This is the best thing to wear for today, you understand. Because I don't like women in skirts and the best thing is to wear pantyhose or some pants under a short skirt, I think. Then you have the pants under the skirt and then you can pull the stockings up over the pants underneath the skirt. And you can always take off the skirt and use it as a cape. So I think this is the best costume for today.

I will not join the rat race because I'm not a rat. And I will not blindly follow a specific faith because I'm not a bat. The only race I'll take part in is for humans being humane. It's called the human race, and sadly it's got the least participants.

Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to the World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, the Misanthrope flies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, and buries himself in the Cavern of some gloomy Rock. While Hate inflames his bosom, possibly He may feel contented with his situation: But when his passions begin to cool; when Time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed those wounds which He bore with him to his solitude, think you that Content becomes his Companion? Ah! no, Rosario. No longer sustained by the violence of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way of living, and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness. He looks round, and finds himself alone in the Universe: The love of society revives in his bosom, and He pants to return to that world which He has abandoned. Nature loses all her charms in his eyes: No one is near him to point out her beauties, or share in his admiration of her excellence and variety. Propped upon the fragment of some Rock, He gazes upon the tumbling waterfall with a vacant eye, He views without emotion the glory of the setting Sun. Slowly He returns to his Cell at Evening, for no one there is anxious for his arrival; He has no comfort in his solitary unsavoury meal: He throws himself upon his couch of Moss despondent and dissatisfied, and wakes only to pass a day as joyless, as monotonous as the former.

She accused me of wearing pants from the salvation army.

How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?

Finnik?" I say. "Maybe some pants?"?He looks down at his legs as if noticing them for the first time. Then he whips of his hospital gown, leaving him in just is underwear. "Why? Do you find this"-he strikes a ridiculously proactive pose-"distracting?"?I can't help laughing because it's funny, and it's extra funny because Boggs looks so uncomfortable, and I'm happy because Finnik actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.?"I'm only human, Odair." I get in before the elevator doors close. "Sorry," I say to Boggs.?"Don't be. I thought you? handled that well," He says. "Better than my having to arrest him, anyway.

Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.

He'd changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He look like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year.

I hadn't been out to the hives before, so to start off she gave me a lesson in what she called 'bee yard etiquette'. She reminded me that the world was really one bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places. Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and pants. Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates while whistling melts a bee's temper. Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

To make democracy work we must be a notion of participants not simply observers. One who does not vote has no right to complain.

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.

For my confirmation I didn't get a watch and my first pair of long pants like most Lutheran boys. I got a telescope. My mother thought it would make the best gift.

I don't like my men to be too ornate. I like them to stand back and let their women shine and they should really wear the pants in the relationship.

It is a challenge with the global fame to try to act like I put my pants on one leg at a time when in fact I have Pippa Middleton help me put my pants on every morning. She's my lady-in-waiting as well.

I like being a woman even in a man's world. After all men can't wear dresses but we can wear the pants.

Emotional 'literacy' implies an expanded responsibility for schools in helping to socialize children. This daunting task requires two major changes: that teachers go beyond their traditional mission and that people in the community become more involved with schools as both active participants in children's learning and as individual mentors.

Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn.

I hate formal stuff. I love looking like a doll and all that stuff and playing dress up but when I'm home sweat pants t-shirt. When I'm in the studio sweat pants t-shirt.

I'm just like so many women - I was frustrated I had these white pants that I had spent a lot of money on and you get home and you think 'What am I really supposed to wear under this?' So it was a frustrated consumer moment.

I always wear the same thing at home. I can't be bothered with jewelry. My pants have elastic waists. I like to be comfortable. There are so many more important things to worry about.

It is humiliating to remain with our hands folded while others write history. It matters little who wins. To make a people great it is necessary to send them to battle even if you have to kick them in the pants. That is what I shall do.

Sometimes I'm so tired I look down at what I'm wearing and if it's comfortable enough to sleep in I don't even make it into my pajamas. I'm looking down and I'm like 'T-shirt and stretchy pants? Yup that's fine. It's pajama-y good night.'

Thanksgiving man. Not a good day to be my pants.