Oom Quotes

Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?

Meanwhile,' said Mr Tumnus, 'it is winter in Narnia, and has been for ever so long, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking in the snow. Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?

He studied with the guru of rock n’ roll, Baba Oom Mow Mow, who taught his own version of the Golden Rule: "Do wop unto others as you would have them do wop unto you.

Villains. Stories are nothing without them. Heroes cannot rise to greatness without them. In the absence of an enemy, our beloved protagonists are left kicking rocks in the Shire or taking tea and biscuits in a mind-numbingly cheery Spare Oom. We love villains because they turn their aches into action, their bruises into battering rams. They push through niceties and against societal restraints to propel the story forward. Unlike our lovable protagonists, villains - for better or worse - stop at literally nothing to achieve their goals. It's why we secretly root for them, why we find ourselves hoping they make their grand escape, and it's why our shoulders sag with equal parts relief and disappointment when they are caught. After all, how can you not give it up to someone who works that damned hard for what they want?... Look into a villain's eyes long enough and we might find our shadow selves, our uncut what-ifs and unchecked ambitions, a blurry line if ever there was one.

Science Fiction properly conceived, like all serious fiction, however funny, is a way of trying to describe what is going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast sack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story. In it, as in all fiction, there is room enough to keep even Man where he belongs, in his place in the scheme of things, there is time enough to gather plenty of wild oats and sow them, too, and sing to little Oom, and listen to Ool's joke, and watch newts, and still the story isn't over. Still there are seeds to be gathered and room in the bag of stars.

One of the hardest lessons I've had to learn is that no matter how good a person you are, no matter how much you try to understand others, be empathetic, or reach out to help, some people just will not like you. Ever.

Oom, pom-pom; oom, pom-pom; Tiddle-iddle-widdle, oom, pom-pom; Oom, pom-pom—pah!

You do not have to change yourself to appease anyone. You are perfectly worthy as you are. You do not have to earn love and support.

True intimacy comes from vulnerability, and vulnerability comes from authenticity.

I put on the mask and robe, thinking that it would help me fit in. But soon the plaster crumbled and the fabric frayed, showing my true skin.

Sometimes life will tear your house apart so you can see the cracks in the foundation.

Sometimes the universe conspires in ways that make it look like you are being rejected, but really, you are being protected from misaligned, potentially harmful people and situations.

It is perhaps an ugly comment on the American press, but the function of the interviewer on most newspapers is to entertain, not to shed light. . . . An interviewer soon begins to judge public figures on the basis of their entertainment value, overlooking their true importance. It is not easy to get an interview with Professor Franz Boas, the greatest anthropologist in the world, across a city desk, but a mild interview with Oom the Omnipotent will hit the bottom of page one under a two-column head. . . . It is safe to write accurately only about the nuts and bums. When a public figure does something ridiculous reporters may then write about him accurately.

Het leven is waardeloos, gelet op het feit dat men moet sterven.

If you don't voice your concerns and speak your truth, people will assume that you'll accept disrespectful behavior.

Singles also have an endearing ability to get out of their own way: Imagine trying to extend "Pappa-Oom-Mow-Mow" for an entire album (and one thing you'll have imagined is a central dilemma of some of today's best recordmakers).

Hoeveel jaar ben je nu alweer? Zeven? Mooi. Jij wordt al groot. Nog even en ook jij staat in de oetan van het leven waar de mysteries je omringen. Dan zal ook jij je mes moeten trekken om je er doorheen te kappen, kerel. Of je wordt erdoor verstikt.

It's safe to receive. It's safe to let others help you. It's safe to soften. It's okay to pull back. It's okay to look after yourself.

You are enough. You are doing enough. You have done enough. You have given enough. You don't need to prove your worth to anyone. You can allow yourself to be free.

You will never please every single person. It doesn't matter how good your intentions are.

Do you understand me, good people? Do you understand now why it is not as easy as it used to be to sit behind that desk and learn only what Oom Dawie has decided I must know? My head is rebellious. It refuses now to remember when the Dutch landed, and the Huguenots landed, and the British landed. It has already forgotten when the old Union become the proud young Republic. But it does know what happened in Kliptown in 1955, in Sharpville on 21st March, 1960, and in Soweto on the 16th of June 1976. Do you? Better find out because those are dates your children will have to learn one day. We don't need the Zolile classrooms any more. We know now what they really are ... traps which have been carefully set to catch our minds, our souls. No, good people. e have woken up at last.We have found another school ... the streets, the little rooms, the funeral parlours of the location ... anywhere the people meet and whisper names we have been told to forget, the dates of events they try to tell us never happened, and the speeches they try to say were never made. Those are the lessons we are eager and proud to learn, because they are lessons about our history, about our heroes. But the time for whispering them is past. Tomorrow we start shouting. AMANDLA!

I hadn’t known what Humans were like before I met you. Of course I can’t give you up to the Witch; not now that I know you. But we must be off at once. I’ll see you back to the lamppost. I suppose you can find your own way from there back to Spare Oom and War Drobe?” “I’m sure I can,” said Lucy. “We must go as quietly as we can,” said Mr. Tumnus. “The whole wood is full of her spies. Even some of the trees are on her side.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tumnus.” “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Tumnus,” said Lucy. “And may I ask, O Lucy, Daughter of Eve,” said Mr. Tumnus, “how you have come into Narnia?” “Narnia?” What’s that?” said Lucy. “This is the land of Narnia,” said the Faun, “where we are now; all that lies between the lamppost and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the Eastern Sea. And you--you have come from the wild woods of the west?” “I--I got in through the wardrobe in the spare room,” said Lucy. “Ah,” said Mr. Tumnus in a rather melancholy voice, “if only I had worked harder at geography when I was a little faun, I should no doubt know all about those strange countries. It is too late now.” “But they aren’t countries at all,” said Lucy, almost laughing. “It’s only just back there--at least--I’m not sure. It is summer there.” “Meanwhile,” said Mr. Tumnus, “it is winter in Narnia, and has been for ever so long, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking in the snow. Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?

For Plato, if two individuals have some common attribute and so are describable by the same predicate-'Tom is a man'; 'Dick is a man'-then there is something in virtue of which Tom and Dick (together with all other referents of the predicate nominative 'man') have this common attribute. This something is the ideal Form man, which Form is what really, ultimately exists, whereas individual men are just temporal appearances of the Form, with a kind of borrowed or derivative existence, like shadows or projected images. That's a very simplified version of the O.O.M., but not a distorted one-and even at this level it should not be hard to see the influences of Pythagoras and Parmenides on Plato's ontological Theory of Forms, which the O.O.M. is an obvious part of.

I threw hollowed self at your robust, went for IV drips, mercury detoxes, cilantro smoothies. I pressed my lips to you, fed you kale, spooned down coconut oil. I fasted for blood sugar, underboomed the carbs, chased ketosis, urine-stripped and slip-checked. Baked raw cocoa & mint & masticated pig thyroids. You were contemporary, toxic, I can’t remember what you were, you’re in my brain, inflaming it, using up the glutathione. I read about you on the Internet & my doctor agreed. Just take more he urged & more. You slipped into each cell. I went after you with a sinking inside and medical mushrooms for maximum oom, I plumbed you without getting to nevermore. O doom. You were a disease without name, I was a body gone flame, together, we twitched, and the acupuncturist said, it looks difficult, stay calmish. What can be said? I came w/o a warranty. Stripped of me—or me-ish-ness— I was a will in a subpar body. I waxed toward all that waned inside.

Als Jos Goossens, mijn oom, zei, had hij direct en volmondig gelijk, dat ze niet willen weten, ervan.

Een paar jaar geleden droeg oom Jos Goossens de grafrechten over op mijn naam. Er zijn echter mensen, die dachten, over lijken te kunnen en mogen gaan.

Mijn oom Sal kon 'dank u wel' zeggen in dertien talen en 'Weet u waar het toilet is?' in elf. Hij had beter 'Waar is hier de nooduitgang? kunnen leren in het Thai, zodat hij het brandende pand in Bangkok misschien levend verlaten had.

Ik heb geen erfgenamen. Ik wil graag dat jij Willowmere erft, Claire. Het is verschrikkelijk duur om te onderhouden, maar met het geld van oom Al kun je het nog een hele tijd volhouden. Dat krijg je natuurlijk ook... Tenslotte, lieve Alice, moeten we het wel in de familie houden. - Myra

Ga daar de hoek om,' commandeerde Morgan Drummond. 'Snij af door het park. En waag het niet om die verrekte meter nog verder op te laten lopen.' ... Kady greep naar haar heuptasje. 'Oom Edward, u mag wel even met mijn mobieltje bellen dat we te laat komen.' 'Maar we komen niet te laten,' zei Morgan en wendde zich tot de chauffeur. 'Of wel soms?

Having settled on the Shavian style of Higgins’s songs, Lerner and Loewe weave two other levels of musical style into the score—just as Rodgers and Loesser wove multiple musical styles into mirrors of class and character. Eliza, the lowly flower seller whom Higgins turns into a lady, could sing with the conventional fire and passion of operetta and musical heroines. The passionate, full-throated sound of her songs—the longing of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” the anger of “Just You Wait, ’Enry ‘lggins,” the joy of “I Could Have Danced All Night,” the insistence of “Show Me”—contrasts with the dry wit of Higgins’s talk-songs. This contrast not only gives the score musical variety and color but embodies the essential dramatic conflict between intellect and emotion. The third musical style belongs to Alfred Doolittle, Eliza’s working-class dad, who, like Higgins, is an unconventional moralist—resisting such constraints of middle-class morality as work, sobriety, thrift, and marriage. Lerner and Loewe saw Doolittle as a refugee from the English music hall—literally, since the veteran music-hall performer, Stanley Holloway, created the role. Doolittle’s “With a Little Bit of Luck” and “Get Me to the Church on Time” are bouncy, raucous music-hall numbers, oom-pah marches with conventional major harmonies and not a trace of American syncopation.

Ik realiseerde me dat er in het land waar ik was geboren en waarvan ik me had afgewend op een manier die met de dag onomkeerbaarder was, veel mannen en vrouwen waren zoals hij, in wezen fatsoenlijke mensen die hun leven lang hadden gedroomd van een economische, sociale, culturele en politieke vooruitgang die de Peruaanse samenleving modern, welvarend en democratisch zou maken, met mogelijkheden voor iedereen, alleen om steeds weer te worden ontgoocheld en zich, net als oom Ataúlfo, op hun oude dag - al met één voet in het graf - verward af te vragen waarom we in plaats van vooruit te gaan achteruitgingen en er nu erger aan toe waren - met meer tegenstellingen, ongelijkheden, geweld en onveiligheid - dan toen hun leven begon.

Ik wilde altijd net als oom San, doktor in de chemie worden.

Just for today... give yourself the love you've been seeking.

En hoewel in de tweede fase van de dictatuur, de laatste vier jaar geleid door generaal Francisco Morales Bermúdez, het populisme enigszins werd ingetoomd, bleven de kranten en de radio- en televisiestations in handen van de staat, was politiek bedrijven onmogelijk en gloorde er geen sprankje hoop dat de democratie zou worden hersteld. De verbittering die sprak uit de brieven van oom Ataúlfo deed me pijn, zowel om hem als om de Peruanen van zijn generatie, die op hun oude dag moesten toezien hoe hun droom van een Peru dat vooruitgang boekte geen werkelijkheid werd maar daarentegen steeds verder uit het zicht verdween. De Peruaanse samenleving zonk dieper weg in armoede, onwetendheid en gewelddadigheid.

Sommige leerlingen zijn niet zo sterk in knip-en-plakvakken maar zijn geboren schrijvers, andere zijn te wispelturig om met de schaar een parcours van stippellijnen te volgen maar blinken uit in atletiek, weer andere spreken in sommen en formules maar spellen verkeerd. Nog andere munten uit in de kunst van de totale onkunde. Babs viel uit de toon. Babs blonk in alles uit. Babs leerde niets. Babs had al van bij haar geboorte alle wijsheid van de wereld in pacht. Wij zagen Babs van hier uit de toon vallen. Babs had Geen speelgoed met kogels, Geen stiefzussen, geen vader met een stamcafé, Geen werkloze oom die een hele dag op het dorpsplein zat en met de duiven sprak, Geen bodywarmer, geen kermisvriendjes, Geen dagelijkse portie friet, geen pitbull Bob, geen slecht rapport. Geen voornemens voor missiewerk.

Het is bijna beter onder de dieren te leven, als onder mensen die zonder liefde zijn. Want wat is er droeviger als te leven op een plaats, waar de ene mens tegen de ander zoals een wolf is?

Net als met zijn kennis van de natuur was oom Frits ook een kampioen in dooddoeners. Wat ik aan tafel, tijdens die eindeloze door mijn tante bereide voorgerechten, tussengerechten, hoofdgerechten en nagerechten, ook naar voren bracht, oom Frits wist altijd wel een gezegde dat de boel in één keer naar beneden haalde. In de trant van: 'Ja dat zal wel zo wezen, maar ik heb het wel anders gezien...' En dan kwam er weer zo'n vierdehands verhaal dat als origineel werd opgediend. 'In mijn praktijk heb ik de mensen maar al te goed leren kennen,' zei hij. In werkelijkheid kent dat soort precies acht anekdotes en twaalf spreekwoorden waarmee ze zich de rol van filosoof aanmeten, het is te erg om over na te denken op welke vreselijke manieren je allemaal oud kunt worden.

Ik zal je één ding zeggen, oom San en anderen die ik vroeger sprak, zouden zich werkelijk maar niet daadwerkelijk een breuk hebben gelachen.

Hij lijkt echt heel erg op oom Ferdinand. - Grover

knots! ‘Now, quick, let’s go!’ he cried. ‘Sorry about tying you up, Oom-Boom-Boom, but you’re not going to have Silky. Run everyone!’ They ran up the winding passage and came out on the hillside. And oh, thank goodness, there was the rabbit waiting in his car! What a wonderful sight! Joe got to the car first.

A man came into my life and he left, without saying a word. Suddenly, he was there, again, holding back his words.

Self-forgetfulness in the face of something admirable is a virtue to aspire to.