Wc Quotes

I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.

It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.

I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.

If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.

I never hold a grudge. As soon as I get even with the son-of-a bitch, I forget it.

Everybody's got to believe in something. I believe I'll have another beer.

I don't drink water. Fish fuck in it.

Start every day off with a smile and get it over with.

Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.

A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money

Fell in love with a beautiful blonde once. Drove me to drink. And I never had the decency to thank her.

A thing worth having is a thing worth cheating for.

Once, during Prohibition, I was forced to live for days on nothing but food and water.

Marry an outdoors woman. That way, if you have to throw her out into the yard for the night, she can still survive.

Never try to impress a woman, because if you do she'll expect you to keep up the standard for the rest of your life.

Ah, the patter of little feet around the house. There's nothing like having a midget for a butler.

No doubt exists that all women are crazy; it's only a question of degree.

I spent half my money on gambling, alcohol and wild women. The other half I wasted.

The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep.

Hell, I never vote for anybody, I always vote against.

You can't trust water: Even a straight stick turns crooked in it.

As W.C. Fields once said: a thing worth having is a thing worth cheating for.

You can fool some of the people some of the time -- and that's enough to make a decent living.

Remember, a dead fish can float downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream.

I once spent a year in Philadelphia, I think it was on a Sunday.

Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite, and furthermore, always carry a small snake.

If I had to live my life over, I'd live over a saloon.

There's no such thing as a tough child - if you parboil them first for seven hours, they always come out tender.

Attitude is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than what people do or say. It is more important than appearance, giftedness, or skill.

Goddamn the whole fucking world and everyone in it except you, Carlotta!

I never drink water because of the disgusting things that fish do in it.

All things considered, I'd rather be in Philadelphia

I've never hit a woman in my life. Not even my own mother.

Never give a sucker an even break.

Philadelphia, wonderful town, spent a week there one night

The news of my death is greatly exaggerated.

Ain't fit for man nor beast

Schools: Keep the young public ignorant of real mathematics, real economics, real law, and REAL HISTORY [WC emphasis].

Don't be a luddy-duddy! Don't be a mooncalf! Don't be a jabbernowl! You're not those, are you?

If at first you don't succeed, try, try and try again.

Never trust a man who doesn't drink.

N.B. – Do not on any account attempt to write on both sides of the paper at once.

I'm free of all prejudices. I hate all people equally.

Ik ben, wellicht op een verkeerde manier, bezeten van boeken. Altijd, dag en nacht, moet er een boek bij me in de buurt zijn. Zonder boek naar bed of naar de w.c. gaan is voor mij onmogelijk. Blijk ik in een trein een boek of blad vergeten te zijn, dan stap ik uit en schaf me drukwerk aan. Verblijf ik bij iemand die geen boeken in huis heeft, dan word ik rusteloos en agressief.

Here lies W.C.Fields. I'd rather be living in Philadelphia.

Gladstone .. spent his declining years trying to guess the answer to the Irish Question; unfortunately, whenever he was getting warm, the Irish secretly changed the Question, ...

The Scots (originally Irish, but by now Scotch) were at this time inhabiting Ireland, having driven the Irish (Picts) out of Scotland; while the Picts (originally Scots) were now Irish (living in brackets) and vice versa. It is essential to keep these distinctions clearly in mind (and verce visa).

Always smile first thing in the morning. Might as well get it over with.

Drowned in a vat of whiskey... Oh Death, where is thy sting?

Experience has proven that the SIMPLEST METHOD of securing a silent weapon and gaining control of the public is to KEEP THE PUBLIC UNDISCIPLINED AND IGNORANT of basic systems principles on the one hand, WHILE KEEPING THEM CONFUSED, DISORGANIZED, AND DISTRACTED with matters of no real importance on the other hand. [WC all emphases.

Kun maailma kerran loppuu, soi korvissamme WC-pöntön kohina, ikuisuuden urkupilli.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no use being a damn fool about it. - W.C. Fields

With the ascension of Charles I to the throne we come at last to the Central Period of English History (not to be confused with the Middle Ages, of course), consisting in the utterly memorable Struggle between the Cavaliers (Wrong but Wromantic) and the Roundheads (Right but Repulsive).

Covek je stvorenje nacinjeno na kraju radne nedelje kad se Bog umorio. I cemu je trebalo celi ovaj globus stvarati u zurbi, za sest dana. Da se potrosilo malo vise vremena, svet se ne bi trebalo toliko popravljati i poboljsavati. Slicno se desava kad na brzinu sklepas kucu, pa u zurbi zaboravis WC, ili spremiste za metle, i to onda moras naknadno dograditi, bez obzira koliko te to kostalo novaca ili zivaca.

He had a W.C. Fields twang and a nose like a prize strawberry.

Henry York, aka Whimpering Child, aka WC (hair sample included), is hereby identified as Enemy, Hazard, and Human Mishap to all faeren in all districts, in all ways, and in all worlds.

In the language of the day it is customary to describe a certain sort of book as “escapist” literature. As I understand it, the adjective implies, a little condescendingly, that the life therein depicted cannot be identified with the real life which the critic knows so well in W.C.1: and may even have the disastrous effect on the reader of taking him happily for a few hours out of his own real life in N.W.8. Why this should be a matter for regret I do not know; nor why realism in a novel is so much admired when realism in a picture is condemned as mere photography; nor, I might add, why drink and fornication should seem to bring the realist closer to real life than, say, golf and gardening.

You both love Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, Hawthorne and Melville, Flaubert and Stendahl, but at that stage of your life you cannot stomach Henry James, while Gwyn argues that he is the giant of giants, the colossus who makes all other novelists look like pygmies. You are in complete harmony about the greatness of Kafka and Beckett, but when you tell her that Celine belongs in their company, she laughs at you and calls him a fascist maniac. Wallace Stevens yes, but next in line for you is William Carlos Williams, not T.S. Eliot, whose work Gwyn can recite from memory. You defend Keaton, she defends Chaplin, and while you both howl at the sight of the Marx Brothers, your much-adored W.C. Fields cannot coax a single smile from her. Truffaut at his best touches you both, but Gwyn finds Godard pretentious and you don't, and while she lauds Bergman and Antonioni as twin masters of the universe, you reluctantly tell her that you are bored by their films. No conflicts about classical music, with J.S. Bach at the top of the list, but you are becoming increasingly interested in jazz, while Gwyn still clings to the frenzy of rock and roll, which has stopped saying much of anything to you. She likes to dance, and you don't. She laughs more than you do and smokes less. She is a freer, happier person than you are, and whenever you are with her, the world seems brighter and more welcoming, a place where your sullen, introverted self can almost begin to feel at home.

Memorable among the Saxon warriors were Hengist and his wife (? or horse), Horsa. Hengist made himself King in the South. Thus Hengist was the first English King and his wife (or horse), Horsa, the first English Queen (or horse).

I was in love with a beautiful blond once. She drove me to drink. That's the one thing I'm indebted to her for.

It ain't what they call you; it's what you answer to.

Women are crazy about pets. They're just crazy. Pets have nothing to do with it.

Beds are dangerous. More people die in bed than anywhere else.

Some things are better than sex, and some are worse, but there's nothing exactly like it.

Nature's a funny old thing, it does whatever it pleases. He had always been a little afraid of it. He tiptoed into forests, speaking in a whisper, as though entering a church. Nature was mysterious, incomprehensible, impenetrable, off limits, like the ladies' toilets.

i like to keep a bottle of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which i also keep handy.

Although she didn't have the plumbing, she deluded herself that she was the modern W.C. (about Margaret Thatcher, M.T.)

Women are like elephants to me. I like to look at 'em, but I wouldn't want to own one.

Waitress: Don't be so free with your hands. Fields: Listen honey, I was only trying to guess your weight.

I’ll be ready in a jiff,” I said, walking towards the W.C. No one, anywhere, at any time in history, has ever stopped a female en route to the Baffins.

Not all scars show, not all wounds heal. Often we don't see, the pain someone feels. A broken heart is like having broken ribs. No one can see but hurts everytime you breathe.

Wc What this country needs is more unemployed politicians.

There wasn’t a schoolboy on the planet—or a man, for that matter—who would dare disturb a female locked into a WC. I knew that for a fact.

...Un simț al libertății absolute. Un sentiment asemănător poți avea doar în mormânt și la WC. Interesant e că ambele au aproximativ aceleași dimensiuni.

Toen zag hij een deur openstaan naar de enige plaats waar men zich altijd aan de wereld onttrekken kan. Niemand weet wie zich bevindt op een afgesloten wc.

The past is like a tapeworm, constantly growing, which I carry curled up inside me, and it never loses its rings no matter how hard I try to empty my guts in every WC, English-style or Turkish, or in the slop jars of prison or the bedpans of hospitals or the latrines of camps, or simply in the bushes, taking a good look first to make sure no snake will pop out, like that time in Venezuela.

Where are they all going? What for? Do they never hear the rhythm of the wheels or see the bare plains outside the windows? They know everything there is to know about this life, but they still move on along the corridor, from the W.C. to their compartment, from the lobby to the restaurant, gradually transforming today into one more yesterday, and they think that a God exists who will reward them or punish them for it.

The majority of people spoil their lives by an unhealthy and exaggerated altruism – are forced, indeed, so to spoil them. They find themselves surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all this. The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought. Accordingly, with admirable, though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they see. But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it. Indeed, their remedies are part of the disease. They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping the poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by amusing the poor. But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the difficulty. The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible. And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the carrying out of this aim. Just as the worst slave-owners were those who were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror of the system being realised by those who suffered from it, and understood by those who contemplated it, so, in the present state of things in England, the people who do most harm are the people who try to do most good; and at last we have had the spectacle of men who have really studied the problem and know the life – educated men who live in the East End – coming forward and imploring the community to restrain its altruistic impulses of charity, benevolence, and the like. They do so on the ground that such charity degrades and demoralises. They are perfectly right. Charity creates a multitude of sins.

One day when George III was insane he heard that the Americans never had afternoon tea. This mace him very obstinate and he invited them all to a compulsory tea-party at Boston: the Americans, however, started pouring the tea into Boston harbour and went on pouring things into Boston harbour until they were quite Independent, thus causing the United States.

While the Roman Empire was overrun by waves not only of Ostrogoths, Vizigoths and even Goths, but also of Vandals (who destroyed works of art) and Huns (who destroyed everything and everybody, including Goths, Ostrogoths, Vizigoths and even Vandals), Britain was attacked by waves of Picts (and, of course, Scots) who had recently learnt how to climb the wall, and of Angles, Saxons and Jutes who, landing at Thanet, soon overran the country with fire (and, of course, the sword).

Haven't you heard of that madman who in the bright morning lit a lantern and ran around the marketplace crying incessantly, 'I'm looking for God! l'm looking for God!' Since many of those who did not believe in God were standing around together just then, he caused great laughter. Has he been lost, then? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone to sea? Emigrated? - Thus they shouted and laughed, one interrupting the other. The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. 'Where is God?' he cried; 'I'll tel1 you! We have kil/ed him - you and I! Wc are all his murderers. But how did wc do this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the spange to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Where is it moving to now? Where are we moving to? Away from all suns? Are wc not continually falling? And backwards, sidewards, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an up and a down? Aren't we straying as though through an infinite nothing? Isn't empty space breathing at us? Hasn't it got colder? Isn't night and more night coming again and again? Don't lanterns have to be lit in the morning? Do we still hear nothing of the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we still smell nothing of the divine decomposition? - Gods, too, decompose! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How can we console ourselves, the murderers of all murderers. The holiest and the mightiest thing the world has ever possessed has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood from us? With what water could we clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what holy games will we have to invent for ourselves? Is the magnitude of this deed not too great for us? Do we not ourselves have to become gods merely to appear worthy of it?

If I had the money I could buy a torch and read till dawn. In America a torch is called a flashlight. A biscuit is called a cookie, a bun is a roll. Confectionery is pastry and minced meat is ground. Men wear pants instead of trousers and they’ll even say this pant leg is shorter than the other which is silly. When I hear them saying pant leg I feel like breathing faster. The lift is an elevator and if you want a WC or a lavatory you have to say bathroom even if there isn’t a sign of a bath there. And no one dies in America, they pass away or they’re deceased and when they die the body, which is called the remains, is taken to a funeral home where people just stand around and look at it and no one sings or tells a story or takes a drink and then it’s taken away in a casket to be interred. They don’t like saying coffin and they don’t like saying buried. They never say graveyard. Cemetery sounds nicer.

Alas, poor yorlik, I once knew him backwards.

To paraphrase W.C. Fields, the bastard drove me to drink and I forgot to thank him.

Red ink is weakness leaving your book.

as credited to quoted by W, C. Fields I spent half my money on Gambling Alcohol and Wild Women, the other half I wasted

What Mr. Rothschild had discovered was the basic principle of power, influence, and control over people as applied to economics. That principle is "when you assume the appearance of power, people soon give it to you." Mr. Rothschild had discovered that currency or deposit loan accounts had the required appearance of power that could be used to INDUCE PEOPLE [WC emphasis] (inductance, with people corresponding to a magnetic field) into surrendering their real wealth in exchange for a promise of greater wealth (instead of real compensation). They would put up real collateral in exchange for a loan of promissory notes. Mr. Rothschild found that he could issue more notes than he had backing for, so long as he had someone's stock of gold as a persuader to show to his customers. Mr. Rothschild loaned his promissory notes to individuals and to governments. These would create overconfidence. Then he would make money scarce, tighten control of the system, and collect the collateral through the obligation of contracts. The cycle was then repeated. These pressures could be used to ignite a war. Then he would control the availability of currency to determine who would win the war. That government which agreed to give him control of its economic system got his support.

Ik vind het doodzonde van mijn tijd om me te verdiepen in de organische geesteswoekeringen van een dichter die me niets beters te melden heeft dan het niets, de leegte, het onverstaanbare. Het onverstaanbare heb ik thuis ook, als ik door de WC-deur heen probeer te praten met mijn vriendin. Het onzegbare, dat roeren wij thuis door de muesli. Ik wil poëzie die me meeneemt naar een wereld die ik nog niet ken, naar een inzicht dat ik nog niet had, naar een uitzicht dat ik nergens anders had kunnen vinden. Ik wil een gedicht dat zo goed is, dat ik bijna vergeet dat het, zoals elk gedicht, een taalbouwsel is – een volmaakt bedrieglijke travestie waar het grote niets doorheen schijnt, een van zijn eigen leugenachtigheid getuigende leugen van inkt. Ik wil een gedicht als een huis, dat me op één steen na laat geloven dat ik er werkelijk in zou kunnen wonen.

It was at this time that some very pious Englishmen, known as the Early Fathers, who were being persecuted for not learning Avoirduroi, sailed away to America in a ship called the Mayfly; this is generally referred to as the Pilgrims' Progress and was one of the chief causes of America.

Cuentan que a principios del siglo pasado una dama inglesa que debía viajar a un pueblo indio mandó una carta al maestro de la escuela local para preguntarle si el lugar disponía de un WC. Las autoridades locales no conocían esa palabra y debatieron; tras muchas dudas, decidieron que la dama debía querer decir wayside chapel —una capilla cercana— y le encargaron al maestro que respondiera con toda la amabilidad del vasallo colonial: "Querida señora, tengo el placer de informarle que el WC se encuentra a nueve millas de la casa, en medio de un delicioso bosque de pinos. El WC puede recibir 229 personas sentadas y funciona los domingos y los jueves. Le sugeriría que acudiese temprano, sobre todo en verano, cuando la concurrencia es grande. Puede también quedarse de pie pero sería incómodo, sobre todo si va usted con frecuencia. Sepa usted que mi hija se casó allí, porque fue donde conoció a su futuro esposo (...). Le recomendaría que fuera un jueves, día en que podrá disfrutar del acompañamiento de un órgano. La acústica es excelente y los sonidos más delicados pueden ser apreciados en todos los rincones. Hace poco se instaló una campana, que suena cada vez que entra alguien. Un pequeño comercio ofrece almohadones, muy apreciados por el público. Será un placer acompañarla personalmente y ubicarla en lugar bien visible...

Niet zo lang geleden dacht hij (en Vlieghe en Dondeyne geloofden het ook) dat moeders pijn in hun buik kregen, de weeën, en dan snel naar de wc waggelden, hurkten, kakten, dat de drol meteen door buurvrouwen uit het water werd gehaald vóór hij kon smelten, en op het zeil van de keukentafel werd gelegd, waar hij door teder tegen elkaar koutende ouders tot een kind werd geboetseerd, waarop, door intens gebed opgeroepen, vanuit het raam of de schoorsteen een wind begon te waaien die neerstreek over de bruine klei, de adem van God die leven blies in de stront die kleuren kreeg en als van rubber begon te plooien en zich uit te rekken, en dan brulde naar zijn Mama om de eerste papfles.

—¿Quién lo ha hecho? ¿Quién nos ha hecho esto? ¿Fue Gibarian? ¿Giese? ¿Einstein? ¿Platón? Eran todos unos delincuentes, ¿sabes? Piensa que, en el interior de un cohete, el ser humano puede estallar como una burbuja, o solidificarse, o cocerse, o vaciarse de sangre tan rápido que no le dé tiempo ni a gritar; después, los huesecillos golpearán las paredes de chapa, mientras dan vueltas por las órbitas de Newton corregidas por Einstein; ¡son los sonajeros del progreso! Nosotros acudimos sin protestar, porque es un camino precioso; por fin hemos llegado y nos hemos realizado, aquí, en estas celdas, sobre estos platos, entre friegaplatos inmortales, rodeados de un ejército de fieles armarios y devotas tazas de WC. (...)

If you work and do pure research in this industry as long as I have – and you actually pay attention and do your homework, then this naked and raw truth stands out -> The supplement world of cancer-fighters, CAD-preventers, health-promoters, magic-water – AND/OR - muscle-builders, fat-burners and weight-loss agents – all of them – already have an over-crowded mass grave-yard of previous magic bullets that would supposedly make your life and/or body better – Yes, so promising and heavily promoted “this” era – but so dead and gone the next – leaving in their wake a trail of mass-consumer confusion – but also leaving their actual intention -> a new generation of passive consumers – those who can’t differentiate the sizzle from the steak. Or as W.C. Fields put it so long ago – “There’s a sucker born every minute.” -> There isn’t a supplement on the planet that marks the difference between ‘health or ill-health’ – or between ‘fit or fat.’ - or between ‘results and stagnation.

Nimalo se, kažem, ne može nauditi velikoj knjizi ako se ponese u zahod. Samo beznačajne knjige trpe zbog toga. Samo beznačajne knjige služe brisanju guzice. Takva je knjiga Mali Cezar koja je sad prevedena na francuski i koja je izišla u biblioteci Passions. Dok okrećem stranice te knjige, čini mi se da sam opet kod kuće i da čitam naslove u novinama, da slušam one proklete radio aparate, da se vozim u starim krntijama, da pijem jeftini džin, da guram kukuruzni klip u dupe prostitutkama djevicama, da vješam Crnce i žive ih spaljujem. Da čovjek dobije sraćku. A to isto vrijedi za Atlantic M o n t h 1 y ili za bilo koji drugi mjesečnik, za Aldousa Huxleyja, Gertrudu Stein, Sinclaria Lewisa, Hemingwaya, Dos Passosa, Dreisera itd, itd... Ne čujem nikakvo zvono da zvoni u meni kad donesem te ptičice u WC. Povučem lančić i odoše u kanal. Niz Seinu pa u Atlantski ocean. Možda će za godinu dana opet izroniti — na obalama Coney Islan-da ili Midland Beacha ili Miamija, s mrtvim meduzama, puževima, račićima, rabljenim prezervativima, ružičastim toaletnim papirom, jučerašnjim novostima, sutrašnjim samoubojstvima ... str. 58-59

I won’t lie.  Looking back is difficult—my memories are tinged with hollowness and shame.   Still, I wasn’t suicidal.   I mean, sure.  This last time, I did drink the poison—and maybe this sounds weird, but it just never occurred to me that I would really die from it.   And I didn’t.   Not technically.  But psychiatry, like alchemy, is a very inexact science.   You’d think psychiatrists of all people would have a sense of humor about an occasional lapse in judgment like taking a few drops of poison. They don’t. (Having just reread this note, I’m fairly certain the words are not exactly coming out the

Cordone, delighted with himself for swindling the gullible Indians out of a fortune in pearls, stood at the railing of his ship smiling down at the pursuers. He was about to order his soldiers to fire upon the Indians when he was struck in the chest by an arrow. He dropped to the deck.

Lamb & Flag 33 Rose St, Covent Garden, WC2E 9EB Lamb & Flag is an old London pub with a long history dating back to 1623. It was frequented by Charles Dickens, a loyal client, as well as other personalities of his times. Not only is the food delicious, but the portions are also surprisingly large for a pub menu. Plenty of fresh ales can be found here, and if you prefer whisky, you can order from a long list with all kinds of whiskies. Lamb & Flag is a historic pub with a warm ambiance and prompt service – all at competitive prices.

Val Denton: We thought you'd be happiest down here on the sofa bed, you'll have your own shower and WC. Harvey Denton: Into which we do not pass solids. - League of Gentlemen

To paraphrase W.C. Fields, the bastard drove me to drink and I forgot to thank him