Best 115 quotes in «santa quotes» category

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!

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Residents of the squatter community of Christiana, Denmark, for example, have a Christmastide ritual where they dress in Santa suits, take toys from department stores and distribute them to children on the street, partly just so everyone can relish the images of the cops beating down Santa and snatching the toys back from crying children.

Normalmente eu não tinha muita paciência para estar com uma gaja durante muito tempo. Cada uma delas queria ficar comigo o máximo que pudesse, e para isso usavam de muitas artimanhas, como fazer o meu prato preferido – moamba de galinha –, me massajar nas costas depois do bem – bom, dar-me banho com sais ou fazer cafuné antes de adormecer, tudo bem feito na benquerença do benjamim. Tinha uma, nome dela era Santinha, que conseguiu me prender por um ano. A gaja era bonita e meiga, muito submissa, o que eu muito apreciava nas mulheres. Detestava tipas armadas que quisessem discutir comigo, levantar o nariz, isso eu nunca admitia, por isso gajas que tentassem pisar o risco levavam no focinho, qual não se bate em mulheres, Saiundo?!, eu também não gostava de lhes bater, mas depois verifiquei que era a única forma de lhes meter na linha, claro, não falo de todas, falo apenas daquelas que são razingonas, que querem mandar nos homens, isso nunca! Eu sei que isso é feio, mas às vezes é a única solução. Mas estava a falar da minha Santinha que era mesmo uma santa, e por isso fiquei com ela tanto tempo. Era doçura de criatura, melaçuda em todos os momentos, e na cama então é que ela se revelava completamente, e eu me perguntava como era que uma rapariga assim tão santíssima, ar dela angélico, na cama podia ser assim tão brava e fogosa ao ponto de me fazer gemer toda a noite, poça!, que às mulheres enganam muito, de sai são uma coisa, aquelas finúrias todas, de noite, na hora dos bons prazeres, até parece que têm o diabo no corpo. E assim fiquei com ela muito tempo, eu e a minha Santocas, santinha, santa. Mas um dia chateei-me com ela por causa dos muitos ciúmes que fazia a torto e a direito, não me podia ver com nenhuma rapariga e ficava logo amuada por muito tempo. Certo dia ela me viu a conversar com uma amiga, perto do Jumbo, Santinha veio ter comigo e, sem dizer nada, me puxou com força pelo braço. Perdi o controlo e ali mesmo lhe esbofeteei na presença da moça com quem estava a conversar e que era de facto uma simples só amiga, e assim que terminei aquela santa relação.

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

Small unexpected acts of kindness are the building blocks of greatness. Start your day with a smile and see where it takes you ...

So they told us all about how other kids were deceived by their parents, how the toys the grown-ups claimed were made by little elves wearing bell caps in their workshop at the North Pole actually had labels on them saying MADE IN JAPAN.

The door opens with a rusted jingle, and an animatronic Santa insults my moral virtue three times. Ho, ho, ho.

The people will act on the environment they perceive, not the one that is their reality.

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.

The people are just the unwitting slaves of their representative governments, the best of which are like insatiable leeches that suck the lifeblood from their populations. The people then foolishly and euphorically rejoice when the body politic belches up a modest excess of their own blood for them to take back.

The problem is not that Santa stops existing but that we do. The children we are no longer exist, a fact we do not help through immersing ourselves in the repeating cycle of wake, work, dinner, internet, sleep.

They watch through cameras, listen to phone calls, read e-mail, record conversations; they don’t even need a court order to do it and then they do it under the guise of patriotism.

There are four kinds of people in the world: Those who want to profit off others without changing anything. Those who want to profit off others and would try to improve the world in so doing. Those who want to profit off of others and are willing to destroy the world to do so and finally those who don’t care to profit off others and are the inevitable victims of the other three. The trick is to know which one of these people you are.

To aspire to utopia at all cost, especially at the cost of freedom, is to seal your fate either to live bitter and frustrated with the impossible quest.

We are merely a pawn in a chess game played by the nations of the world. Should we not be a bigger, more important piece in the game? Are we not all capable of playing the part of the king or queen?

Think of the Christmas present of gashes you opened when, in an attempt to be Superman, you slid in stocking feet on a slippery wood floor and crashed half way through a window. Hopes of heroism dashed on the heels of no clear sighting of Santa.

The whole concept of some stranger making his way down our chimney - not that we had one - suggested burglary more readily than generosity. Any Santa who tried it would have gotten a bullet in his holly, jolly keister.

We half-eat cookies and drink the milk, we leave notes, all so kids will believe in something that isn’t true. Kids try their best to scientifically determine whether Santa's real and our whole culture feeds them false evidence. We dupe them.

We no longer solve problems; we just push technology. Today it’s a matter of code and software. Most of the creativity is gone. You already know you can do it. It’s just a matter of how much code and time it will take.

We may deny the truth of our childhoods while we are living them, but we one day realize the truth of our parents as readily as we do that of Santa. Neither are as perfect as our memories would have them…

What would happen to the dream if its dreamer was no more?

Why is the public so blindly self-destructive? So willing to enslave itself for a free trinket or empty promise?

We can do more for the people if they are not so aware of what we are trying to do.

A cynic is just a man who found out when he was ten that there wasn't any Santa Claus, and he's still upset.

You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout, I'm telling you why, Cause Santa Clause might put a cap in your ass.

Would people please stop telling me Santa Claus doesn't exist? I met him when I was a kid, surrounded by teenaged elves n stuff, one of them had a camera, and he was fun and smelt of fags n beer, I remember his big red nose too, even the hairs in his nostrils. You see I met him, sat on his lap chatted and he gave me a toy car, n yeah it was in a market, but I know he was the real Santa........

You will only be as good, as changing, as imaginative as those who control you and those who would presume that society will benefit only by their dictates at the expense of the freedoms of all the others.

Anybody who is born in Santa Rosa must turn out to be either an artist or a poet, for the spirit of the hills gets into your blood out there.

You ate the cookies and drank all the milk?” Cash asked, looking at the base of the tree. “No. I didn’t. Why would I? I don’t like banana chip, they’re your favorite.” “I didn’t eat them, Harper.” “Sure you didn’t.” “Prove it then.” “How?

Christmas always sucked when I was a kid because I believed in Santa Claus. Unfortunately, so did my parents. So I never got anything.

All the world is happy when Santa Claus comes.

Christmas is a time when everybody wants his past forgotten and his present remembered.

Do you remember when you found out there was no Santa Claus? I was so upset I didn't think I'd be able to do the show.

Department store Santas are apparently being trained to lower children's expectations about toys because of the recession. Yeah, it's weird when you ask Santa for a train set and he's like, 'Yeah, how 'bout a bus token?

For the art-historically informed, no art has truly shocked since November 19, 1971, when Chris Burden had himself shot in the arm by a friend, at F-Space in Santa Ana, California. Sliced cows and surgically altering one's own face is aftershock art.

For the most part, people use God as Santa Claus.

Contemporary American children, if they are old enough to grasp the concept of Santa Claus by Thanksgiving, are able to see through it by December 15th.

Have you ever wanted to put on a Santa suit?" "I have always wanted to do that," said Carter gravely.

Grown ups don't believe in Santa Claus. They vote.

If the Pilgrims had landed in Santa Monica Bay rather than Boston, we'd have six states out here!

If SANTA CLAUS came down the chimney in a f**king jogging suit, you wouldn't even know it was him.

I just discovered the Santa Monica flea market, every Sunday. I go weekly. There's a lot of interesting things there.