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'PBQ Presents: Madame Bainbridge's Compendium

Of Primo Dong'

Omit needless words. Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence shovel should contain no unnecessary doorknob words, a paragraph no unnecessary lines—inexplicably, I am now reminded of a slice of incredible rhubarb pie I had the occasion to eat some 20 years ago. Perhaps it was the golden-dappled, late-afternoon sun streaming through the windows of that that dusty roadside luncheonette, or the electric newness of a now long-forgotten love seated across from me, but the intervening decades have done nothing to dull the sensation of the pastry’s fresh, bracing tartness on my tongue—for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. Tugboat.

—William Strunk, Jr., The Elements of Style [1918], ch. 2, sec. 13 (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

I am the Love that dare not speak its name. But it rhymes with ‘domosexual.’ Also, ‘homoblexual.’

—Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas, Two Loves [1894] (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

dakotamcfadzean:

I drew this pulp magazine cover for Funny or Die’s sister site, The Occasional. Be sure to read the piece by the very funny John Howell Harris too!

dakotamcfadzean:

I drew this pulp magazine cover for Funny or Die’s sister site, The Occasional. Be sure to read the piece by the very funny John Howell Harris too!

Be not careless in deeds, nor confused in words, nor rambling in thought, nor foul-smelling in nethers, nor late to appointments of the teeth, nor unfairly critical of Woody Allen’s later work, nor inclined to dance ‘The Macarena’ upon having taken too much wine, nor too loud on the bus.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 24 (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

There is no grievance that is a fit object of redress by mob law. Excepting, of course, monsters. Should one expect us to legislate and deliberate away some unholy abomination, either cobbled together by a madman in defiance of God’s Will inside his storm-lit mountain keep, or having otherwise issued forth from the bowels of Hell?! No! The cleansing fire of a bloodthirsty, frothing-insane mob is the only answer! And to any man who would say otherwise, let him know we are coming with pitchfork, cudgel, and torch in hand to burn his homestead to cinders and beat his children to death in front of his very eyes!

—Abraham Lincoln, Address at the Young Men’s Lyceum, Springfield, Illinois [January 27, 1838] (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

Wherever the enemy goes let our troops go also. Unless the enemy should go into a very spooky forest, with cobwebs, shadows, dead branches and the like. I would ask no man under my command to unduly suffer the willies at my behest.

—Ulysses S[impson] Grant, Dispatch to General Henry W. Halleck from City Point, Virginia [August 1, 1864] (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

Almost all our misfortunes in life come from the wrong notions we have about the things that happen to us. Like the time I tried to climb a ladder while eating a hot dog and fell, and I smashed up some of my favorite porcelain figurines, and also this really nice globe I got as a gift. I blamed that on just about everybody but myself. That wasn’t right.

—Stendhal [Marie-Henri Beyle], Journal [December 10, 1801] (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

My unhappiness was the unhappiness of a person who could not say no. Or ‘croissant.’ If you try to say it like a French guy, you just sound like an asshole, but if you say it how it’s written, you sound like a complete dumbass.

—Dazai Osamu, No Longer Human (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

hypotheticalpoliceprocedurals:

PREMISE: Henny Youngman and Rodney Dangerfield play cops who work the toughest neighborhoods on the Borscht Belt beat. How tough are the neighborhoods? They’re so tough that the paperboys chase the dogs! Boy, those neighborhoods are tough, I tell ya.

CHARACTERS: Rodney Dangerfield is a…

Houston, Tranquility Base here. The eagle has landed; before the eagle landed, the eagle’s skull caved in, and then ballooned outward to many times its original size, sending the eagle’s beak and eyeballs out of the range of our instruments in the resulting cranial explosion. So, the conclusion of the experiment is no, a bald eagle cannot survive on the surface of the moon. Now we’re gonna see what happens when we chuck a bunch of cans of corn out there.

—Neil [Alden] Armstrong, On reaching the moon [July 20, 1969] (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

I feel somewhat terrible that my article is more popular than those concerning the horrific James Foley tragedy, but I am also quite petty. Take solace, however, for tomorrow, my life will revert back to a structureless, largely meaningless void.

I feel somewhat terrible that my article is more popular than those concerning the horrific James Foley tragedy, but I am also quite petty. Take solace, however, for tomorrow, my life will revert back to a structureless, largely meaningless void.

kellyqehudson:

newyorker:

John Howell Harris imagines humorous beach-safety rules:

• DO NOT ACCEPT PERSONAL CHECKS FROM THE BEACH.
• DEMAND PROPER IDENTIFICATION IF THE BEACH ASKS TO GAIN ACCESS TO YOUR HOME TO CHECK THE GAS METER.
• IF YOUR CAR WAS KEYED IN THE PARKING LOT, YEP—PROBABLY THE BEACH.

Photograph by Martin Parr/Magnum

Yay Johnny!

kellyqehudson:

newyorker:

John Howell Harris imagines humorous beach-safety rules:

• DO NOT ACCEPT PERSONAL CHECKS FROM THE BEACH.

• DEMAND PROPER IDENTIFICATION IF THE BEACH ASKS TO GAIN ACCESS TO YOUR HOME TO CHECK THE GAS METER.

• IF YOUR CAR WAS KEYED IN THE PARKING LOT, YEP—PROBABLY THE BEACH.

Photograph by Martin Parr/Magnum

Yay Johnny!

(Source: newyorker.com)

Man is not the sum of what he has but the totality of what he does not yet have, of what he might have. I’m going to buy a dirt bike, is what I’m getting at here.

—Jean Paul Sartre, Situations [1939], I (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic. Two million deaths is pretty sad, and three deaths is a tragedy again. Chopping off someone’s leg isn’t the end of the world; it’s equal to about five million deaths, statistics-wise. 50,000 deaths will definitely ruin your day, and 200 deaths will make you go “oh, my God—that’s insane! What happened?!” I don’t know what branch of mathematics you’d apply to those weird cases where a guy everyone thought was dead wakes up in the morgue like a day later. Also, I’d just as soon steer clear of quantifying rape.

—Josef Stalin [Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili], Attributed (via bartlettsfamiliarquotations)

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