Jake Paul Quotes

England is my city

Close your eyes. Focus on making yourself feel excited, powerful. Imagine yourself destroying goals with ease.

Aligning with other’s self interest is easier than persuading them to do what you want.

Find a person who is as successful as you'd like to be, ask them what to do, do it and work hard.

Look, Paul. I appreciate what you’re telling me, but I gave Jake my word. Not to mention the fact, he’d throw my ass in jail if he found out I tried to go around him.” “He wouldn’t, you know,” he said. “Jake’s a pussycat.” Yeah, just a big old saber-toothed tiger.

A talented entrepreneur with bad habits eventually becomes an employee. An average employee with great habits can eventually become a great entrepreneur.

I've been ridiculed by silk-suited lawyers, jailed by ornery judges, and occasionally paid for services rendered. I never intended to be a hero, and I succeeded.

T-shirt with the saying “I May Be Old, but I Got to See All the Cool Bands.

People always ask me "Sir Andrew Tate is it true you and your friends are the Kings Of The Internet?" I tell them of course it's true you big dummy.

...and when she thinks of that generation of silent men, the boys who lived through the Depression and grew up to become soldiers or not-soldiers in the war, she doesn’t blame them for refusing to talk, for not wanting to go back into the past, but how curious it is, she thinks, how sublimely incoherent that her generation, which doesn’t have much of anything to talk about yet, has produced men who never stop talking, men like Bing, for example, or men like Jake, who talks about himself at the slightest prompting, who has an opinion on every subject, who spews forth words from morning to night, but just because he talks, that doesn’t mean she wants to listen to him, whereas with the silent men, the old men, the ones who are nearly gone now, she would give anything to hear what they have to say.

Focus on making yourself feel excited, powerful. Imagine yourself destroying goals with ease.” “You have to believe that you can achieve anything.” “You can become rich, you can become strong, you can take care of your loved ones and enjoy the fact that it will be very difficult.

Justice requires lawyers who are prepared, witnesses who tell the truth, judges who know the law, and jurors who stay awake. Justice is the North Star, the burning bush, the holy virgin. It cannot be bought, sold, or mass produced. It is intangible, ineffable, and invisible, but if you are to spend your life in its pursuit, it is best to believe it exists, and that you can attain it.

All of us live with our own demons, do penance in our private ways. We need our friends for support and advice, but we draw our strength from within.

In my experience, honest people don't need to put their hand on a Bible to tell the truth, and with dishonest people, it makes no difference.

round house kick a fucking nigger, behead niglets, and piss on their brown nigger corpses

At the end of the day, it all comes down to how bad you freakin' want it. That's it.

We keep looking for justice, but it’s nothing but stormy nights and dark alleys out there.

I'm a burger and brew guy in a paté and Chardonnay world. I'm as health conscious as the next guy, as long as the next guy is sitting on a bar stool. FALSE DAWN http://tinyurl.com/64qngk5

A good lawyer is part con man, part priest -- promising riches, threatening hell. My ethical rules are simple. I won't lie to the court or let a client do it. But I've never been in this position. How far would I go for a woman who mattered? Is there anything I wouldn't do to win?

1/3 of men under 30 haven’t had sex in the last year. People don’t realize why that’s actually one of the biggest issues we face today. It means the foundation of our society is deteriorating.

At the prosecution table, Flagler gave me his Ivy League snicker. If I wanted, I could dangle him out the window by his ankles. But then, I was picking up penalties for late hits while he was singing tenor with the Whiffenpoofs. Okay, so I’m not Yale Law Review, but I’m proud of my diploma. University of Miami. Night division. Top half of the bottom third of my class.

The gods tempt us. They offer us riches and sweet smelling women, tres leches, each milk sweeter than the one before. But you cannot beat the gods. The grander house and the bigger deal only mean more borrowed time, more risk. When you build your life on a house of cards, you never know when the joker will turn up.

There are four kinds of homicide: felonious, excusable, justifiable, and praiseworthy.” —Ambrose Bierce

The acquisition of material things has become the hallmark of the shallow life.

I knew I always wanted to be 50 percent social media and 50 percent traditional media. Because I believe the stars of the future will need both.

I believe you should focus your life on observing the little things because one day you look back and realize they were the big things.

If the people around you are giving you advice to slow down or to take it easy – you are surrounded by the wrong people.

You just get pickier. I think that's true of everything. Money, toys, girls - all the hedonistic stuff. You just raise the bar

Before you climb the next mountain or conquer your next demon… Take a moment to acknowledge and celebrate your wins!

Don't buy things you can't afford with money you don't have to impress people you don't like it.

I jumped off a bridge in Italy, is that culturally insensitive? Is saying 'mamma mia' culturally insensitive?

Nobody knows something about everything.

Life is all in the setup.

I've never been disbarred, committed or convicted of moral turpitude, and the only time I was arrested, it was a case of mistaken identity...I didn't know the guy I hit was a cop.

A lawyer who’s afraid of jail is like a surgeon who’s afraid of blood.

Men act as if we just crawled from the swamp, our webbed feet dripping brackish water as we waddle ashore, seeking to mate with a female or, lacking that, a warm patch of mud.

You’ll never get away with this,” Mr Spencer said. Jake laughed. “But we are.” He laughed once more before he left them in peace. “Are you okay?” Joe asked glancing at Amy.

If your theories prove to be a floccinaucinihilipilification.” “A flossy…what?” “Sorry. Such an ostentatious, academic word. If your theories prove to be valueless, where are you then?

I hit every red light for fifty blocks heading east toward Coconut Grove. They’re timed that way by our traffic planners, who might be getting kickbacks from the oil and tire companies.

I could be wrong, but she seemed to be one of those anti-gluten, pro-yoga, organic wine bar, Generation-Y echo boomers. A Gwyneth Paltrow type who would name her first daughter Persimmon or whatever.

I don’t tweet or blog or order pizza with arugula on top. You won’t find my mug on Facebook or Instagram. I don’t have a life coach, an aroma therapist, or a manicurist, and I sure as hell don’t do Pilates.

Modern life is one sweeping, cradle-to-grave invasion of privacy. An encroachment on our ever-narrowing space. Our footprints in the sand are a billion bytes on a thousand hard drives. Fodder for the snoop and the historian alike.

I stood there, 220 pounds of ex-football player, ex-public defender, ex-a-lot-of-things, leaning against the faded walnut rail of the witness stand, home to a million sweaty palms. "To Speak for the Dead" (The Jake Lassiter Series) http://tinyurl.com/69eua2t

We are a vain, greedy, and foolish people. We squander and spoil, befoul and defile. We take for granted the beauties and bounties of nature, but in the end nature will out. We will dry up or smoke out or choke on our own waste. In the end we will pay the ultimate price.

Mr. Lassiter, you know better than that,” the judge said icily. He turned to the jury box. “The jury shall disregard Mr. Lassiter’s last statement.” I didn’t mind the instruction. In my experience, jurors forget most everything I say, except what the judge tells them to disregard.

I work harder than every single person I know, and the only person that is on the same level as me is my brother. If you look at the top social media stars, it's me and him. I think that's our advantage. We're not the prettiest; we're not even the funniest, we're not the wittiest, whatever it is.

Life, John Lennon famously said, is what happens to you while you’re making other plans. Now that I think of it, Lennon, that wizard of words and music, probably wasn’t the first. There’s an old Yiddish proverb, “Man plans and God laughs.” Probably every culture has a virtually identical aphorism.

What the hell do you expect, Jean Paul? For years your government has allowed the immigration of millions of Muslims into France. Yet these people have failed to assimilate. Refused to speak your language. And installed Sharia Law in pockets of your society. You have an enemy within. Go home and fix that first. Then come and talk with me.

With women, my wiring shorts out. My senses respond to the physical and the chemical, the scent and sheen of her. Evil could not possibly reside in the form of this angel. Or could it? Sure, I'm politically incorrect. I admit it; I confess; guilty as charged. I am, Your Honor, the lowest of the species, still wet from the swamp, webbed feet fossilized in the mud. I am a Man!

Charlie Pop is 15 years old. He has 2 dogs: Bruno and Rex. He lives with his parents Kath and Ron. Today is the 22nd April 2025. Charlie and his friends have been going to the Landfawcett space bowling club all their lives. Charlie’s friends are called Harry Em, Eric Tweet, Paul Key, Robert Storm, Chris Leaf, Jay Laugh, Darren Rain and Tom Breeze. They all have short hair and dress casually especially Ben Steps and George Sing. Jake Train is the cleverest of them all. He has invented a secret waterproof wireless finger camera that takes photographs; it is attached to Charlie and his friend’s fingers. Rex and Bruno have a camera attached to the fur on their heads. Images are shared with each other from the app recording onto their phones and laptops. It is their space bowling tournament today.

—and I say you still haven't answered my question, Father Bleu." "Haven't I, dear lady? I thought I stated that death is merely the beginning of—" "No, no, no!" Her voice was as high as a harpy's. "Don't go all gooey and metaphysical. I mean to ask, what is death the act, the situation, the moment?" She watched him foxily. The priest in turn struggled to remain polite. "Madame, I'm not positive I follow." "Let me say it another way. Most people are afraid of dying, yes?" "I disagree. Not those who find mystical union with the body of Christ in—" "Oh, come off it!" Madame Kagle shrilled. "People are frightened of it, Father Bleu. Frightened and screaming their fear silently every hour of every day they live. Now I put it to you. Of what are they afraid? Are they afraid of the end of consciousness? The ultimate blackout, so to speak? Or are they afraid of another aspect of death? The one which they can't begin to foresee or understand?" "What aspect is that, Madame Kagle?" "The pain." She glared. "The pain, Father. Possibly sudden. Possibly horrible. Waiting, always waiting somewhere ahead, at an unguessable junction of time and place. Like that bootboy tonight. How it must have hurt. One blinding instant when his head hit, eh? I suggest, Father Bleu, that is what we're afraid of, that is the wholly unknowable part of dying—the screaming, hurting how, of which the when is only a lesser part. The how is the part we never know. Unless we experience it." She slurped champagne in the silence. She eyed him defiantly. "Well, Father? What have you got to say?" Discreetly Father Bleu coughed into his closed fist. "Theologically, Madame, I find the attempt to separate the mystical act of dying into neat little compartments rather a matter of hairsplitting. And furthermore—" "If that's how you feel," she interrupted, "you're just not thinking it out." "My good woman!" said Father Bleu gently. "Pay attention to me!" Madame Wanda Kagle glared furiously. "I say you pay attention! Because you have never stopped to think about it, have you? If death resembles going to sleep, why, that's an idea your mind can get hold of, isn't it? You may be afraid of it, yes. Afraid of the end of everything. But at least you can get hold of some notion of something of what it's like. Sleep. But can you get hold of anything of what it must feel like to experience the most agonizing of deaths? Your head popping open like that bootboy's tonight, say? A thousand worms of pain inside every part of you for a second long as eternity? Can you grasp that? No, you can't, Father Bleu. And that's what death is at it's worst—the unknown, the possibly harrowing pain ahead." She clamped her lips together smugly. She held out her champagne glass for a refill. A woman in furs clapped a hand over her fashionably green lips and rushed from the group. Though puzzled, Joy was still all eyes and ears. "Even your blessed St. Paul bears me out, Father." The priest glanced up, startled. "What?" "The first letter to the Corinthians, if I remember. The grave has a victory, all right. But it's death that has the sting." In the pause the furnace door behind her eyes opened wide, and hell shone out. "I know what I'm talking about, Father. I've been there." Slowly she closed her fingers, crushing the champagne glass in her hand. Weeping, blood drooling from her palm down her frail veined arms, she had to be carried out. The party broke up at once.

He moves through the white glare of a Key West afternoon in that curious, rolling, cantilevered, ball-of-the-foot, and just-off-kilter gait that suggests a kind of subtle menace. He’s on dense and narrow and aromatic streets bearing people’s first names—Olivia, Petronia, Thomas, Emma, Angela, Geraldine. He’s Tom Sawyer on a Saturday in Hannibal, tooting like a steamboat, rid now of Aunt Polly’s clutches, left to his own devices, not to show back home until the sun is slanting in long bars. He’s Jake Barnes on a spring morning in Paris, when the horse chestnut trees are in bloom in the Luxembourg gardens. Jake is expert at shortcutting down the Boul’Mich’ to the rue Soufflot, where he hops on the back platform of an S bus, and rides it to the Madeleine, and then jumps off and strolls along the boulevard des Capucines to l’Opéra, where he then turns in at his building and rides the elevator up to his office to read the mail and sit at the typewriter and prepare a few cables for his newspaper across the Atlantic. “There was the pleasant early-morning feel of a hot day,” is the way Jake’s creator, living in this different region of light, had said it at the start of chapter 5 of The Sun Also Rises.

If you’re a lawyer in a TV show, you handle only one case at a time, wrap it up by the last pitch for Pepto-Bismol, after which you’re toting your briefcase down the courthouse steps with a beautiful client congratulating you for a wonderful job. Real life is different.

I walked past her and into the little circle around Chrissy. My social standing had just improved by several strata.

The director was talking to Chrissy and gesturing with his hands. “It’s not merely suntan oil. It’s an attitude, a way of life. It makes you glow on the inside, as well as outside.” “Only if you drink it,” I said.

Let them see your joie de vivre. Let your beauty radiate outward like the rays of the sun, warming you with its breath, a lover’s kiss. The sun gives us hope, renewal . . .” “Cancer,” I added helpfully.

Chrissy turned to me, leaned over, and gave me a peck on the cheek. “What’s that for?” I asked. “For being a man I can look up to without lying on my back.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Guy was more complicated than a good-ole-boy mango grower and Schein had more secrets than Freud’s Wolf Man.

Damn poachers! And damn lawyers! Everybody wants something for nothing. But nothing worth having is free. Not water. Not mangoes. Not nothing. I’ve worked for everything I’ve got, Lassiter.” He fingered his earring with one hand and held the gun with the other.

Stress! You been listening to them shrinks again? You didn’t hear anything about stress when I was a girl.” “When you were a girl, Freud wasn’t old enough to masturbate.

Did I want a lawyer? Hell no, I didn’t even want to be a lawyer.

Reporters rely on what people tell them. A woman claims she was the lover of a president. The story is accurate, because she said it, but where’s the truth? A spokesman for the tobacco industry claims there’s no proven link between smoking and lung cancer. Religious fanatics ignore all science and maintain that the Earth is only six thousand years old. So rule number one, the news is filled with accurate lies.

A prosecutor is a stolid carpenter who patiently hammers his wood into place as he builds a house, one board at a time. A defense lawyer is a nihilistic vandal who finds the support beam and pulls down the house before it’s complete.

he said “Miami” left the impression of Sodom-by-the-Sea.

One general is wearing a bright red cape, and the other asks him why such an outfit on a day of battle. ‘Because, if I’m wounded, my troops won’t see the blood, and they’ll fight on.’ The first general thinks about it and calls to his aide, ‘Fritz, bring my brown trousers.

There is no industrial smog in Miami. No steel mills, no oil refineries. Heavy industry is cocaine processing, and high technology is money laundering.

We unconsciously pick up the habits and attitudes, likes and dislikes, biases and tolerances of those who raise us.

I am so far behind the trends that sometimes I’m back in fashion,

Author

football

won

Levine

My mind is a warehouse of information like that, bushels of scrap paper filled with notes.

She expertly sliced open a ripe mango, then twisted the pit until it popped out of the fruit.

Man is never so foolish as when he fools himself.

falling

And truth is the first cousin of justice.

The relationship of life to death, I thought, was as random as cosmic waves.

Waves can wash away the most stubborn stains, and the stars do not care one way or the other.” – “A Deadly Shade of Gold” by John D. MacDonald

Rashomon,

the news is often accurate without being truthful.

All of us live with our own demons, do penance in our private ways. We need other people for support, but we draw our strength from within. In the end, despite faith and friends, we are alone.

Thrasymachus said it was just a word invented by the victors to rule the losers. Like, we won the war; now we make the laws.

As Plautus said, lupus est homo homini. Man is a wolf to man. Inhumanity is often at its worst inside the family.

linebacker

international

Steve

Amazon

Helmets neither cause concussions nor prevent them,” she said. “Even helmeted, on impact, the brain slides around like a bowl of Jell-O, twisting and stretching until it smacks into the corpus callosum.

Losing is not agony, just the fulfillment of promised pain.

Wanda was one of the sighers and moaners, the omigod-I-never-dreamed-it-could-be-like-this-types. When she wasn't purring with cinematic sincerity, she was a warm and giving bedmate with the full complement of womanly slopes and curves and warm, tender places. Sometime around dawn, she told me I looked like Harrison Ford. Or was it Henry Ford?

Knowledge of self is a precious commodity, dearer than the finest gemstone. The mirror I held before me now was not laced with gold filigree. It was cold and flat and bared every shadow on my soul.

have rights, too." Lassiter nodded at this pearl of tight-assed wisdom. "And you will not be swayed by sympathy for the injured person?" "Absolutely not." Lassiter smiled. Bingo! Marvin the Maven leaned toward Saul the Tailor and whispered, "Fatso saves his sympathy

look at his computer monitor and said,

Damn, a mirror can be a lethal weapon, and self-knowledge a poisoned pill. I had been a self-centered and egotistical jock with all the trappings of stunted male adolescence. Back then, I had yet to develop the empathy for others that marks the passage into manhood.

When I was a kid, Granny filled a bushel basket with her do’s and don’ts. She taught me never to start a fight but to know how to end one. To be wary of the rich and powerful. And to go through life doing the least damage possible. Thanks to her, I favor the underdog. I root against the Yankees, the Lakers, and the Patriots. If Germany invaded Poland—again—I’d take the points and go with the Poles.

I stored the information for later use. My mind is a warehouse of information like that, bushels of scrap paper filled with notes.

said. He started packing, dropping a cap and sunglasses

I try to go through life doing the least damage possible. Having fun without hurting anyone, maybe doing a little good along the way, but without taking myself too seriously.

As a lawyer, I break as few rules as possible, and just as in football, I play the game without fear. My college coach, Joe Paterno at Penn State, once told me to stop thinking so much. “Buckle your chin strap and hit somebody. Play fast and hard, and something good will happen. Don’t be afraid to lose.