Antonio Brown Quotes

neuroscientist Antonio Damasio reminds us, “We are not necessarily thinking machines. We are feeling machines that think.

As neuroscientist Antonio Damasio reminds us, humans are not either thinking machines or feeling machines, but rather feeling machines that think.

In faded leathers and boots, he sure wasn't a clotheshorse like Antonio, and he was sure a lot bigger. The brown leather pants clung to long legs, and his vest opened over a thickly muscled chest. His neck was corded, his arms solid. A gold band circled one darkly tanned biceps. His face… She frowned. All rough lines and craggy bones, he looked like a hard-edged Boromir from Lord of the Rings. His mouth was set in a firm line. And didn't that just figure she'd end up with Boromir? At least Aragorn had a sense of humor.

You can recognize them by their better clothes, their brown “special prisoner” armbands, and the triangular badge that identifies them as non-Jews. A red triangle identifies the political prisoners, many of them Communists or social democrats

Mrs. Brown: Sesin bugüne kadar hayatımda duyduğum en güzel ses, Antonio. Benim sesim ise kasvetli ve boğuk. Pek çok tonunu artık yitirmiş. Bir defa da benim için şarkı söyler misin, Antonio? Antonio: Evet, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown: O zaman şunu da sormak istiyorum sana: Gece ağları atmak üzere denize açıldığında, teknen de bana da bir yer var mı? Antonio: Evet, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown: Ama henüz çok geç sayılmaz, değil mi, Antonio? Biz geri gelirken rüzgâr döner mi dersin? Barda, herkesin gözleri önünde bütün kadehleri kıracağıma, kırılan kadehlerin ses çıkaracağına ve sonra sana döneceğime inanıyor musun? Antonio: Evet, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown: Çıplak ayaklarım yanacak mı? Yüzümü senin gömleğine, tuza, balıkların pullarına gömdüğümde gözyaşlarım akacak mı? Gözyaşlarım akarken dans edebilecek miyim? Antonio: Evet, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown: Peki şarkı söyleyebilecek miyim? Yeniden şarkı söyleyip eski sesimle konuşabileceğim, değil mi Antonio? Antonio: Hayır, Mrs. Brown! Hayır, Mrs. Brown!

Pastor Max Lucado of San Antonio, Texas, said in an editorial for the Washington Post in February 2016 that he was “chagrined” by Trump’s antics. He ridiculed a war hero. He made a mockery of a reporter’s menstrual cycle. He made fun of a disabled reporter. He referred to a former first lady, Barbara Bush, as “mommy” and belittled Jeb Bush for bringing her on the campaign trail. He routinely calls people “stupid” and “dummy.” One writer catalogued 64 occasions that he called someone “loser.” These were not off-line, backstage, overheard, not-to-be-repeated comments. They were publicly and intentionally tweeted, recorded and presented.18 Lucado went on to question how Christians could support a man doing these things as a candidate for president, much less as someone who repeatedly attempted to capture evangelical audiences by portraying himself as similarly committed to Christian values. He continued, “If a public personality calls on Christ one day and calls someone a ‘bimbo’ the next, is something not awry? And to do so, not once, but repeatedly, unrepentantly and unapologetically? We stand against bullying in schools. Shouldn’t we do the same in presidential politics?” Rolling Stone reported on several evangelical leaders pushing against a Trump nomination, including North Carolina radio host and evangelical Dr. Michael Brown, who wrote an open letter to Jerry Falwell Jr., blasting his endorsement of Donald Trump. Brown wrote, “As an evangelical follower of Jesus, the contrast is between putting nationalism first or the kingdom of God first. From my vantage point, you and other evangelicals seem to have put nationalism first, and that is what deeply concerns me.”19 John Stemberger, president and general counsel for Florida Family Action, lamented to CNN, “The really puzzling thing is that Donald Trump defies every stereotype of a candidate you would typically expect Christians to vote for.” He wondered, “Should evangelical Christians choose to elect a man I believe would be the most immoral and ungodly person ever to be president of the United States?”20 A

Sere grass grew in tufts out of a pale, sandy soil, no richer for the thousands of souls planted there. Red-brown moss clumped amidst blankets of lichens of pale lavender-gray. Dark, twisted shrubs prickled rising above a knobby hillock, sharp, tiny leaves turning bronze or bright red and yellow with the advancing autumn. A wrought-iron gate guarded deep shadow inside a crypt, illustrated the silence of the grave, he thought.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Traveler, there is no path, the path must be forged as you walk. This line from the Spanish poet Antonio Machado

Lippy finished his concert and came and joined them. He wore a brown bowler hat he had picked up on the road to San Antonio some years before. Either it had blown out of a stagecoach or the Indians had snatched some careless drummer and not bothered to take his hat. At least those were the two theories Lippy had worked out in order to explain his good fortune in finding the hat. In Augustus’s view the hat would have looked better blowing around the country for two years than it did at present. Lippy only wore it when he played the piano; when he was just gambling or sitting around attending to the leak from his stomach he frequently used the hat for an ashtray and then sometimes forgot to empty the ashes before putting the hat back on his head. He only had a few strips of stringy gray hair hanging off his skull, and the ashes didn’t make them look much worse, but ashes represented only a fraction of the abuse the bowler had suffered. It was also Lippy’s pillow, and had had so many things spilled on it or in it that Augustus could hardly look at it without gagging.

Regarding the importance of injuries and their effect on overall team performance, here’s a great example from the NFL: Tampa Bay’s offensive tackle Tristan Wirfs usually wouldn’t be considered a high-impact player. But when Tampa Bay met the Los Angeles Rams in the 2022 playoffs, Wirfs was injured and, because of the unique set of circumstances involving that game, his absence had a major impact. The Rams, led by all-world defensive tackle Aaron Donald, had a ferocious pass rush, and Tom Brady was not the most mobile of quarterbacks. Wirfs, who we normally graded at 1.3 points or so in the regular season, suddenly became a lot more valuable because of his injury—maybe worth as many as 6 points. Here’s why. With Wirfs out, his backup (normally worth 0.3 points) was also injured, but playing. Therefore, with an injury, he was worth no points. We knew the cumulative totals of that injury, along with Wirfs’s absence, were going to have a significant impact on the Bucs’ performance and the outcome of the game. Add the disappearance of wide receiver Antonio Brown, who had left the team weeks earlier, the loss of wide receiver Chris Godwin, and, therefore, the need for tight end Rob Gronkowski to stay inside to help block the pass rush, and I knew the Bucs were in trouble. I wagered accordingly and won the bet, largely because I knew that an injured offensive line was going to change the dynamics of this game. I would have acted differently in the same scenario if the team had a more mobile quarterback or a stronger running attack. Again, these are the special situations in which you have to understand the value of each player, the quality of the opponent, and the overall impact on the score of the game.

I treasured these slightly mad little escapades. They were part of the carnival spirit of the city, which seemed on the verge of breaking into a fiesta. Even the five-and-ten-cent stores, the epitome of national conformity, took on a local flavor with their displays of turquoise and silver, Aztec pottery, and hand-tooled leather simply screaming for the open marketplace, while the fake pearls crouched back in awe. But it was the gay little Mexican girls who, smiling sweet-tempered behind the counters, set the mood. Never rude, never dull, never tired, they lent a graciousness to the city that seemed to be in secret league with the sunny atmosphere to conjure up its lighthearted spell.

At the same time that I welcomed the busy confusion, I felt a stab of regret for the first sweet lonely months of my life in this city that touched me so deeply. I like the image of my own loneliness. The brief meaningless rendezvous with men quickly forgotten. I promised to keep enough of myself aloof from these new entanglements so that I might go on reveling in that delicious privacy.

There must be some place in this burg with signs of life," he grumbled. This attitude of boredom toward our city by the soldiers and their wives irritated me to the point of scratching anger. "Someday you'll realize that you never had it so good," I predicted. But when I became older, I realized that most people are completely lacking in sensitivity to and harmony with the world in which they live. In a larger sense, that is. Unless they are surrounded by their own familiar possessions and a few habitual friends, all is meaningless. There is nothing under the sun to interest them.

Looking into his brown eyes, I whisper urgently, "I need to go. I'll see you another time, Antonio." He looks down at the ground. "No. You won't." And I didn't. Not ever again.

Anna sat down and studied her brothers. Both were nearly six feet tall. The older, Addison, was muscular with a darker shade of brown hair compared to the younger, blue-eyed Purl, who was leaner and lighter complexioned. Anna noticed that Purl’s wrists showed below his shirt and coat jacket, hand-me-downs from the uncles. All eight children had trouble adjusting after their parents’ death, but Purl’s situation was the most regrettable—three foster homes since he was fifteen. The moves had been hard on him emotionally. Anna suffered too. She’d felt helpless that she was too young to take him herself, and had watched him slowly lose his youthful vigor.

The Communist Party of Cuba really had its start during the 1920’s, but not wanting to appear all too radical, the founders dropped the word “communist” and softened its name to the “Popular Socialist Party.” The more radical faction of the party eventually won out and again changed the name of their party to the more militant “Communist Revolutionary Union.” One of the primary founders and leaders of this Communist movement was our young man in Havana, “Julio Antonio Mella.” He never accepted things at face value and challenged authority whenever he felt that they were becoming abusive or self-serving. There was no doubting that he always stood out from the crowd. Not only was his influence felt among the students and faculty but he also had a reputation as an audacious ladies’ man. Being handsome, well-built, with a head of wavy brown hair and sensuous lips, he was known to have bedded many of his female followers. Some of these women said that he resembled a Grecian God. Athletically inclined, he worked out and also became a valued member of the university rowing team. The young lady that was with him when he was assassinated was Tina Modotti.