sometimes it's better to bunk a class & enjoy with friends, coz today when I look back, marks never make me laugh memories do.
So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.
History is more or less bunk.
My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
So far as the religion of the day is concerned, it is a damned fake ... Religion is all bunk.
Exercise is bunk. If you are healthy, you don't need it: if you are sick you should not take it.
I do it for the love. Bunk bed flow, always one level above.
You all remember, I suppose, that beautiful and inspired saying of Our Ford's: History is bunk.
Religion is all bunk.
Life is not to be taken seriously, as we are really temporary here. We are like a pre-paid card with limited validity. If we are lucky, we may last another 50 years. And 50 years is just 2,500 weekends. Do we really need to get so worked up? It’s ok, bunk a few classes, goof up a few interviews, fall in love. We are people, not programmed devices.
Since age twelve, I've felt like I'm someone else,'cause I hung my original self from the top bunk with a belt.
We don't want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker's dam is the history we make today.
I don’t know much about history, and I wouldn’t give a nickel for all the history in the world. It means nothing to me. History is more or less bunk. It's tradition. We don't want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today.
On the road, in my bunk, I sleep better than I do anywhere else in the world.
What I did, you know, being away from my family, letting so many people down. I let myself down, not being out on the football field, being in a prison bed, in a prison bunk, writing letters home, you know. That wasn't my life.
I regard psychiatry as fifty percent bunk, thirty percent fraud, ten percent parrot talk, and the remaining ten percent just a fancy lingo for the common sense we have had for hundreds and perhaps thousands of years, if we ever had the guts to read.
As a young man, I was very interested in how people lived in earlier times; how they got from place to place, lighted their homes, cooked their meals and so on. So I went to the history books. Well, I could find out all about kings and presidents; but I could learn nothing of their everyday lives. So I decided that history is bunk.
This country has gotten where it is in spite of politics, not by the aid of it. That we have carried as much political bunk as we have and still survived shows we are a super nation.
As a kid, I was terrified. I was a bed wetter and I had to go to sleepaway camp every summer, which was humiliating and terrifying. I had lots of insecurities and scaredness. I covered it with being funny and tough, but it's hard to be tough when you're making your cot in your bunk over soaking wet sheets and acting like nobody can smell anything.
Given the power and influence that science increasingly has in our daily lives, it is important that we as citizens of an open and democratic society learn to separate good science from bunk. This is not just a matter of intellectual curiosity, as it affects where large portions of our tax money go, and in some cases even whether people’s lives are lost as a result of nonsense.
I remember the first time Bill Fichtner and I had a scene together. I've seen him in a few movies, from Armageddon to The Perfect Storm and Contact, and suddenly he's on a bunk bed and I'm on a bunk bed and we're doing this scene together. That was a real 'pinch me' moment.
... In a free society, skeptics are the watchdogs against irrationalism - the consumer advocates of ideas. Debunking is not simply the divestment of bunk; its utility is in offering a better alternative, along with a lesson on how thinking goes wrong.
I'm a double bagger. Not only does my husband put a bag over my face when we're making love, but he also puts a bag over his head in case mine falls off.
Proficiency in art is a contract with your self and the empowerment of your self. Not all of us demand or even desire proficiency, but for those who do it's necessary to temper the influence of groups. And while some artists think history is bunk, the historical evidence is overwhelming: "In my isolation I grow stronger."
Oh, who would choose to be a traveler? --That anxious railway-guide unravelerWho spends his nights in berths and bunks,His days in chaperoning trunks;Who stands in line at gates and wicketsTo spend his means on costly ticketsTo Irkutsk, Liverpool and YapAnd other dots upon the map.
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