Gold Digger Quotes

I'm here to tell you, though, ladies that the term "gold digger" is one of the traps we men set to keep you off our money trail; we created that term for you so that we can have all our money and still get everything we want from you without you asking for or expecting this very basic, instincual responsibility that men all over the world are obligated to assume and embrace. ... KNOW THIS: It is your right to expect that a man will pay for your dinner, your movie ticket, your club entry fee, or whatever else he has to pay for in exhange for your time.

The public has an insatiable curiosity to know everything except what is worth knowing.

Holy shit, you’re the most accomplished stalker I’ve ever met.” “It’s not stalking if you like it.

Money brings you the women you want, struggle brings you the women you need.

Well, I go wherever the ring takes me. Not because I’m a gold digger or anything; it’s more of a Lord of the Rings thing. This ring gives me powers. Though I’m totally going to lose it when my hair falls out and I start calling it ‘my precious.

Your father's impressive.''He's a scary motherfucker, but we get along well.

Once you know what you want, you can make the rest happen

She wasn’t hard-boiled. It was just that she put love on a special plane, where a man without money or looks couldn’t move.

His heart thrashed like a bobcat in a trap. When he refused to run for governor, they begged him to run for lieutenant governor. Augusta was all for it, since she’d taken up with the Pioneer Ladies Society, serving punch in the back of the ballroom. Felt good to have her on his side for a change.

At the bottom of the mountain you have your scoffers and doubters, by midpoint you have your envious and haters, and when you reach to the top you have new friends and family you never met or thought existed.

The reason gold-diggers trivialize relationships is because they do not know love,they only know money.

If I were a robot, and I got cheated on with a vacuum cleaner, I’d question my cleanliness. I’d also wonder if dating a beautiful yellow bulldozer was wise. Is my bulldozer nothing but a gold digger?

You'd be quite sane and well-adjusted if your family had happened to somebody else

The difference between the rich and the poor, is finding true love.

About money-grubbing women, here’s my stance: Bring on the gold diggers. I’ve got nothing to offer but pyrite.

Ernestine used to remark, in a tone tinged with envy, that Lill was probably New Jersey's youngest gold digger, and that few adult gold diggers ever had received more, in return for less.

a real woman doesn't help u spend your money she helps u to make more money

She was the type of bitch who looked for three things in a man. Good looks. Good reputation. And per$onality.

Because he has finally realized that it is it and not him that is loved by the woman he loves, many a man is jealous of his own car, house, wardrobe, or salary.

I want the term gold digger to include dudes who look for a woman who will do tons of emotional labour for them.

It’s a tree falling in a forest conundrum: if a white kid raps all the lyrics to ‘Gold Digger’ and there isn’t a black person around to hear it, is it still racist?

Stanley spent more time pushing the wheelbarrow than digging, because he was such a slow digger. He carted away the excess dirt and dumped it into previously dug holes. He was careful not to dump any of it in the hole where the gold tube was actually found.

No greater humiliation, it seems to me, was meted out to any man than Montezuma; no race was ever more ruthlessly wiped out that the American Indian; no land was ever raped in a bloody and foul way than California was by the gold diggers. I blush to think of our origins—our hands are steeped in blood and crime.

Prostitution is the art of separating the vagina from the woman, and the man from the money.

Women are like flies: they settle on sugar or shit. I'm not saying I'm sugar, but she's sure settled for shit now. My name is George Schmidt.

It’s a really depressing world you live in, man. This world where everybody’s a gold digger, where everybody’s using each other, or competing against each other. This world where two people can’t be together because they might love each other.

Colonization of India was primarily economic,” a professor lectured in college, which made the whole thing sound like the Brits had merely pickpocketed a few wallets. But in the gold digger, see the emasculation of colonization. The only way out is as an export. Through the porthole, his motherland shrinks.

Most men each have a to-do list of women that they plan on executing if and when they get rich or famous.

Elf-dog," hissed Gimlet, retrieving his beard. "Pig of a dwarf," suggested Legolam. "Toymaker." "Gold-digger.

Gold-diggers are our nation’s hardest workers; do you know how much effort goes into pretending to give a shit about some guy for his money? A lot. Hoes are Britain’s unsung heroes.

And on those rare occasions when she wasn’t defined by others’ actions, then she was dismissed out of hand as either a lightweight or a gold digger based on the thing she hated most about herself.

Hey, baby, it’s me. Your shithead of a husband.” He spoke and caressed her lifeless hand. Wayne wanted to shake her, do anything to wake her up. One tear fell from his eye and the ice around his heart smashed to smithereens. With Lily in his life, he had some semblance of control over his emotions. The thought of losing her and never seeing her smile, or to even hear her sing, was breaking him more than any gold digger could his bank balance.

But there's something flirty/sexy about his voice that's appealing to my inner romantic comedy actress. Then again, maybe it's just his penthouse apartment I'm hearing. My inner gold digger frequently beats the crap out of my inner Meg Ryan.

Let your mistress’s birthday be one of great terror to you: that’s a black day when anything has to be given. However much you avoid it, she’ll still win: it’s a woman’s skill, to strip wealth from an ardent lover. A loose-robed pedlar comes to your lady: she likes to buy: and explains his prices while you’re sitting there. She’ll ask you to look, because you know what to look for: then kiss you: then ask you to buy her something there. She swears that she’ll be happy with it, for years, but she needs it now, now the price is right. If you say you haven’t the money in the house, she’ll ask for a note of hand – and you’re sorry you learnt to write. Why - she asks doesn’t she for money as if it’s her birthday, just for the cake, and how often it is her birthday, if she’s in need? Why - she weeps doesn’t she, mournfully, for a sham loss, that imaginary gem that fell from her pierced ear? They many times ask for gifts, they never give in return: you lose, and you’ll get no thanks for your loss. And ten mouths with as many tongues wouldn’t be enough for me to describe the wicked tricks of whores.

So many guys try to show off to a girl by boasting of their financial assets and flashing their cash around etc, but a girl who makes her own money and is building her own empire is not impressed by such things. -Show me the integrity not the money.

I had never much cared about ancestry the way my parents spoke of it when we went back to India. There, ancestry meant unpronounceable names and impenetrable orthodoxies. But this gold digger felt viscerally like my forebear. What if this was my land, after all?

There are reality shows for gold-diggers while televised Bridezillas and messy infidelities get sky-high ratings. To think that amidst all the infidelity, Americans actually had the nerve to try to get all sanctimonious when the gay marriage debate surfaced. Shut up! My

The next summer we went to France for six weeks, and I added another 420 words, most of them found in the popular gossip magazine, ‘Voici’. “Man-eater”, I’d say. “Gold digger, roustabout, louse”. “Who are you talking about?” my neighbors would ask. “What social climber? Where?

Should it happen, that your partner leaves you for someone else with more money. To where later you strike it richer than the person they left you for, and the ex finds out, after losing all and regretting. It was a blessing that it ended. Though money wasn't sufficient then, mostly they were rich with your love, now suffering being broke in both.

It was better with the subs than it was with the gold diggers or the hookers. These were real people, with real lives, real jobs, real hearts. It meant something when they submitted to my demands. It meant trust, and trust meant love. I got that--I mean, I understood that. And, oh, Lisa, how I needed that—but I didn’t know how to deal. I was too broken.

If you choose money over love, you will always be poor.

I looked at her and thought it seemed less that things had been lost than that they were being found, over and over again.

Joseph scoffed. “People lie all the time. What if this woman is a gold-digger or something?” “That would be great. I need somebody to help me dig, maybe we’ll find some.

If God wanted me to marry poor he would have made me homely.

You might think love is unconditional because you’ve been loved unconditionally. But from everything I’ve seen, for a woman to be loved, she has to serve a purpose. She has to look good on your arm, but not too good or she’s a slut. She has to be sensual but puritan, needs to work or she’s a gold digger, but not more than her man or she’s a harpy. She can’t gain weight, or she’ll have let herself go, and if she has your children, she has to prioritize them over herself at every turn or she’s a bad mother. She has to be strong, the backbone of the family, an extension of a man instead of his partner. If she defies any of these terms, most people won’t blame a man for telling the world that his love for her has dried up.

Missy As Jessica mentioned earlier in the book, I also have to laugh when I hear people talk about Korie, Jessica, and me as gold diggers. I think, Oh please! Jase was skinning raccoons for extra money when Cole (our second child) was born! The only gold I was interested in was Jason’s old gold-colored Chevy, because it had a bench seat and I could snuggle up to him while he drove.

What'd you like me to buy you, Nan? Some pearls or--" She stopped before him, planted her arms akimbo, and spoke furiously. "I am not vot you call a gold-digger! I am not lady enough! If when you get tired of me, you vant to give me a hundred dollars--or fifty--fine. But you must, by God, understand, when Nande Azeredo takes a man, it iss because she likes him! Pearls? What would I do with pearls? Can I eat pearls?

In other words, the essential thing here is to see clearly, to think clearly—that is, dangerously—and to answer clearly the innocent first question: what, fundamentally, is colonization? To agree on what it is not: neither evangelization nor philanthropic enterprise, nor a desire to push back the frontiers of ignorance, disease, and tyranny, nor a project undertaken for the greater glory of God, nor an attempt to extend the rule of law. To admit once and for all, without flinching at the consequences, that the decisive actors here are the adventurer and the pirate, the wholesale grocer and the ship owner, the gold digger and the merchant, appetite and force, and behind them, the baleful projected shadow of a form of civilization which, at a certain point in its history, finds itself obliged, for internal reasons, to extend to a world scale the competition of its antagonistic economies.

Which act would you prefer for tonight?” His questions broke through my musings. I was all too glad for the interruption. “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “There’s the new lovers act, the friends-who-fuck act, the swingers act, the gold-digger and sugar-daddy act, the fighting couple act—” “What about a platonic friendship act?” I interrupted. He looked at me as if I’d finally spoken a language he couldn’t understand. “Is that a joke?” ... “Then come.” Ian extended his arm with a hint of a grin. “I’ve decided our act tonight will be the fighting couple. Shouldn’t present too much of a challenge, should it?” I felt a wry smile tug at my mouth. “I think we’ll manage.

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines.

You only love me if it serves your purposes – if I’m helping your family, if I keep my unpopular opinions to myself. Your love is conditional. I’ve had limits and conditions put on love my whole life and I’ve had enough of it. I’d rather be alone.

I’ve never seen you with anyone who didn’t look like a supermodel. So don’t sit there and pretend like you’ve never judged anyone based on their looks. I bet there are plenty of genuine women who wouldn’t care about your wealth or position, but you didn’t give them the time of day because they didn’t have perfect bodies, or they weren’t up to your standards of beauty. You reap what you sow and if you chose to date nothing but gold diggers, you can’t expect them to be around in your time of need.

This was what it felt like growing up. Adults and kids constantly gossiping about one another, judging whether or not you were Indian enough, using I don’t know what kind of standards. And at that point, it’s worse than gossip. It’s actually part of what I wrote my thesis about, at Stanford—because I went back, by the way, and graduated magna cum laude.

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines. Rakes, rogues, and roués. Tomcats and sex kittens. Horndogs. Bitches in heat.1 True, some of us manage to rise above this aspect of our nature (or to sink below it). But these preconscious impulses remain our biological baseline, our reference point, the zero in our own personal number system. Our evolved tendencies are considered “normal” by the body each of us occupies. Willpower fortified with plenty of guilt, fear, shame, and mutilation of body and soul may provide some control over these urges and impulses. Sometimes. Occasionally. Once in a blue moon. But even when controlled, they refuse to be ignored. As German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer pointed out, Mensch kann tun was er will; er kann aber nicht wollen was er will. (One can choose what to do, but not what to want.) Acknowledged or not, these evolved yearnings persist and clamor for our attention. And there are costs involved in denying one’s evolved sexual nature, costs paid by individuals, couples, families, and societies every day and every night. They are paid in what E. O. Wilson called “the less tangible currency of human happiness that must be spent to circumvent our natural predispositions.”2 Whether or not our society’s investment in sexual repression is a net gain or loss is a question for another time. For now, we’ll just suggest that trying to rise above nature is always a risky, exhausting endeavor, often resulting in spectacular collapse. Any attempt to understand who we are, how we got to be this way, and what to do about it must begin by facing up to our evolved human sexual predispositions. Why do so many forces resist our sustained fulfillment? Why is conventional marriage so much damned work? How has the incessant, grinding campaign of socio-scientific insistence upon the naturalness of sexual monogamy combined with a couple thousand years of fire and brimstone failed to rid even the priests, preachers, politicians, and professors of their prohibited desires? To see ourselves as we are, we must begin by acknowledging that of all Earth’s creatures, none is as urgently, creatively, and constantly sexual as Homo sapiens.

If you hear nothing else I say, hear this . . . you will always attract a mate who personifies who you are. If you’re a gold-digger you gonna get a drug dealer who thinks he can buy you. If you hate yourself, you gonna get a nigga who will kick your ass every day and six times on Monday. And if you violent, you’re gonna attract a monster. It will always be true. All the time. No exceptions.

You would have had to forgive people, if you’d gone on, I wrote. You would have had to believe that idiots grow up and change. You would have had to be big enough to accept that, or the bitterness might have eroded you. But you would have. You would have found a way to be generous to everyone who was never generous to you. You would have figured out that thing historians and politicians and all the world today is struggling with—the moral weight of the past, how to hold it.

We were both conceptual orphans. Perhaps that is the condition of any second generation. In the space between us and the rest of adulthood lay a great expanse of the unknown. We had not grown up imbibing stories that implicitly conveyed answers to the basic questions of being: What did it feel like to fall in love in America, to take oneself for granted in America? Starved as we were for clues about how to live, we would grip like mad on to anything that lent a possible way of being.

Sri Lankan Socioeconomics 101 If people stopped chasing after power and connections and realized that they have all the power they need within themselves, to create whatever they want with their lives: there will be more friendships than contacts, less gold-diggers, more marriages based on love, better family lives, stable and enriched childhoods leading to a well endowed, disciplined and better educated workforce. There will be loyalty and ingenuity and better standards of education. Abundance of well educated individuals => pressure to innovate =>increased entrepreneurship, improved economy.High functioning economy attracting more foreign capital => export surplus. Educated workforce + increased involvement in international business => pressure to improve foreign allies and foreign policy => pressure to improve transparency => decrease in corruption. So stop sitting around complaining about corruption and (with all due respect,) get off your ass and do something for yourself. Stop chasing after other people's power and chase after your own dreams and you will have all the power you need.

I told her about my revenge on Topper the attempted rapist and the guy at the transient's hotel in  Brooklyn, and, finally, I told her about stealing the money. "You did what?" She sat straight up in her chair, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "Shhh." Other diners were staring at us, frozen in silent tableau, some with forks or spoons halfway  to mouth. Millie was blinking her eyes rapidly. Much quieter, she said, "You robbed a bank?" "Shhh." My ears were burning. "Don't make a scene." "Don't shush me! I didn't rob a bank." Fortunately she whispered it. The waiter walked up then and took our drink order. Millie ordered a vodka martini. I asked  for a glass of white wine. I didn't know if it would help, but I figured it couldn't hurt. "A million dollars?" she said, after the waiter left. "Well, almost." "How much of it is left?" "Why?" She blushed. "Curiosity. I must look like a proper little gold digger." "About eight hundred thousand." "Dollars!" The man at the next table spilled his water. "Christ, Millie. You want me to leave you here? You're fifteen hundred miles away from  home you know.

Most of them had silicone behinds that remained stiff and never jiggled. Their jaws were sunken in from starving themselves on the latest fad diet. Lips puffed out like clowns. Fake nails that stuck to their fingertips like claws. Their speech matched a gold digger’s drawl—giggling at the appropriate times and gasps of awe at any rich man’s accomplishments.

Why’d she quit?” “You scared the shit out of her. Called her a tray-dropping gold digger and told her to give up on marrying rich because even rich guys want their beers cold.

Do not call me a gold digger, I am a miner.

It’s history,” I said. “They’d be happier if it was computer science, or finance, or something more lucrative. Right now, I’m a little… outside their fold.

Quitting debate, it was judged, would sabotage my college chances, so my parents reluctantly released me into the nonsense-filled outside world. And how nonsensical that summer was! Wendi Zhao wrangled a job at the camp, teaching admiring ninth graders.

They are the same sort who developed a protocol for lynching disruptive blacks and Mexicans and Chileans and Native Americans. They are the same sort who will, in another few decades, form a mob in Oregon to murder more than thirty Chinese miners; the same sort who will, soon after that, chase throngs of Sikhs from Washington.

What they say about addicts: in the end, the brain is fried, and the daily dramas of life become doldrums. But sitting in the Sonora, with Anita’s gaze haloing me for the first time in years, a glimmer of all that returned, and it felt like grace.

You couldn’t call him fresh off the boat—he was fresh off a private jet, you know? Jimmy—that’s his name, Jimmy—just waltzed into Stanford and owned the place. Me along with it. He believed in me, you know? I was overwhelmed there—everyone was so smart—and he still looked at me and said I could be someone.

Bombay, a city where Gujaratis and Maharashtrians and Tamilians and Parsis become Bombaykars, allegiances shifted to contemporary urban existence rather than to the regions that created them. The Joshis considered themselves modern, but in one respect they rang a bit of the bygone days: the parents—an excise tax officer and a housewife

Anjali grew up flitting about with friends in the housing society, playing with her two older brothers when they were free, reading English novels. She did fine in school, though not spectacularly, and no one told her to put in more work. There was an understanding: her brothers were to one day become somebodies; she

Have you only been stealing from Indians?” “Who else has good gold?” she said. “White people make and buy shoddy stuff. Ten-, fourteen-karat—you’re a boy, you won’t understand this.

I have my own business. And I have a daughter who I get along with, or who doesn’t hate me, which is more than I can say for most of the other immigrant mothers around here, isn’t it?

I’d become a committed Young Democrat, at least on paper. Though I spent my days throwing around the language of policy and politics, I practiced agility more than advocacy: in one round, I played the neoconservative defender of American imperial policy in Afghanistan; in the next, I argued for diplomacy with rogue states.

Man, but you’re Muslim. What if they don’t want to be in your prayers?” “I think they’ll understand, dude,” Abel said softly. “It all goes to the same place.

When it came my turn, I spoke of academic and familial pressures and Asian emasculation. She’d nodded as I wrapped up the perfunctory revelations and told me that she “lived entirely with people who identified as hyphenated in college” and therefore “got it.

Tears don't make you weak. God gave us tears to cleanse us and to heal us.

Mavis is getting married. To a sweaty old investment banker. I'm pretty sure he has a heart condition, and she's making him train for the New York City Marathon with her.

There is only enough room for one gold digger.

Well, suddenly you get him and Tilly sitting around at Nell’s telling everyone I’m a fucking gold digger and them believing it because of the whole fucking hot, fiery, money-grubbing immigrant ex-wife story, which somehow had become a trope without it actually happening very much, as far as I could tell.

Even what passes as heterosexual intimacy is often resented by straight women who find themselves doing the emotional heavy lifting for men who have no close friends and won’t go to therapy. Men are less likely than women to discuss mental health with friends and family, to seek out psychotherapy, or to recognize they are depressed—a pattern so common as to be termed “normative male alexithymia” by psychologists.51 For straight men in relationships, all of these needs get aimed at women partners. In 2016, the writer Erin Rodgers coined the term “emotional gold digger” to describe straight men’s reliance on women partners to “play best friend, lover, career advisor, stylist, social secretary, emotional cheerleader, mom.”52 Elaborating on this dynamic and the emotional burnout it produces in straight women, Melanie Hamlett further explains that the concept of the emotional gold digger “has gained more traction recently as women, feeling increasingly burdened by unpaid emotional labor, have wised up to the toll of toxic masculinity, which keeps men isolated and incapable of leaning on each other. . . . While [women] read countless self-help books, listen to podcasts, seek out career advisors, turn to female friends for advice and support, or spend a small fortune on therapists to deal with old wounds and current problems, the men in their lives simply rely on them.

Despite what you might have learned from the TV or the tabloids, sex workers really are not all desperate drug addicts, debased victims, or predatory gold diggers. Many healthy and happy people work in the sex industry, doing essential and positive work healing the wounds inflicted by our sex-negative culture. We know them as friends, lovers, colleagues, writers, therapists, and educators, as

To be honest, I was more interested in sexually objectifying you than talking about your salary.” Olek eyed me. “Damn.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Again, we’re back to the future ‘how I met your mother’ story. She wasn’t a gold digger, son, she just wanted my dick.

Which you get by tapping maple trees for their syrup. Oh my gosh, these people aren’t dog smugglers. Or gold diggers. They’re after liquid gold. Patti, that’s maple syrup!’ She instinctively looked around for Patti, but realised

For John it was worse: they surrounded him whenever he came home, begging for autographs, locks of hair, a chance to touch him. He was always kind to fans. He could be intolerant of hangers-on, gold-diggers, money-men and sycophants, but he respected and cared for the fans. He believed that the group owed them a lot. After all, they were the ones who bought the records and paid to go to the concerts. So, however tired he was, he always stopped to sign autographs or say hello. Years later, when John was killed by a ‘fan’, who had waited for his autograph, the memory of his kindness to them stayed with me. I sometimes wondered whether, if he hadn’t been so patient and generous, he might still be alive.

You know it’s going to be a bad day when the phone rings at 3:24 in the morning. I mean, is there anything else that can simultaneously trigger the thoughts of “where am I” and “someone died”?

Asher thinks my mom is a gold-digger and that we are leeching off his dad. My mom is thirty-eight.

A gold digger. My rose garden is fertilized by the bodies of men after my money.” “And beautiful roses they are.

Don't be a gold digger, be a goal digger. Let a man find you, reaching for your goals and dreams instead of his dollars.

The California Gold Rush, both the first and second one, had inflicted almost as much damage as the bounty. Stream channels where the Diggers fished had been disturbed or re-routed and blasting had damaged the habitat the Diggers fed on. In addition, foods the Diggers gathered from the land had been damaged or destroyed as the way was cleared for cattle, who ate one of the major source of Digger food: the acorn. Worse, as with all California tribes, contact with white men had led to new diseases for which the Indians had no immunity. The Nevada cowboy had speculated that the Sierra Diggers had once numbered perhaps ten-thousand, but that number had been whittled down to about one-thousand by the time the young man had left for Nevada.

But then the money business began. You like to give a girl presents when you're in love—you like to do things right. Well, Lord knows, Eva was no gold-digger—she was as likely to be pleased with a soda as a pair of imported gloves. On the other hand, she was as likely to be pleased with the gloves.

The only women who showed him any interest these days were gold diggers who lusted after his money and the perceived excitement it could provide, or fallen socialites who’d become accustomed to a lifestyle that was slipping from their grasp. Women who once knew him before the accident now looked at him with pity. Strangers acted uncomfortable when they saw his scars.

I look warmly at the December winters in my life, feeling all of their wonderful, furry, fuzzies inside, as I ribbon-rap my thanks to God for His increase of faithfulness, love, favor, fortune and blessings…at this year’s end finish line. The satisfaction in my smile is smithed with THE silver refiner’s fire, my cheeks aglow like the rose stemmed in my soul’s purified Gold.

Money should serve the human spirit...not the other way around....Make A $ (YOU-Turn) 2-Day (today)!

Ohhh what precious life energy and safety one will spend and risk for a lifeless precious metal that the living attribute such precious value - almost worship, but then again history documents some have even fashion sacred calves from it...and to know this religion its exists in some hearts, I consciously drop my head.

An inch to a man’s heart is a mile to his wallet.

Truthfully, he'd had no idea anyone was still in the office the day he'd spoken to Bryson. What Trina had overheard him speaking to Bryson about was only part of the conversation. What he'd been telling Bryson was that he'd regretted saying his wife was a ruthless, money hungry gold digger because he knew she wasn't like that. But Trina had heard just enough to assume that he didn't respect his wife. She'd decided to use the information to get back at him and at the same time hurt his wife and she'd succeeded.

The fact that there were more adults than children at her party didn't seem to faze Dixie. "That child is like a dandelion," Lettie said. "She could grow through concrete." Dixie's birthday party had a combination Mardi Gras/funeral wake feel to it. Mr. Bennett and Digger looped and twirled pink crepe paper streamers all around the white graveside tent until it looked like a candy-cane castle. Leo Stinson scrubbed one of his ponies and gave pony rides. Red McHenry, the florist's son, made a unicorn's horn out of flower foam wrapped with gold foil, and strapped it to the horse's head. "Had no idea that horse was white," Leo said, as they stood back and admired their work. Angela, wearing an old, satin, off-the-shoulder hoop gown she'd found in the attic, greeted each guest with strings of beads, while Dixie, wearing peach-colored fairy wings, passed out velvet jester hats. Charlotte, who never quite grasped the concept of eating while sitting on the ground, had her driver bring a rocking chair from the front porch. Mr. Nalls set the chair beside Eli's statue where Charlotte barked orders like a general. "Don't put the food table under the oak tree!" she commanded, waving her arm. "We'll have acorns in the potato salad!" Lettie kept the glasses full and between KyAnn Merriweather and Dot Wyatt there was enough food to have fed Eli's entire regiment. Potato salad, coleslaw, deviled eggs, bread and butter pickles, green beans, fried corn, spiced pears, apple dumplings, and one of every animal species, pork barbecue, fried chicken, beef ribs, and cold country ham as far as the eye could see.

I’d learned from Hobbes that feelings, or instincts, came from the subconscious and should not be ignored since they were often more reliable than the intellect, especially when the intellect was mine.

These two, I thought, are no rebels; it is obvious that they have never been on the barricades of protesters and revolutionaries, they have never waved flags through the tear gas of a nation state. They have never charged with stones and sticks to break down the fences that protect the men in suits, the diggers of gold beneath the indigenous's soil, the oil thieves in boardrooms and the politicians behind citadel walls. The first rule of resistance is to keep you eyes open and protect your nose from the smell of defeat when the waft of power comes to separate you from your brothers-in-arms.

Lithuanian citizens are the rudest and most animalistic I have ever seen in Europe. They have no moral, no values, and no manners. They are always starring at others, judging with their eyes of ignorance and their very small conscience, they are very rude, they are impolite wherever you go, and their customer service is horrible. They never say sorry for anything and even offend you when you complain about their mistakes and lack of proper attitude. Besides, eating in Lithuania is a huge disaster. Food is often rotten, and commonly comes with either hair, stones of even glass, as I have found many times. These people should be ashamed to be part of Europe and be removed from the European Union. They waste money as I have never seen anywhere else and are very abusive in prices. Their prices are high but their quality level is not even suitable for animals. They represent a waste on foreign investments. Their youngest generation is also a disaster: Extremely ignorant, without any respect or education, they deserve to be unemployed and starve to death. Nobody in his right mind should ever employ a Lithuanian, marry a Lithuanian or be friend with a Lithuanian. Lithuanias are always trying to use their friendships to take advantage of others, especially if such people are outsiders. Lithuanian women are gold diggers and extremely promiscuous, especially towards men of other cultures, as if their pride was built on the number of sex partners they can have from the widest variety of nations from around the globe, especially if such men are wealthy. Nevertheless, Lithuanians are also extremely racist and ignorant about the planet they live in. They are selfish, sadistic and parasitic. Probably the same could be said about all baltic countries, namely, Latvia, but for now, it is suffice to say this statement is an undoubted fact for the country in analysis. If Latvian and Lithuanian sovereignty ever end within this generation due to major unemployment, massacres and civil wars, and the vast majority of its people perish, I would say Divine justice has been made on both nations.

In some countries that I have visited, I saw that citizens are very rude and animalistic. They have no moral, no values, and no manners. They are always starring at others, judging with their eyes of ignorance and their very small conscience, they are impolite wherever you go, and their customer service is horrible. They never say sorry for anything and even offend you when you complain about their mistakes and lack of proper attitude. Besides, eating in some of these nations often reveals to be a huge disaster. Food is often rotten, and commonly comes with either hair, stones of even glass, as I have found many times. They waste money as I have never seen anywhere else and are simultaneously very abusive in prices. Their prices are high but their quality level is not even suitable for animals. They represent a waste on foreign investments. Their youngest generation is also a disaster; Extremely ignorant, without any respect or education, undeserving of any job or even trust. Nobody in his right mind should ever employ them, marry them or befriend them. Most are always trying to use their friendships to take advantage of others, especially if such people are outsiders. Their women are gold diggers and extremely promiscuous, especially towards men of other cultures, as if their pride was built on the number of sex partners they can have from the widest variety of nations from around the globe, especially if such men are wealthy. And yet, they can also show a high predisposition for racist behaviors and ignorance in what regards the planet they live in. They are, foremost, selfish, sadistic and parasitic. These countries and their people represent the lowest level of mankind. Whenever you witness what I just described, you are experiencing a country reaching its end. Move out of it while you can, for God will set on such people Divine justice as quickly as such citizens, by their immoral behavior, approach it. Many of such countries end with the loss of their sovereignty for political reasons, invasions by foreign armies, civil wars, violent revolutions, major economical collapses leading the citizens to poverty and starvation, and much more.