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I was a weed. Such a skinny little weed. I just couldn't put on weight; I couldn't put on muscle. I was the oddest shape. And I thought that was it: that's how I'd look for the rest of my life. And I'd beat myself up about it so much. But you change an awful lot. You're 16. Your body's not even halfway to what it'll end up being.
I'm a bit of a clothes hoarder, admittedly. I try to weed out stuff. My girlfriends come over for cheese and wine and go shopping in my wardrobe. They especially love it when they get stuff with a tag still on.
If we had paid no more attention to our plants than we have to our children, we would now be living in a jungle of weed.
Ignorance is an evil weed, which dictators may cultivate among their dupes, but which no democracy can afford among its citizens.
We must weed out corruption and build a strong system of justice that the people can trust.
Science grows like a weed every year.
When I weed, I like to get off into my own head. For one thing, my wife plants and I have trouble telling which plants are weeds and which are my favorite plants. So I tend to hop around and grab the weeds that I know are weeds. So I don't weed all that linearly. I tend to weed haphazardly.
Once you go inside and weed through the muck, you will find the real beauty, the truth about yourself.
I don't have a gardener, because I enjoy pulling weeds. It's hard to explain, but there is something fulfilling about pulling out a weed and knowing that you got all the roots.
If you allow one single germ, one single seed of slavery to remain in the soil of America... that germ will spring up, that noxious weed will thrive, and again stifle the growth, wither the leaves, blast the flowers and poison the fair fruits of freedom.