Kleptomaniac Quotes

It could be worse," he said finally. "Efrenia married an arsonist. Jake's wife is a kleptomaniac. I suppose, a psychopathic spree killer isn't that odd of a choice, considering.

The craft's occupants clutched their armrests, and more than one of them closed their eyes. But not Artemis. He couldn't. There was something morbidly fascinating about flying into an uncharted tunnel at a reckless speed with only a kleptomaniac dwarf's word for what lay at the other end.

He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load. "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit. Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante. Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill.... And if she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.

I had spent hundreds of hours gazing out at the calm, conquered suburban landscape surrounding my school, silently yearning for the outbreak of a zombie apocalypse, a freak accident that would give me super powers, or perhaps the sudden appearance of a band of time-traveling kleptomaniac dwarves.

A kleptomaniac is a person who helps himself because he can't help himself

Also, I have one condition. You have to return everything you stole.” Thorne’s grin started to fizzle, but he locked his hands around the console and brightened again. “Dream dolls and some surplus uniforms? Done.” “And?” “And … and that’s pretty much it. Aces, you make it sound like I’m a kleptomaniac or something.

Amy turned to Nellie. "Can you create a diversion to draw the clerk outside?" The au pair was wary. "What kind of diversion?" "You could pretend to be lost," Dan proposed. "The guy comes out to give you directions, and we slip inside." "That's the most sexist idea I've ever heard," Nellie said harshly. "I'm female, so I have to be clueless. He's male, so he's got a great sense of direction." "Maybe you're from out of town," Dan suggested. "Wait–you are from out of town." Nellie stashed their bags under a bench and set Saladin on the seat with a stern "You're the watchcat. Anybody touches those bags, unleash your inner tiger." The Egyptian Mau surveyed the street uncertainly. "Mrrp." Nellie sighed. "Lucky for us there's no one around. Okay, I'm going in there. Be ready." The clerk said something to her–probably May I help you? She smiled apologetically. "I don't speak Italian." "Ah–you are American." His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. "I will assist you." He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. "Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?" "More like a punk/reggae fusion," Nellie replied thoughtfully. "With a country feel. And operatic vocals." The clerk stared in perplexity. Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. "Ah–Artic Monkeys–that's what I'm talking about. And some Bad Brains–from the eighties. Foo Fighters–I'll need a couple from those guys. And don't forget Linkin Park..." He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door.

What do you get when you cross a nymphomaniac with a kleptomaniac? A rapist, said Tyler.

Sweetheart, kleptomaniac sweetheart. You know what lies are for.

The fictitious kleptomaniac's only crime was stealing imaginations

Some kleptomaniacs do not steal things only; they also, while some only, steal lovers.

Nobody steals books except kleptomaniacs and university students. In most places you can leave a book on the street and come back for in the next day.

He hadn’t found what he’d meant to find, but his need to swipe and hoard something had been appeased for now.

A kleptomaniac is a person who helps himself because he can't help himself.

I’d met him about five years back on the Case of the Kleptomaniacal Occultist,

You see, ever since the first day of kindergarten, I had been hoping and waiting for some mind-blowingly fantastic, world-altering event to finally shatter the endless monotony of my public education. I had spent hundreds of hours gazing out at the calm, conquered suburban landscape surrounding my school, silently yearning for the outbreak of a zombie apocalypse, a freak accident that would give me super powers, or perhaps the sudden appearance of a band of time-traveling kleptomaniac dwarves. I

One modern academic lists Rousseau’s shortcomings as follows: he was a ‘masochist, exhibitionist, neurasthenic, hypochondriac, onanist, latent homosexual afflicted by the typical urge for repeated displacements, incapable of normal or parental affection, incipient paranoiac, narcissistic introvert rendered unsocial by his illness, filled with guilt feelings, pathologically timid, a kleptomaniac, infantilist, irritable and miserly’.

It’s true I sometimes imagine my life is different. That I’m somebody else. Maybe more than sometimes. But I’m not the only one around who makes stuff up. Adults are always telling you you can be whatever you want when you grow up, but they don’t mean it. They don’t believe it. They just want you to believe it. It’s a fairy tale. Like the tooth fairy. Something they tell you that gets you excited about something not so fantastic. If you think about it, it’s pretty gross—your teeth just falling out of your head, leaving bloody sockets for your tongue to poke through. But the story makes it better and the dollar makes it worth it. Then one afternoon you sneak into their bedroom and open the drawer of their nightstand, looking for the DS that they confiscated as punishment for your jumping on the roof of the car again, and you find the little Tupperware full of a dozen jagged pearls, caked brown with your own dried blood, your name written in black Sharpie across a piece of Scotch tape, and you stare at them for a moment in disbelief, wondering if maybe they aren’t what you think they are. Maybe they are somebody else’s teeth. They can’t be yours, because your teeth are in Neverland. Or Toothtopia. Or outer space. Or wherever kleptomaniac fairies live. So you confront them, your lying, scheming parents. Over breakfast, you ask your mom about the tooth fairy: where she lives, what she does during the day, how she manages to collect so many teeth each night, and how come some kids’ teeth (like Robbie Dinkler’s) are worth five bucks when yours only fetch a dollar apiece. And you see her search for some explanation that is at once both magical and believable, but you know she’s just making it up as she goes. It’s the same with all grown-ups. They tell you what they think you want to hear and let life tell you the truth later. You can be an astronaut or the president of the United States or second baseman for the White Sox, but you can’t really because you hate math, aren’t rich, and can’t even hit the ball. It’s just another fairy tale. So when your next tooth falls out, you figure you’ll just ask them if they’d like to keep it or throw it away, because you’re not buying it anymore. Or maybe not. Maybe you won’t tell them. Maybe you’ll still put your teeth under your pillow. Because sometimes it’s better to believe in the impossible. To believe you are a secret agent or a private detective or a superhero and not just a kid with freckled cheeks and gangly arms who is too clumsy to leap a tipped-over garbage can in a single bound. Until you are lying in the middle of the sidewalk, with a throbbing ankle and bloody chin, wishing you hadn’t even tried.

Consider yourself an official member of the misfits and rebels circle.

Where did Jesus’ ministry resources come from? The Scriptures give eight sources of possible income for the moneybag carried by Judas. The following Scriptures will show that Jesus never asked the synagogue congregants for free-will offerings. Nor do we see the synagogue leaders asking people to make offerings to Jesus. The custom in Jesus’ time involved charity and taking care of the needs of travelers including those who preached?

You’re such a left-brain AND a kleptomaniac. Quit taking things literally and there’s hope for you yet!

I often allow my brain to continuously function on a loop of the most outrageous backstories one can create

I was lost in a world of words.

It is life's biggest fight, the clash between what you know and what you feel.

I am a girl who follows her feelings. How else would I get to the source of where they're from?

Staying optimistic makes it easier to put one foot in front of the other when walking into unknown territory.

You can't beat our meat but you can touch our buns.

Typically the word crazy is used to describe me". "You say that like it's a bad thing". "Isn't it?

I think you're a good kind of crazy. You have an electrifying absurdity about that makes the people around you like they're entitled to experience whatever emotion they need to, no matter how foolish or sensible it may be.

No better place than the best place on earth.

Every treasure I've kept has been left behind. Like, people decide they don't want it anymore, set it down, and walk away.

The interesting thing about walking away is that there's always a path to take you back.

I don't want to choose a road with a high-speed limit and miss out on all the sights to be seen.

There is something peculiar hidden in each one of us. If we were all the same, we'd live life in black and white. There'd be no colour.

Most of her beauty is crafted from the moments she goes out of her way to make other's lives fulfilling.

Anything too far past today is hard to picture.

In a world full of people, we're both all alone.

The look in her eyes is almost my undoing. It isn't just the stars I see. It's the rebirth of a galaxy, lit up and glowing right in front of my eyes. Just for me.

Alma deserves everything under the sun. If it were possible, I'd spend forever traveling the world and collecting it all for her.

I'm sinking." My eyes say. "Swim." Hers scream back. So I do.

Death is a thief. It takes, and it takes, and it takes. Nobody is safe from being robbed. Not the deceased, not those who are still living.

Everything looks the same, the stars haven't dropped from the sky, and the sun still rises each morning but it's all different.

I'm stuck in a place where life meets death, and it's all messy.

From the time it took for the sun and the moon to trade places, my world as I knew it had vanished.

I will never forgot the moment your father walked up to your mother, asleep in the casket, and slipped a ring on her finger.

Because grief changes people. It sculpts you into a person better equipped to handle the pain.

The butterfly kisses, gifted to me wth his smirk, and his laugh, and the tips of his fingers when they grazed the edge of my jaw.

But there's this thing about catching butterflies - as soon as you get close enough, they're gone.

When it comes to kindness, Alma gives more than she takes, and finds fulfilment in loving those who probably don't deserve it.

She's made of steel and will carry your burdens on top of her tiny shoulders if it means you get to take a breath.

And even just a smile in return means success for her.

The way I found him was serendipitous. but the way I've come to love him is more than just a cheery mishap.

Though he's walked through flames and crawled across glass, the makings of a smile are prominent on his cheeks.

I know there are scars I can't see, cuts below the surface that will take longer, if not forever, to heal.

If I would've known back then that feeling was love, I would've tried to find you sooner. You, Rumor Rawlings, are my greatest find.

I believe that's what people do when they pass on - leave treasures behind for us to find. Something to remember them by or honor them with. Something for us to give our love to.

The greatest thing she left behind was you.

I'm sorry, Rumor, that the bouquet of roses you showed up with today is next to her resting place instead of in her hands, and I'm sorry that you can't remember the woman you share your eyes with. I'm sorry we're celebrating her life rather than bearing witness to her living it. And although most of us here never knew her, we'll honor her anyway. Because with her, comes you. Sorry isn't enough to bandage the cuts you wear beneath your skin but I hope knowing what you meant to her is.

They start to flow and I wonder if it's the violins and the butterflies mixing. I wonder if that's what love looks like when it's the only thing left to feel.

There was something morbidly fascinating about flying into an uncharted tunnel at a reckless speed, with only a kleptomaniac dwarf’s word for what lay at the other end.

He came over to see her, so he said. She didn’t go home last night and he thought she was still here.” She laughed. “He wasn’t surprised at not finding her, though. He said she was always wandering off somewhere, she has dromomania, which comes from a mother fixation and is very interesting. He said Stekel claims people who have it usually show kleptomaniac impulses too, and he’s left things around to see if she’d steal them, but she never has yet that he knows of.

what a block of hope what a kleptomaniac what a thief of life I am

Two of the most sensible (one a forger, the other a kleptomaniac on an important scale) are friends of mine. They are fairly well educated, respectable city men, clean, solemn, stodgy, punctilious, and resigned, but they are both unhappy; not because they are cursed with the double brand of madness and crime, and have forfeited their freedom in consequence; but because they find there are so few "ladies and gentlemen" in a criminal lunatic asylum, and they have always been used to "the society of ladies and gentlemen." Were it not for this, they would be well content to live here. And each is in the habit of confiding to me that he considers the other a very high-minded, trustworthy fellow, and all that, but not altogether "quite a gentleman." I do not know what they consider me; they probably confide that to each other.

Tithing takes from the poor whom the Church is called to help. The Poor did not tithe in Deuteronomy 14:28-29 and Deuteronomy 16:22. If that is the case, why are poor and struggling believers disobeying the Scriptures and handing over 10 percent when they need to sustain their lives, when the in the Old Testament received the tithe.

How the Tithe Changed From Food to Money What most people don’t understand is that early believers who followed Christ in various congregations did not practice money tithing. The congregations or the called out ones financed themselves the same way the early Israelite society did. Because they were accustomed to their cultural norms, they followed finance methods of freewill offerings, which according to Moses was more than enough to provide for the needs of the temple. Giving in the New Testament followed the pattern of Exodus 35:5.

kleptomaniac

I do not fight. I have never punched anyone. I have stolen books once and once some paperclips, without really knowing why. I almost killed three passengers in my car by looking for a cassette in the glove compartment while I was going one-eighty on the highway. I wanted to write a book entitled 'In the car', made up of remarks recorded while driving. I have never filed a complaint with the police.

The unfortunate thing is that as you strive to free the corrupt because of politics, you don't free them of their insatiable greed for public coffers. A kleptomaniac will always be a kleptomaniac . Even if you dress a cobra and place it in the pulpit, the poison is still in its belly. When the opportunity to bite will present itself, pray that your children will not be the victims.

Theft happens with three reasons: 1) I need this more than him/her 2) How can he deserve so much 3) Kleptomaniac - As a habit They are not necessarily bad people.

Anyway, I can’t help stealing,” Leira explained. “I’m a kleptomaniac.