I think I hit the bottom when my wife left me while I was on the road.
I met my wife, Margaret L. Mack, at the University of Chicago. We were married in 1936. She died in 1970.
When we were courting, I told my wife: ‘I could live in your eyes.’ She said: ‘You’d be at home; there’s a stye in one of them.’
I give unto my wife my second best bed with the furniture.
I’m an exile. My father had the courage to leave with his wife, his mother and three children under twelve. It took more courage to leave, to sacrifice everything for freedom, than to stay.
He that loves not his wife and children feeds a lioness at home, and broods a nest of sorrows.
A young bride is like a plucked flower; but a guilty wife is like a flower that had been walked over.
I married him because he told me it was the only way he could protect me. If we were just manager and client, my family could do whatever they wanted to get me back, but if I was his wife, they couldn’t.
Too many fighters stay in the game for too long. They stay because it’s awfully hard to walk away from the roar of the crowd. Really hard. You live for that and so you stay too long. And you might have a wife and kids to feed. So you keep fighting because you don’t know how to do anything else.
I know I’m talented, but I wasn’t put here to sing. I was put here to be a wife and a mom and look after my family. I love what I do, but it’s not where it begins and ends.
My wife Gwenaelle prepares an ‘energy shot’ for me for breakfast. It’s a mix of linseed, cereal, and raisins, with fresh fruit like kiwi. She also adds yogurt for added texture and some pollen and honey for an energy booster.
I was desperate for new material, so anything I can write a joke about that works is in the act. No matter who it offends, or who it bothers – doesn’t matter if its something my wife hates.
I’m not much for setup… punch line. I talk about my kids. I talk about my wife.
