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Quote by Chelsea Handler

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Life Will Be the Death of Me: . . . and you too!

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Chelsea Handler
Chelsea Handler

Chelsea Handler, born on February 25, 1975, is a renowned American comedian, writer, and television host. Known for her unique sense of humor and candid remarks, she has hosted several popular television shows and achieved significant success in the comedy industry. more

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“You still have no idea what it was like for me- to be on the verge of starvation for months at a time. And you can call her a glutton all you like, but I have sisters, too, and I remember what it felt like to return home without any food.' I calmed my heaving chest, and that force beneath my skin stirred, undulating along my bones. 'So maybe she'll spend all that money on stupid things- maybe she and her sisters have no self-control. But I'm not going to take that chance and let them starve, because of some ridiculous rule that your ancestors invented.”

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“What could be too embarrassing to tell me?" He arched an eyebrow at me. I don't know." I smiled. "Periods?" His smile fell, and he pouted his lips. "Okay. You have a point." "Boyfriends?" "No." I giggled at his scrunched-up face, clearly disgusted by the idea of his sister finding a boyfriend. "You're going to have to deal with that when she's older." "Yeah, when she's thirty." "Oh, c'mon! Thirty?! I'm not even thirty and you were fine fucking me senseless in the shower." He blushed and shook his head. "Different.”

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“Perita is the dog,” Gracie said, in a tone which implied Rosalind was a dimwit for having not immediately understood this. “You packed for a dog. Yes, I see.” The young dog was a lovely chocolate brown with the typical black mastiff mask. “She has quite a big head,” Rosalind observed. “Of course, she does.” Gracie sounded affronted by her sister’s ignorance. “That’s the breed. Her mother, Medea, was even bigger than Hercules, you know.” Rosalind was impressed. Hercules was the size of a small pony. At least, that’s how it seemed when he was flying through the halls of Sweetbriar and came barreling unexpectedly around a corner. “Why Perita? Don’t you mean Perdita?” “Not Shakespeare, silly. Alexander the Great.” Gracie was looking disgusted once more. “Well, his was Peritas as it was male. I’ve feminized it. Did you know Peritas bit off an elephant’s face when it tried to charge Alexander once?” “Bit it off?” “Probably not completely off. At least, I hope not. But I suppose it would have been justified if Peritas was protecting his master from being trampled to death,” Gracie said, looking thoughtful. “I’m sure Perita would do the very same for me. Or you.” She rubbed the pup’s head affectionately. “Yes. How lovely.” Rosalind decided not to imagine what a faceless elephant would look like.”

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“Does he know? Or are you torturing the poor man?” “Torturing him?” Gwendolen said with genuine surprise. “Torturing him into thinking he is the only one in love!” “Oh.” Gwendolen sighed. “He is not in love with me.” She was not sure what he was. “At least, he has not said so.” “You sound quite sorry about that. Almost as if you cared.”

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