Performing Race, Literacy, and Masculinity, a book based on his Ph.D dissertation] Now the subtitle, Performing Race, Literacy, and Masculinity, what does that cover? It covers the range of enactments in speech, in dress, in the way we behave, the way that we interact with other people. Basically, it is the range of enactments that black people have to go through to be successful in America. I call it the burden of racial performance that black people are required, not only by whites but by other blacks as well, to prove through their behaviors, their speech, and their actions the kind of black person that they are. Really, there are only two kinds you can be. In the words of comedian Chris Rock, you can either be a black person, which is a respectable, bourgeois, middle-class black person, or you can be a nigger. As Chris Rock says in his show, "I love black people, but I hate niggers." So . . . when a black person walks into a room, always in the other person's mind is the question "What kind of black person is this in front of me?" They are looking for clues in your speech, in your demeanor, in your behavior, and in everything that you do -- it is like they are hyperattentive to your ways of being in order to say, "Okay, this is a real black person. I can trust them. I'll let them work here. Or, nope: this is a nigger, look at the spelling of their name: Shaniqua or Daquandre." We get discriminated against based on our actions. So that is what the subtitle was trying to suggest in performing race. And in performing literacy, just what is the prescribed means for increasing our class status? A mind-set: "Okay, black people, you guys have no excuse. You can go to school and get an education like everybody else." I wanted to pay attention to the ways in which school perpetuated a structural racism through literacy, the way in which it sort of stigmatizes and oppresses blackness in a space where it claims it is opening up opportunities for black people.
Rhonda M. Roorda (In Their Voices: Black Americans on Transracial Adoption)
That spring everyone in Judy Chicago’s class collaborated on a 24 hour performance called Route 126. The curator Moira Roth recalls: “the group created a sequence of events throughout the day along the highway. The day began with Suzanne Lacy’s Car Renovation in which the group decorated an abandoned car…and ended with the women standing on a beach watching Nancy Youdelman, wrapped in yards of gossamer silk, slowly wade out to sea until she drowned, apparently…” There’s a fabulous photo taken by Faith Wilding of the car—a Kotex-pink jalopy washed up on desert rocks. The trunk’s flung open and underneath it’s painted cuntblood red. Strands of desert grass spill from the crumpled hood like Rapunzel’s fucked-up hair. According to Performance Anthology—Source Book For A Decade Of California Art, this remarkable event received no critical coverage at the time though contemporaneous work by Baldessari, Burden, Terry Fox boasts bibliographies several pages long. Dear Dick, I’m wondering why every act that narrated female lived experience in the ’70s has been read only as “collaborative” and “feminist.” The Zurich Dadaists worked together too but they were geniuses and they had names.
Chris Kraus (I Love Dick)
Bryce Colton is telling everyone you hooked up after the bonfire Friday night.” “What?” Everyone in the parking lot turned and stared. Okay, maybe I said that a little loud. I hooked my arm through Jane’s and steered her toward the sidewalk. “I went to the bonfire with you. Do you remember seeing me naked with Bryce Colton?” She pouted and kicked a rock off the sidewalk. “I thought maybe you went back after you dropped me off.” “Why do you sound disappointed?” “It would be nice if one of us had a sex life." I laughed so hard I snorted. That’s one of the reasons I’m best friends with Jane. I never know what she’s going to say.
Chris Cannon (Blackmail Boyfriend)
The Irish recruits who poured into the army in 1846 were already accustomed to the realities of antebellum American nativism. The country had been rocked by anti-Catholic riots even before the famine produced new waves of Irish immigrants; in Boston, Protestant mobs had burned a convent in 1834, and Philadelphia had seen mob attacks on Irishmen ten years later. So the recent immigrants who enlisted for war with Mexico weren’t surprised to encounter nativists in the army. They were very much surprised, though, by the intensity of the anti-Irish sentiment they faced from their officers—a social sentiment that was expressed through official discipline.
Chris Bray (Court-Martial: How Military Justice Has Shaped America from the Revolution to 9/11 and Beyond)
Jim Adkins: ...There was a girl who wrote us, explaining how she felt like an outsider at her school because the punk rock kids wouldn't accept her, even though she liked us and a lot of the really obscure bands we toured with. And I just thought 'It's not worth your time to trip on this. Punk rock is and should be inclusive. That's the one thing I know. No matter what your definition of punk is, everyone would say that it's inclusive, it welcomes outsiders. Freak flags welcome. Wave 'em around. These chicks don't get it at all, don't waste your time trying to get their approval.' That's where the main idea for the lyrics to 'The Middle' came from.
Chris Payne (Where Are Your Boys Tonight?: The Oral History of Emo's Mainstream Explosion 1999-2008)
The Lord is my rock…. —Psalm 18:2 (KJV) Even though my father retired as minister of the church where my sister, Keri, and I grew up, we were committed to staying and raising our own families there. Neither of us anticipated just how difficult this was going to be. All those years my father faithfully led the congregation, he had a knack for bringing peace to the most stressful situations. When an interim minister was hired, we watched helplessly as the church became divided. Keri and I often met for lunch, just to comfort each other. One day a realization suddenly appeared: “This isn’t about where we are with the church. It’s about where we are with God.” While it was a painful time of change, our hearts needed to be aligned with God. The same God Who had been with us every moment of our lives was still here, and His house was still our true home. Finally the Sunday came when my family joined Keri’s to hear our new pastor’s first sermon. He exuded a peaceful presence, and his message was strong and confident. Already he embraced our beloved church and its congregation as if he had known us forever. “God is surely the rock of this church,” he was saying. I caught Keri’s eyes and smiled. Pastor Chris was saying what we already knew, but we certainly didn’t mind hearing it again. Father, let us look past every difficulty and see You ever as our rock. —Brock Kidd Digging Deeper: Ps 18; Is 44:8
Guideposts (Daily Guideposts 2014)
Tentatively, I presented the idea of being naked with Austin to the gallery of my neuroses. It was a loud, raucous meeting. Sex-Drive was bouncing around like a child on Pixy Stix, saying "yes yes yes" over and over again. Vanity suggested that the things in the [safe sex] book would not improve the way I looked in the slightest. Insecurity and Doubt argued over what would be more awful; when Austin saw me naked or when my sexual inexperience made itself evident and he laughed at me. Optimism sulked off to the side because I never listened to it. Prudence recommended tabling the discussion indefinitely. Curiosity wanted to look at the pictures some more. Shyness just sat in the corner, rocking back and forth and crying.
Chris O'Guinn (Exiled to Iowa. Send Help. And Couture.)
Initially, suspended headfirst, thousands of feet above the ground, restrained from falling only by a seat belt, I was paralyzed by terror. My hands and arms reflexively braced against the sides of the cockpit, as if holding on would hold me in. Every muscle in my body was tensed, vibrating, and there was a rushing feeling, almost like a noise, going up and down the back of my skull. Yet I didn’t fall out of the plane. The seat belt attached in five places and kept me pinioned, rock-solid, in my seat. My eyes told me that nothing was keeping me from plummeting to my death, but with experience, I started to be able to override that sensation with reason: I was actually just fine, I wasn’t going to fall out of the plane. Eventually the fear that I might faded.
Chris Hadfield (An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth)
According to the man, who identified himself as Morton Thornton, the night got real long and by midnight, he was darn well wed to one of the lovelier inhabitants of the dish, a comely middle-aged amoeba of unknown parentage named Rita. When he was rescued on the morning of the following day, Morton plumb forgot about his single-celled nuptials and went back to his daytime job tasting the contents of open pop bottles for backwash and cigarette butts. Only sixteen years later, when a brilliant Sacajawea Junior High roving reporter—who shall remain nameless—discovered the product of this union lurking among us right here at Sac Junior High, was Morton’s long-held secret discovered. “This intrepid reporter was present three weeks into Dale Thornton’s third try at seventh grade, when the young Einstein bet this reporter and several other members of the class that he could keep a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth from the beginning of fifth period Social Studies until the bell. The dumb jerk only lasted twenty minutes, after which he sprinted from the room, not to be seen for the rest of the day. When he returned on the following morning, he told Mr. Getz he had suddenly become ill and had to go home, but without a written excuse (he probably didn’t have a rock big enough for his dad to chisel it on) he was sent to the office. The principal, whose intellectual capacities lie only fractions of an IQ point above Dale’s, believed his lame story, and Dale was readmitted to class. Our dauntless reporter, however, smelled a larger story, recognizing that for a person to attempt this in the first place, even his genes would have to be dumber than dirt. With a zeal rivaled only by Alex Haley’s relentless search for Kunta Kinte, he dived into Dale’s seamy background, where he discovered the above story to be absolutely true and correct. Further developments will appear in this newspaper as they unfold.
Chris Crutcher (Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes)
I said to myself, This is going to be quick. I also thought: I’ll take the epidural now! Because the contractions were starting to demonstrate what the pain of birth is all about. The obstetrician came in. I smiled, ready for my shot. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” she said. “Your platelets are really, really low.” “Okay,” I said. I knew what platelets were-blood cells whose job it is to stop bleeding-but I had no idea why that was significant. “So, my epidural?” “You can’t have any medications.” “Come again?” “No drugs, no medications,” she said. “No epidural. I’ve called around to different anesthesiologists, and no one will touch you.” “No epidural?” “Nothing.” There are girls from third-world countries who do it with no drugs, I reminded myself. My mother elected for natural childbirth. How bad can it be? I got this. It started to hurt. I thought to myself, I am not going to cuss. Hell no! I am about to be a mother. I am bringing our baby into a positive environment and must be a good role model. Wow! The contractions built up quickly. My pristine vision of perfect, calm, quiet childbirth disappeared. A banshee snuck into the room and took over my body. Arrrgggh!!! No cursing! There was a rocking chair in the birth room. I went over and sat in it and began moving back and forth. Chris put on a CD by Enya that we’d brought to listen to: peaceful, pleasant music. I took a deep breath. Jeez, Louise! That one was a monster! Then, a breather. I’m doing goooooood! Breathe. Breathe… Wow! Then I said some other things. The banshee had a mind of her own. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I apologized to the nurses as I recovered from the surge of the contraction. “It’s okay,” said Chris. The pain surged again. Dang! Jiminy! And other things. Chris would watch the monitor. Suddenly he’d turn to look at me. “What?” I asked. “That was a strong one.” “Uh-huh.” The funny thing is, the stronger the contractions were on the monitor, the less they seemed to hurt. Maybe when things are really bad you focus more on being tough. Or perhaps my brain’s pain mechanism simply went on strike when the agony got too much.
Taya Kyle (American Wife: Love, War, Faith, and Renewal)
I jumped then. It seemed I heard a child laugh. My imagination, of course. And then, when I should have known better, I headed for the closet and the high and narrow door at the very back end and the steep and narrow dark stairs. A million times I’d ascended these stairs. A million times in the dark, without a candle, or a flashlight. Up into the dark, eerie, gigantic attic, and only when I was there did I feel around for the place where Chris and I had hidden our candles and matches. Still there. Time did stand still in this place. We’d had several candle holders, all of pewter with small handles to grasp. Holders we’d found in an old trunk along with boxes and boxes of short, stubby, clumsily made candles. We’d always presumed them to be homemade candles, for they had smelled so rank and old when they burned. My breath caught! Oh! It was the same! The paper flowers still dangled down, mobiles to sway in the drafts, and the giant flowers were still on the walls. Only all the colors had faded to indistinct gray—ghost flowers. The sparkling gem centers we’d glued on had loosened, and now only a few daisies had sequins, or gleaming stones, for centers. Carrie’s purple worm was there only now he too was a nothing color. Cory’s epileptic snail didn’t appear a bright, lopsided beach ball now, it was more a tepid, half-rotten squashy orange. The BEWARE signs Chris and I had painted in red were still on the walls, and the swings still dangled down from the attic rafters. Over near the record player was the barre Chris had fashioned, then nailed to the wall so I could practice my ballet positions. Even my outgrown costumes hung limply from nails, dozens of them with matching leotards and worn out pointe shoes, all faded and dusty, rotten smelling. As in an unhappy dream I was committed to, I drifted aimlessly toward the distant schoolroom, with the candelight flickering. Ghosts were unsettled, memories and specters followed me as things began to wake up, yawn and whisper. No, I told myself, it was only the floating panels of my long chiffon wings . . . that was all. The spotted rocking-horse loomed up, scary and threatening, and my hand rose to my throat as I held back a scream. The rusty red wagon seemed to move by unseen hands pushing it, so my eyes took flight to the blackboard where I’d printed my enigmatic farewell message to those who came in the future. How was I to know it would be me? We lived in the attic, Christopher, Cory, Carrie and me— Now there are only three. Behind the small desk that had been Cory’s I scrunched down, and tried to fit my legs under. I wanted to put myself into a deep reverie that would call up Cory’s spirit that would tell me where he lay.
V.C. Andrews (Petals on the Wind (Dollanganger, #2))
His voice sounds like a mix between Chris Daughtry with the deepness and huskiness of Sully from Godsmack.
S.K. Logsdon (Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set)
At the beginning of any new idea, the possibilities can seem infinite, and that wide-open landscape of opportunity can become a prison of anxiety and self-doubt. This is a key reason why failing fast with low-risk prototypes the way Chris Rock does is so helpful: If we haven’t invested much in developing an idea, emotionally or in terms of time or resources, then we are more likely to be able to focus on what we can learn from that effort than on what we’ve lost in making it. Prototyping is one of the most effective ways to both jump-start our thinking and to guide, inspire, and discipline an experimental approach.
Peter Sims (Little Bets: How Breakthrough Ideas Emerge from Small Discoveries)
Cowering in the big man's shadow, Chris watched George lift the hammer high, his jaw set like he could bite through rock. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head and let go. The sting of his warm urine bit into his thighs. Be strong, Michael. Find a way out and find a way to survive. The blinding pain of the hammer connecting with the back of his head filled every crevice of the millisecond it existed in.  A millisecond was all it took. End.
Michael Robertson (Crash (Crash, #1))
My grandparents were born in Puerto Rico and Guyana and the D.R. and Rhode Island. Their parents were from Norway and India and West Africa and Italy, plus God only knows what combination of bloods native to the Caribbean and central America.... I have no idea how to answer the White-Black-Hispanic-Other question. I am postracial, like the ethnically indeterminate Jessicas Alba and Biel, or Vin Diesel, or the Rock
Chris Pavone (The Travelers)
Did you throw a rock at my brother?” Astrid yelled, fearless in her outrage. She dropped to her knees beside Little Pete. Sam was halfway across the lawn, moving with a purposeful stride. “What did you do, Panda?” “He was ignoring me,” Panda said. “Panda was just goofing, Sam,” Quinn said. He stepped between Sam and Panda. “Throwing a rock at a defenseless little kid is just goofing?” Sam demanded. “And what are you doing hanging with this creep, anyway?” “Who you calling a creep?” Panda demanded. He took a tighter grip on his baseball bat, but not really like he meant to start swinging. “Who do I call a creep? Anyone who throws a rock at a little kid,” Sam said, not backing down. Quinn raised his hands, playing the peacemaker. “Look, take a breath, brah. We were just on a little mission for Mother Mary. She drafted Panda and sent him to look for some little kid’s stuffed bear, okay? We were doing a good thing.” “Doing good and stealing someone’s stuff?” Sam pointed at the trash bag in Chris’s grip. “And on the way back, you figured you’d throw a rock and hit an autistic kid?
Michael Grant
talk to Rat Scabies, former drummer with the Damned. He tells me he and Joe had been working together in 1995 on the soundtrack of Grosse Pointe Blank, but that they fell out over that hoary old rock ’n’ roll chestnut—money. “I was stupid,” he admits. “I thought I knew everything from playing with the Damned. But working with Joe was like an entirely new education. He understood how to trust his instincts and go with them every time. I couldn’t believe how fast he worked.
Chris Salewicz (Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer)
Can Chris Rock swing by tonight? And by the way, he’s bringing David Blaine with him.
Alicia Keys (More Myself: A Journey)
White women may tan at the beach or apply darkening lotions for a “healthy glow,” but whether any of them would trade their white skin for good is another matter altogether. Comedian Chris Rock, African American, said it best in his 1999 standup routine: “There ain’t a white man in this room that would change places with me. None of you. None of you would change places with me, and I’m rich!” Perhaps this is because light skin along with racial whiteness in the United States is associated with intelligence, wealth, national belonging, and citizenship, and impacts access to opportunities. Despite the tanning culture, Sriya Shrestha argues that “white people want to be white.
Nikki Khanna (Whiter: Asian American Women on Skin Color and Colorism)
In his opinion, Mrs. Palin had conducted herself with dignity and I had not. (I’m pretty sure Tom’s only claim to expertise is that he oversees a website where people guess incorrectly who might win show biz awards.) There was a patronizing attitude behind Tom’s comments that I certainly don’t think he would have applied to a male comedian. Chris Rock was touring at the time and he was literally calling George W. Bush “retarded” in his act. I don’t think Tom something would have expressed disappointment that Chris was not conducting himself sweetly. I learned how incredibly frustrating it is to watch someone talk smack about you and not be able to respond. This kind of anger, I suspect, is the main thing Mrs. Palin and I have in common.
Tina Fey (Bossypants)
I never thought about the money, the future, or chasing down stardom,” Chris Hillman writes in TIME BETWEEN. “It was always all about the music.” ― Chris Hillman
Chris Hillman (Time Between: My Life as a Byrd, Burrito Brother, and Beyond)
Movie stars didn’t become irrelevant, but they became very inconsistent in attracting an audience. People used to go to almost any movie with Tom Cruise in it. Between 1992 and 2006, Cruise starred in twelve films that each grossed more than $100 million domestically. He was on an unparalleled streak, with virtually no flops. But in the decade since then, five of Cruise’s nine movies—Knight and Day, Rock of Ages, Oblivion, Edge of Tomorrow, and The Mummy—were box-office disappointments. This was an increasingly common occurrence for A-listers. Will Ferrell and Ben Stiller couldn’t convince anyone to see Zoolander 2. Brad Pitt didn’t attract audiences to Allied. Virtually nobody wanted to see Sandra Bullock in Our Brand Is Crisis. It’s not that they were being replaced by a new generation of stars. Certainly Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Pratt and Kevin Hart and Melissa McCarthy have risen in popularity in recent years, but outside of major franchises like The Hunger Games and Jurassic World, their box-office records are inconsistent as well. What happened? Audiences’ loyalties shifted. Not to other stars, but to franchises. Today, no person has the box-office track record that Cruise once did, and it’s hard to imagine that anyone will again. But Marvel Studios does. Harry Potter does. Fast & Furious does. Moviegoers looking for the consistent, predictable satisfaction they used to get from their favorite stars now turn to cinematic universes. Any movie with “Jurassic” in the title is sure to feature family-friendly adventures on an island full of dinosaurs, no matter who plays the human roles. Star vehicles are less predictable because stars themselves get older, they make idiosyncratic choices, and thanks to the tabloid media, our knowledge of their personal failings often colors how we view them onscreen (one reason for Cruise’s box-office woes has been that many women turned on him following his failed marriage to Katie Holmes).
Ben Fritz (The Big Picture: The Fight for the Future of Movies)