My wife said to me… you never understood what we were going through back home, did you? And I didn’t. And I have to confess that.
I should confess that I’m woefully under-read in South African fiction.
In theory, I absolutely love to work from home, in all its warmth and comfort, but have reluctantly been forced to confess that it’s a total failure.
For my part, I confess I seldom listen to the players: one has so much to do, in looking about and finding out one’s acquaintance, that, really, one has no time to mind the stage. One merely comes to meet one’s friends, and show that one’s alive.
Catholics should be proselytizing about a God who is love, who represents a hereafter where there’s no hell, who wants you to lead a life where you can confess your sins and feel much better afterwards. Those are lovely concepts of God.
Muhammad Ali – he was a magnificent fighter and he was an icon… Every head must bow, every knee must bend, every tongue must confess, thou art the greatest, the greatest of all time, Muhammad, Muhammad Ali.
For years, I’ve felt that there’s an inner cook in me just waiting to be unleashed. But I have to confess I’m having an awful lot of trouble finding her in real life.
I will confess that in general decisiveness worries me; it is often an excuse for being impatient with the details or insufficiently sensitive to other people’s concerns.
I must confess I love female writers: Jane Austen, Isak Dinesen, Colette, Willa Cather, Dawn Powell, Joan Didion. I grew up on the Bronte sisters, and Daphne du Maurier.
I confess that for fifteen years my efforts in education, and my hopes of success in establishing a system of national education, have always been associated with the idea of coupling the education of this country with the religious communities which exist.
A man can look upon his life and accept it as good or evil; it is far, far harder for him to confess that it has been unimportant in the sum of things.
The Spice Girl Victoria Beckham has just published the story of her life. I confess that it is not in my reading table.
I have to confess I’m addicted to Sky Sports News. Just the music can pull me in. And then whether it’s badminton in the Czech Republic, snail pushing or mole hopping, I’m hooked.
I could have been a top notch spy. People confess the most amazing secrets to me, even when I am not fishing for those nuggets. I must look trustworthy because I sit there with a video camera or a tape recorder while the stories pour out.
People never confess to failure. They should.
I confess I’m a huge fan of ‘Suits.’
I’ll cheerfully confess to spending a lot of time playing completely disgusting computer games that have no redeeming social value.
I must confess… I don’t know any tongue but the Nether-Dutch.
I must confess that flowers are my weakness and I love receiving them, especially Indian fragrant flowers – Mogra, Rajnigandha, Sontakka, etc.
One of the things about having worked at certain places is that it becomes very hard after you stop working at them to continue a relationship, to continue even reading them. So I must confess that I don’t read ‘New York’ magazine anymore.
It is surely easier to confess a murder over a cup of coffee than in front of a jury.
I have to confess here that I am a useless cook.
I am free to confess that I am disappointed with the Yosemite valley. It seems only about one-half as grand as the American Fork canyon.
I have had my share of choices and temptations, too; I would not lie about that. And I would also like to confess that had it not been for my mother, I would probably have never been able to make the right decisions during those formative years of my life.
I love cooking, and I can make real good rajma chawal. It is a time consuming process and only for the consumption of a select few very special people. Also, I can make delicious mutton biryani, but I must confess I have stolen the recipe from my mother.
If I’m gonna go down I’m gonna do it with style. You won’t hear me surrender, you won’t hear me confess cause you’ve left me with nothing but I have worked with less.
I feel as if I’m clearly part of a trend among writers who take themselves seriously – and I confess to taking myself as seriously as the next writer.
I confess that as a young boy, Sunday was not my favorite day. Grandfather shut down the action. We didn’t have any transportation. We couldn’t drive the car. He wouldn’t even let us start the motor. We couldn’t ride the horses, or the steers, or the sheep.
I’m not an author, but as a songwriter, I’m afforded this kind of luxurious ambiguity in songs of being able to confess the secrets of my relationships with people and face basically no consequences, or ask for no approval or permission.
I confess I’m a big fan of Taylor Swift.
I don’t hold a lot to the vest. I’m a bit of an open book, as anyone who knows me would contest. Confess? Attest? There’s the word I’m looking for!
Sadly, we do a much better job of making people feel guilty than we do of delivering them from the guilt we create. We need to confess this and change our ways.
The success of ‘The Widow’ meant there were expectations for the second book from the first word, and it has created a completely different writing experience. Not to say I haven’t enjoyed writing ‘The Child,’ but I confess there were times when I felt as if I was wrenching it out of my body with bloodied fingernails!
But I must confess that Kashmir is one place that made me reach out for the camera. Such is the setting that no matter in which direction one looks, you get a gorgeous frame.
I must confess that Bollywood definitely happened by chance to me, but once it did – I took it up seriously, and made a profession out of it. And it’s the best feeling in the world to be enjoying your work and getting paid to do it! It doesn’t get better than that.
I must confess that my imagination refuses to see any sort of submarine doing anything but suffocating its crew and floundering at sea.
I made some truly awful movies. ‘Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot’ was the worst. If you ever want someone to confess to murder just make him or her sit through that film. They will confess to anything after 15 minutes.
The majority of the senior class of Vassar does not desire my company and I must confess, having read specimens of their thought and sentiments, that I do not desire the company of the majority of the senior class of Vassar.
I have to confess that I have so rarely experienced triumph that I cannot claim to know it well enough to judge, but it seems to be at best a momentary joy followed instantly by sadness, and, then, of necessity, by wariness.
I must confess I took a couple or three jobs just for the money.
I’ve got to confess I’m a pragmatic optimist myself.
I must confess, I was born at a very early age.
As for discipline and rules, I confess, I’ve never been good with either.
If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion, or force citizens to confess by word or act.
I confess I enjoy democracy immensely. It is incomparably idiotic, and hence incomparably amusing.
I have to confess that a strong contributing factor was that I had just taken what was probably the first acid ever made, given to me by a guy called Johnny Fellows, who had just returned from America.
It wounds a man less to confess that he has failed in any pursuit through idleness, neglect, the love of pleasure, etc., etc., which are his own faults, than through incapacity and unfitness, which are the faults of his nature.
I have to confess, street politics are not my usual style.
I didn’t confess. I was interrogated. They acted like my answers were wrong. They told me I was wrong, that I didn’t remember correctly, that I had to remember correctly. And if I didn’t, I would never see my family.
I confess that reading proofs is a pleasure. It stimulates and inspires me.
While it may be disappointing, I have to confess to people who ask for my insights on the meaning of it all that astronomy doesn’t provide any clearly useful data on matters of sin and souls.
I confess it is beyond our power to awaken the heart, but ordinarily this way does good.
I confess I’ve got a yearning to go to Los Angeles, but I can’t work out if it is because a lot of British actors seem to go or because there’s this perception that the bottom has fallen out of British drama, so therefore, it’s the place to head for.
You give me a waterboard, Dick Cheney and one hour, and I’ll have him confess to the Sharon Tate murders.
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