Quotes by Author
Quotes by Topic
Images
Contact Us

Table For Change Website

Inspirational Quotes

Quotes by Author
Quotes by Topic
Images
Contact Us

Home Individuality I’m tired. I’ve had three years straight of talking football, 12 hours a day. I want time to go to the bush again.

IndividualityJourneyPersonal DevelopmentSports Quotes

I’m tired. I’ve had three years straight of talking football, 12 hours a day. I want time to go to the bush again.

Polly, February 6, 2013

728

Pinterest Google Flipboard

I lost the grand final because I was inexperienced. We lost because I made decisions I wouldn’t make today.

Previous Article

I’m now a spectator, I’m sick of being the oldest coach in the game.

Polly

Related Articles

His philosophies on living are good, and so is most of what he says on how people should behave and perform.

His philosophies on living are good, and so is most of what he says on how people should behave and perform.

If you go to work on your goals, your goals will go to work on you. If you go to work on your plan, your plan will go to work on you. Whatever good things we build end up building us.

If you go to work on your goals, your goals will go to work on you. If you go to work on your plan, your plan will go to work on you. Whatever good things we build end up building us.

It’s good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where.

It’s good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where.

Maybe I couldn’t make it. Maybe I don’t have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky ass, a sexy voice. Maybe I don’t know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I’m sick of the masquerade. I’m sick of pretending eternal youth. I’m sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I’m sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I’m sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I’m sick of the Powder Room. I’m sick of pretending that some fatuous male’s self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I’m sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I’m sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.

Maybe I couldn’t make it. Maybe I don’t have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky ass, a sexy voice. Maybe I don’t know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I’m sick of the masquerade. I’m sick of pretending eternal youth. I’m sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I’m sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I’m sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I’m sick of the Powder Room. I’m sick of pretending that some fatuous male’s self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I’m sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I’m sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.

Two kinds of football players ain’t worth a damn. One that never does what he’s told, and the other who does nothing except what he’s told.

Two kinds of football players ain’t worth a damn. One that never does what he’s told, and the other who does nothing except what he’s told.

Thy necessity is greater than mine.

Thy necessity is greater than mine.

Get Connected

0

Followers

0

Followers

0

Followers

0

Followers

0

Followers

© Copyright Table For Change| All Rights Reserved | Website Design by Exposure By Design