Best 115 quotes in «santa quotes» category

The saddest moment in a child's life is not when he learns that Santa Claus isn't real, it's when he learns that Vince Russo is.

There are a few YouTube clips of me singing at The King's Head in Santa Monica, so you can see how bad I am.

The greatest thing is not to believe in Santa Claus; it is to be Santa Claus.

The Santa Claus principle liquidates itself.

Those North Korean hackers are at it again. Earlier today they leaked Santa's naughty list.

Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus.

The title of that great Christmas song was 'Boogie Woogie Santa Claus,' and no one ever heard of it.

What about Santa's cookies? I suppose 'parents' eat those, too?

To really make it look like Santa came, I put reindeer poop on the roof. It's just so cold up there with my pants down.

Whenever you give someone a present or sing a holiday song, you're helping Santa Claus. To me, that's what Christmas is all about. Helping Santa Claus!

When I walk up the piazza of Santa Croce I feel as if it were not a Florentine nor an European church but a church built by and for the human race.

When Tim Allen made The Santa Clause, I thought that was a delightful film. It took a modern sensibility but layered onto it a kind of sentiment.

Work takes me away from my wife, Sue, and my life in Santa Barbara.

You better watch out You better not cry Better not pout I'm telling you why Santa Claus is coming to town

A man’s ability to give is dwarfed by his ability to take. Those who profit by fulfilling man’s need to take by giving will be the most powerful on earth.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist.

Allow yourself to fall, giving up the effort to learn how to fly, knowing someone will be there to catch you.

What's in that pipe that he's smoking?

You folks feeling the economic pinch? Are you a little fed up with the economic news? It's bad. The department stores, this holiday season, no Santa Claus. They're laying off department-store Santa Clauses. So more bad news for John McCain.

You might be a redneck if Santa Claus refuses to let your kids sit in his lap.

All great ideas, all great leaps of progress, all have a wake of sacrificial bodies.

As a children’s minister, I always believed that I was an evangelist, and at the end of the book, there’s a simple prayer that, whoever’s reading the book could accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior

And if I said "because I'm a witch," they'd think I was crazy.' 'That's exactly right,' she confirmed. 'Because everybody knows witches aren't real.' She nodded. 'Yes.' 'Except they really are real.' She continued nodding. 'Mm-hmm.' 'But you also told me Santa and the tooth fairy were real.' 'Those were lies,' she said. 'But they're lies every parent tells their children. So they're not really lies so much as a script.' 'I slept with teeth under my pillow, so it seems like a lie to me.

A theist can't empirically prove that God exists but he believes in God because no one can allegedly disprove God's existence. By his logic, you must believe in anything you can't disprove. That means all things are real until disproved--including the tooth fairy, the Loch Ness Monster, Santa Claus, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, etc.

Children!' Santa said with a smile. 'Children?' William said. 'Children aren't magic. I'm a child and I'm not magic at all!' All the elves giggled and Santa smiled knowingly. 'Oh, but you are! You really, truly are. You just don't know it! You can create impossible worlds in your imagination that don't really exist. That is magic. Because you can only see the best in people, the best in the world, in life. That is magic. Because you understand the importance of silliness, the importance of fun, of laughing and playing, which grown-ups have forgotten. That is magic. But, most of all, because you believe, without question, in the impossible. Without needing proof. Without hesitation. That is magic.' William couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could do all those things and he hadn't even realized that they were magic!

David Copperfield has no magic in him. I'm talking about Santa flying around the world in one night kind of magic. Pumpkins transformed into coaches kind of magic.

Having in our childhood felt primal awe for the spectacle of the holiday, we are told to age into feeling sullen and resentful. You are supposed to proclaim Santa dead like preadolescent Nietzsches and decry the whole month as an orgy of crass commercialism.

Do not lament the suffering we have to endure to fulfill the dream but rejoice in the courage with which we will face it.

Each government will eventually need to feed on each other when they have sucked their populations dry. And in so doing, will destroy the world one war, one treaty, one negotiation at a time.

Eventually we’ll all be living comfortably and provided for, even if caged like a poor zoo animal.

As the flag of power ascends, it will oppress the masses and enslave its masters. Freedom will fail and the world will be razed to ruin, no matter how honorable the intentions of those in power might have been. It is the inevitable outcome, because the individual is not perfect and, as such, the world will never be.

For months I yearned to see Santa again, mooning for him like a lost love. Then, on Christmas Eve, I was awakened by someone shaking me in my bed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” a voice said out of the darkness. I felt the giggles rising up in my throat. But that's another story...

Her fingertips dug into his shoulders as she pressed closer. Then her lips parted to his, and there was no mistaking the passion in her response. Wild and sweet… His eyes were closed, but in his mind’s eye he saw the lights of the giant tree, and he knew he’d found a Christmas memory worth keeping.

Everyone is destined to be an asshole as some point or another.

Historical Santa Clara Santa Clara is the fifth largest city in Cuba with a population of over 210,000 people. It is the capital of the Province of Villa Clara and was founded by 138 people from only two families on July 15, 1689. As with many Cuban cities during the 17th century, it was constantly attacked and plundered by pirates. Santa Clara has had a number of names since it was founded. Its layout is clearly that of Colonial Spanish origin, having a squared design with a plaza and a church in the center. It is conveniently located along the highway connecting Santiago de Cuba with Havana. Santa Clara is known as the site of the last battle of the Cuban Revolution. Two columns of rebels attacked the Batista forces on December 31, 1958. One was led by “Che” Guevara and the other by Camilo Cienfuegos. Guevara’s troops destroyed the Trans-Cuban railroad tracks and overturned a train sent by Batista carrying reinforcements. The victory over the city’s demoralized defenders was decisive, forcing Batista to leave Cuba and fly to the Dominican Republic. Fleeing into exile, Batista opened the way for the rebel troops to take the capital city of Havana. From the award winning book “The Exciting Story of Cuba” by Captain Hank Bracker

I don't think I ever believed in god, but they had me going with the Santa thing for a while.

If you lust for power, she will swallow you in an instant and make you her servant.

I loved the [postman]! He always brought me gifts. Granted, I ordered them AND paid for them, but still. It was like the guy was my very own Santa, bringing me whatever I wanted, without a Christmas restriction.

I pat the brand new twenty-seven inch Macintosh computers Mr. Foley brought us. 'These boxes alone should make both of us scream like it's Christmas morning! Snap out of it. Santa came! Now we get to play with all of our toys!

It's like pretending to be Santa and then stabbing someone with a candy cane!

I used to figure that Santa was the zombie. Not like modern zombies, more like the voodoo ones. The elves resurrect this long dead saint to do their festive bidding every year because they were magically restricted to the North Pole. It’s entirely possibly my mom let me watch too many horror movies.

Harper?” Cash murmured after a long moment. “Hmm?” I turned my head. “Do you believe in Santa?” I shifted onto my side to look at him, smiling. “Yeah, I do.” He adjusted his head to look at me. “Even though he’s something our parents say isn’t real?” I nodded. “Yeah, definitely. There’s usually some kind of truth behind stories.” He looked up to the tree then to me. “Think we can see him tonight?” I laughed and sat up. “Who? Santa? Why not? It couldn’t hurt to try.

Isn’t Santa just a stand in for the society that has locked them up for formative years? Something that watches and judges, telling them that they got what they deserved based on their behavior? Surely they have to have noticed that Saint Nick, like the judicial system itself, tends to look more favorably upon rich children. He is fat, white, past middle age, and holds all the cards.

It’s a foolish girl who waits for Santa.

I was afraid of anyone in a costume. A trip to see Santa might as well have been a trip to sit on Hitler's lap for all the trauma it would cause me. Once, when I was four, my mother and I were in a Sears and someone wearing an enormous Easter Bunny costume headed my way to present me with a chocolate Easter egg. I was petrified by this nightmarish six-foot-tall bipedal pink fake-fur monster with human-sized arms and legs and a soulless, impassive face heading toward me. It waved halfheartedly as it held a piece of candy out in an evil attempt to lure me into its clutches. Fearing for my life, I pulled open the bottom drawer of a display case and stuck my head inside, the same way an ostrich buries its head in the sand. This caused much hilarity among the surrounding adults, and the chorus of grown-up laughter I heard echoing from within that drawer only added to the horror of the moment. Over the next several years, I would run away in terror from a guy in a gorilla suit whose job it was to wave customers into a car wash, a giant Uncle Sam on stilts, a midget dressed like a leprechaun, an astronaut, the Detroit Tigers mascot, Ronald McDonald, Big Bird, Bozo the Clown, and every Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck, Pluto, Chip and Dale, Uncle Scrooge, and Goofy who walked the streets at Disneyland. Add to this an irrational fear of small dogs that saw me on more than one occasion fleeing in terror from our neighbor's four-inch-high miniature dachschund as if I were being chased by the Hound of the Baskervilles and a chronic case of germ phobia, and it's pretty apparent that I was--what some of the less politically correct among us might call--a first-class pussy.

Only now have you lived long enough to know the child that you shall always remain.

Power is an ill-tempered and treacherous mistress. She corrupts even the incorruptible. If you value your freedoms you will have to bind her and keep her from your lands and leaders, because she will seize their minds and seduce their consciences until they give in to her insatiable appetite.

Santa is like a queen bee. All the elves are his drones, who exist to feed him royal jelly, which I guess would be milk and cookies. If an elf escapes and eats royal cookies, it will turn into another Santa. That’s what all those mall Santas are. They’re trying to start their own festive colonies.

Losing your virginity is a lot like when you find out that Santa doesn’t exist… First you’re slightly disappointed, and then you’re happy because you’re in on the secret

Reading is one of the best ways to bond with your child. Bond this Christmas with “It’s Not About You, Mr. Santa Claus