Petrol Best Quotes

So take today and blow its mind; take this today and suck it dry. Take today and fill it with the best of you. Take today and down it in one, take today like a shot of petrol and set your day alight.

It had been an early start. Dawn and dusk had always been the best times to catch pike but these days it was a rare occasion when he got out of bed much before 9.00am at the weekend. This morning his alarm had gone off at 5.00am. It was still dark. He had made a thermos flask of coffee and had stopped at the petrol station to get some sandwiches and chocolate. He had put his fishing tackle in the car the night before and had arrived at Gold Corner Pumping Station before sunrise.

The statistics are unequivocal: up until the end of 1944, on a man-for-man basis, the Germans inflicted between 20 and 50 per cent higher casualties on the British and Americans than they suffered, and far higher than that on the Russians, under almost all military conditions. Although they lost because of their Führer’s domination of grand strategy as well as the sheer size of the populations and economies ranged against them, it is indisputable that the Germans were the best fighting men of the Second World War for all but the last few months of the struggle, when they suffered a massive dearth of equipment, petrol, reinforcements and air cover.

Pawns become queens, or so I'm told. Personally, I've always felt that the best way to win a game is to douse the board in petrol and light a match.

Do you think that's what love is? Not what they say on the front of those cheesy Valentine's cards you see in petrol stations - you complete me - but is it when someone has seen you at your worst but still looks at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to them? I think it might be.

My daughters-in-law, you know..." she shrugs her rounded shoulders resignedly. "They are such sweet girls, good mothers, kind to me..." "And such bad cooks!" we all say in unison, the refrain of every Leftovers Brunch in our history. "Tell us," Benji says, all of us relishing the litany and details of failed dishes. "Well, Gina, you know, she is Italian, so she brings sausages in peppers, which smells like feet. And she takes the beautiful sausages that Kurt makes at the butcher shop and cooks them until they are like hard little rocks. Ellie, she is afraid of getting fat, so she makes cheesecake with no-fat Greek yogurt and Egg Beaters and fake sugar that tastes mostly of petrol. Lisa wanted to do stuffing, and it was so dry that you could barely choke it down. I had to make a second batch of gravy in the middle of dinner because everyone was trying to soak it so that it didn't kill us." "But you made that beautiful turkey, and those dumplings are like pillows," Andrea says. "And your famous German potato salad," Eloise says. "And all of those desserts from the bakery," I say, dreaming of crispy, sweet pastries, oozing custard and homemade jam and dolloped with whipped cream. "A good meal in spite of the girls." Lois beams, knowing that we all really mean our compliments.

I looked up and down the mostly empty aisle. “It wasn’t just sex. It was . . .” I shook my head and tried to keep my voice down. “Cory, it was so much more. It was the best sex of my life. I can’t even describe it.” His eyes lit up. “How good?” “Is it possible for his dick to shoot meth or cocaine? Because I’m seriously addicted after one time. I need more of whatever the fuck he did to me. I’m not even kidding. Do fat mushroom-headed cocks have some magic-mushroom jizz?” Cory roared, laughing so loud that the man at the end of the aisle stopped and stared. “Yeah, I think I would have heard about that before now. Or had it myself.” “I’m not joking, Cory. Imagine a huge firework rocket. Now douse it in petrol, add some sparkles for funsies, then set it on fire. That’s what he did to me.” He leaned in and did some weird thing with his eyebrows. “It sounds like you had a prostate orgasm.” “Have you ever had one?” “Once.” “And?” “It was a firework rocket doused in petrol with sparkles for funsies and set on fire.” “And you never told me about this because . . .” “If I told you about every sexual encounter I have, we’d never talk about anything else.

looked up and down the mostly empty aisle. “It wasn’t just sex. It was . . .” I shook my head and tried to keep my voice down. “Cory, it was so much more. It was the best sex of my life. I can’t even describe it.” His eyes lit up. “How good?” “Is it possible for his dick to shoot meth or cocaine? Because I’m seriously addicted after one time. I need more of whatever the fuck he did to me. I’m not even kidding. Do fat mushroom-headed cocks have some magic-mushroom jizz?” Cory roared, laughing so loud that the man at the end of the aisle stopped and stared. “Yeah, I think I would have heard about that before now. Or had it myself.” “I’m not joking, Cory. Imagine a huge firework rocket. Now douse it in petrol, add some sparkles for funsies, then set it on fire. That’s what he did to me.” He leaned in and did some weird thing with his eyebrows. “It sounds like you had a prostate orgasm.” “Have you ever had one?” “Once.” “And?” “It was a firework rocket doused in petrol with sparkles for funsies and set on fire.” “And you never told me about this because . . .” “If I told you about every sexual encounter I have, we’d never talk about anything else.

I took his hand and pulled him away before he could get into a smack down with Stink Eye Susan and her basket full of plant-based tofu. Christ. Did she even know what tofu was? Marketing really preyed on the stupid. I looked up and down the mostly empty aisle. “It wasn’t just sex. It was . . .” I shook my head and tried to keep my voice down. “Cory, it was so much more. It was the best sex of my life. I can’t even describe it.” His eyes lit up. “How good?” “Is it possible for his dick to shoot meth or cocaine? Because I’m seriously addicted after one time. I need more of whatever the fuck he did to me. I’m not even kidding. Do fat mushroom-headed cocks have some magic-mushroom jizz?” Cory roared, laughing so loud that the man at the end of the aisle stopped and stared. “Yeah, I think I would have heard about that before now. Or had it myself.” “I’m not joking, Cory. Imagine a huge firework rocket. Now douse it in petrol, add some sparkles for funsies, then set it on fire. That’s what he did to me.” He leaned in and did some weird thing with his eyebrows. “It sounds like you had a prostate orgasm.” “Have you ever had one?” “Once.” “And?” “It was a firework rocket doused in petrol with sparkles for funsies and set on fire.

In a society of declining intelligence, we would expect: rising crime and corruption; decreasing civic participation and lower voter turn-out; higher rates of illegitimacy; poorer health and greater obesity, an increased interest in the instinctive, especially sex; greater political instability and decline in democracy; higher levels of social conflict; higher levels of selfishness and so a decline in any welfare state; a growing unemployable underclass; falling educational standards; and a lack of intellectualism and thus decreasing interest in education as a good in itself. We would also expect more and more little things to go wrong that we didn’t used to notice: buses running out of petrol, trains delayed, aeroplanes landing badly, roads not being repaired, people arriving late and thinking it’s perfectly okay; several large and lots of little lies . . . In addition, the broader modern system – especially of extended formal education (stretching ever further into adult life), exam results and continuous assessments, required subjects and courses; the supposed ‘meritocracy’ – suppresses the influence of genius, since the Endogenous personality is seeking, ever more strongly with age, to follow his inner drives, his Destiny, and all the paraphernalia of normal, standard requirements stands in his path. While others need sticks and carrots, and are grateful for encouragement, discipline and direction; the Endogenous personality is driven from within and (beyond a basic minimum) he neither needs nor appreciates these things – at best they slow him down, at worst they thwart and exclude him. The Endogenous personality requires mainly to be allowed to do what he intrinsically and spontaneously wants to do – but in modern society he is more likely to be prevented.

When we have understood about free will, we shall see how silly it is to ask, as somebody once asked me: “Why did God make a creature of such rotten stuff that it went wrong?” The better stuff a creature is made of—the cleverer and stronger and freer it is—then the better it will be if it goes right, but also the worse it will be if it goes wrong. A cow cannot be very good or very bad; a dog can be both better and worse; a child better and worse still; an ordinary man, still more so; a man of genius, still more so; a superhuman spirit best—or worst—of all. How did the Dark Power go wrong? Here, no doubt, we ask a question to which human beings cannot give an answer with any certainty. A reasonable (and traditional) guess, based on our own experiences of going wrong, can, however, be offered. The moment you have a self at all, there is a possibility of putting yourself first—wanting to be the centre—wanting to be God, in fact. That was the sin of Satan: and that was the sin he taught the human race. Some people think the fall of man had something to do with sex, but that is a mistake. (The story in the Book of Genesis rather suggests that some corruption in our sexual nature followed the fall and was its result, not its cause.) What Satan put into the heads of our remote ancestors was the idea that they could “be like gods”—could set up on their own as if they had created themselves—be their own masters—invent some sort of happiness for themselves outside God, apart from God. And out of that hopeless attempt has come nearly all that we call human history—money, poverty, ambition, war, prostitution, classes, empires, slavery—the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him happy. The reason why it can never succeed is this. God made us: invented us as a man invents an engine. A car is made to run on petrol, and it would not run properly on anything else. Now God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to feed on. There is no other. That is why it is just no good asking God to make us happy in our own way without bothering about religion. God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.