Billie Jean Quotes

Champions keep playing until they get it right.

Tennis taught me so many lessons in life. One of the things it taught me is that every ball that comes to me, I have to make a decision. I have to accept responsibility for the consequences every time I hit a ball.

There's the house where that little red-haired girl lives... Maybe she'll see me, and come rushing out to thank me for the Christmas card I sent her... Maybe she'll even give me a hug... Maybe Billie Jean King will call me tonight, and invite me out to dinner.

Sometimes you have to be satisfied. You try hard enough. Don't be so self-critical; don't be so hard on yourself. (Shape your Self by M. Navratilova)

Pressure is a privilege.

He turned then and those blue eyes met hers from across the sea of people. Her stomach bottomed out. Damn it. She couldn't be attracted to the arrogant ass. Somehow repeating herself wasn't helping.

76. David Hume – Treatise on Human Nature; Essays Moral and Political; An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding 77. Jean-Jacques Rousseau – On the Origin of Inequality; On the Political Economy; Emile – or, On Education, The Social Contract 78. Laurence Sterne – Tristram Shandy; A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy 79. Adam Smith – The Theory of Moral Sentiments; The Wealth of Nations 80. Immanuel Kant – Critique of Pure Reason; Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals; Critique of Practical Reason; The Science of Right; Critique of Judgment; Perpetual Peace 81. Edward Gibbon – The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire; Autobiography 82. James Boswell – Journal; Life of Samuel Johnson, Ll.D. 83. Antoine Laurent Lavoisier – Traité Élémentaire de Chimie (Elements of Chemistry) 84. Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison – Federalist Papers 85. Jeremy Bentham – Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation; Theory of Fictions 86. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe – Faust; Poetry and Truth 87. Jean Baptiste Joseph Fourier – Analytical Theory of Heat 88. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel – Phenomenology of Spirit; Philosophy of Right; Lectures on the Philosophy of History 89. William Wordsworth – Poems 90. Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Poems; Biographia Literaria 91. Jane Austen – Pride and Prejudice; Emma 92. Carl von Clausewitz – On War 93. Stendhal – The Red and the Black; The Charterhouse of Parma; On Love 94. Lord Byron – Don Juan 95. Arthur Schopenhauer – Studies in Pessimism 96. Michael Faraday – Chemical History of a Candle; Experimental Researches in Electricity 97. Charles Lyell – Principles of Geology 98. Auguste Comte – The Positive Philosophy 99. Honoré de Balzac – Père Goriot; Eugenie Grandet 100. Ralph Waldo Emerson – Representative Men; Essays; Journal 101. Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter 102. Alexis de Tocqueville – Democracy in America 103. John Stuart Mill – A System of Logic; On Liberty; Representative Government; Utilitarianism; The Subjection of Women; Autobiography 104. Charles Darwin – The Origin of Species; The Descent of Man; Autobiography 105. Charles Dickens – Pickwick Papers; David Copperfield; Hard Times 106. Claude Bernard – Introduction to the Study of Experimental Medicine 107. Henry David Thoreau – Civil Disobedience; Walden 108. Karl Marx – Capital; Communist Manifesto 109. George Eliot – Adam Bede; Middlemarch 110. Herman Melville – Moby-Dick; Billy Budd 111. Fyodor Dostoevsky – Crime and Punishment; The Idiot; The Brothers Karamazov 112. Gustave Flaubert – Madame Bovary; Three Stories 113. Henrik Ibsen – Plays 114. Leo Tolstoy – War and Peace; Anna Karenina; What is Art?; Twenty-Three Tales 115. Mark Twain – The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; The Mysterious Stranger 116. William James – The Principles of Psychology; The Varieties of Religious Experience; Pragmatism; Essays in Radical Empiricism 117. Henry James – The American; The Ambassadors 118. Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche – Thus Spoke Zarathustra; Beyond Good and Evil; The Genealogy of Morals;The Will to Power 119. Jules Henri Poincaré – Science and Hypothesis; Science and Method 120. Sigmund Freud – The Interpretation of Dreams; Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis; Civilization and Its Discontents; New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis 121. George Bernard Shaw – Plays and Prefaces

If each person does the best with what he has, that’s winning. He’s fulfilling his own potential.

This is the voice of a man who’s seen things. I thought it was so evocative to sound broken the way he did. I didn’t have that. I sounded like a cool new pair of jeans and Billy sounded like the pair you’ve had for years.

Men and boys will accept you more easily when you excel at something they value.

Tennis is a perfect combination of violent action taking place in an atmosphere of total tranquility.

You have to see it to be it.

Stupid girls run upstairs, stupid girls run upstairs," she's saying to herself, turning to pull Ben with her up the aluminum steps, Billie Jean just feet behind them

On blue jean day everybody in town was supposed to wear blue jeans or get thrown in the lake. I put on my only suit and necktie and slowly, like Billy the Kid, with all eyes on me, I walked slowly through the town, looking in windows, stopping for cigars. I broke that town in half like a wooden match.

Be bold if you are going to make an error make a doozy.

I will keep my bulk. All of it, if ye dinna mind. I will have need of it, thank ye." Derrick to Samantha.

I sounded like a cool new pair of jeans and Billy sounded like the pair you’ve had for years.

Clyde, can you make me a champion? No, Billie Jean. But with hard work, you can.

Everyone thinks women should be thrilled when we get crumbs, and I want women to have the cake, the icing, and the cherry on top, too.” —BILLIE JEAN KING

Margaret Mitchell won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for Gone With the Wind in 1937. She was 37 years old at the time. Margaret Chase Smith was elected to the Senate for the first time in 1948 at the age of 49. Ruth Gordon picked up her first Oscar in 1968 for Rosemary’s Baby. She was 72 years old. Billie Jean King took the battle of women’s worth to a tennis court in Houston’s Astrodome to outplay Bobby Riggs. She was 31 years of age. Grandma Moses began a painting career at the age of 76. Anne Morrow Lindbergh followed in the shadow of her husband until she began to question the meaning of existence for individual women. She published her thoughts in Gift from the Sea in 1955, at 49. Shirley Temple Black was Ambassador to Ghana at the age of 47. Golda Meir in 1969 was elected prime minister of Israel. She had just turned 71. This summer Barbara Jordan was given official duties as a speaker at the Democratic National Convention. She is 40 years old. You can tell yourself these people started out as exceptional. You can tell yourself they had influence before they started. You can tell yourself the conditions under which they achieved were different from yours. Or you can be like a woman I knew who sat at her kitchen window year after year and watched everyone else do it and then said to herself, “It’s my turn.” I was 37 years old at the time.

I want to shape the todays and tomorrows.

Everyone has people in their lives that are gay, lesbian or transgender or bisexual. They may not want to admit it, but I guarantee they know somebody.

And if you can see it, you can be it.

I will keep my bulk. All of it, if ye dinna mind. I will have need of it, thank ye." Derrick

And this title, retired Major Ryland, gives you authority over my MasterCard?

jeans were dirty and stained, his tennis shoes the same color as the brown soil

Self-awareness is probably the most important thing towards being a champion.

Lindsay’s right,” Izzy says, collecting the leftovers. “Billie Jean is coming back for her. With a little help from his friends.” “So . . . so is this a horror movie now, or a teen comedy?” Brittney says. “It’s an afterschool special,” Izzy says, Hoddering her head over to study Billie Jean. “Know what the take-home message is? Don’t fuck with Izzy Stratford.

What to call it - the spark of God? Survival instinct? The souped-up computer of an apex brain evolved from eons in the R&D of natural selection? You could practically see the neurons firing in the kid’s skull. His body was all spring and torque, a bundle of fast-twitch muscles that exuded faint floral whiffs of ripe pear. So much perfection in such a compact little person - Billy had to tackle him from time to time, wrestle him squealing to the ground just to get that little rascal in his hands, just your basic adorable thirty-month-old with big blue eyes clear as chlorine pools and Huggies poking out of his stretchy-waist jeans. So is this what they mean by the sanctity of life? A soft groan escaped Billy when he thought about that, the war revealed in this fresh and gruesome light. Oh. Ugh. Divine spark, image of God, suffer the little children and all that - there’s real power when words attach to actual things. Made him want to sit right down and weep, as powerful as that. He got it, yes he did, and when he came home for good he’d have to meditate on this, but for now it was best to compartmentalize, as they said, or even better not to mentalize at all.

After a noticeable silence, he'd recently published a book of technically baffling poems, with line breaks so arbitrary and frequent as to be useless, arrhythmic. On the page they look like some of Charles Bukowski's skinny, chatty, muttering-stuttering antiverses. Impossibly, Mark's words make music, the faraway strains of an irresistible jazz. It's plain to any reader, within a few lines—well, go read the poems and see, Marcus Ahearn traffics with the ineffable. He makes the mind of the speaker present, in that here-and-now where the reader actually reads—that place. Such a rare thing. Samuel Beckett. Jean Follain, Ionesco—the composer Billy Strayhorn. Mark calls his process "psychic improvisation" and referred me to the painter Paul Klee; the term was Klee's. "You just get out a pen and a notebook and let your mind go long," he told me.

No one achieves excellence or enlightenment without a desire to get better, without a tendency to explore potential areas of improvement. Yet the desire—or the need—for more is often at odds with happiness. Billie Jean King, the tennis great, has spoken about this, about how the mentality that gets an athlete to the top so often prevents them from enjoying the thing they worked so hard for. The need for progress can be the enemy of enjoying the process.

You could practically see the neurons firing in the kid’s skull. His body was all spring and torque, a bundle of fast-twitch muscles that exuded faint floral whiffs of ripe pear. So much perfection in such a compact little person — Billy had to tackle him from time to time, wrestle him squealing to the ground just to get that little rascal in his hands, just your basic adorable thirty-month old with big blue eyes clear as chlorine pools and Huggies poking out of his stretchy-waist jeans. So is this what they meant by the sanctity of life?

These are things like Michael Jackson's Thriller, an album that was (1) produced by Quincy Jones, (2) features guitar playing by Eddie Van Halen, (3) includes at least three singles that ooze awesomeness, and (4) has the single best bass line from the entire 1980s (i.e., the opening of "Billie Jean"). It is a "guilty pleasure," presumably, because 45 million people liked it, and because Jackson is quite possibly a pedophile, a d because two dancers had a really unfair knife fight in the video for "Beat It." This is akin to considering Thomas Jefferson a "guilty pleasure" among presidents because he briefly owned a pet bear. I mean, he still wrote the fucking Declaration of Independence, you know?

Her daddy had brought her a package of Twinkies, and she was so proud that as soon as she got on the bus she forgot everything she knew and yelled to another first grader, “Guess what I got in my lunch today, Billy Jean?” “What?” “Twinkies!” she shouted so loud you could have heard her in the back seat even if you were deaf in both ears. Out of the corner of his eye, Jess thought he saw Janice Avery perk up. When they sat down, May Belle was still screeching about her dadgum Twinkies over the roar of the motor. “My daddy brung ’um to me from Washington!” Jess threw another look at the back seat. “You better shut up about those dang Twinkies,” he said in her ear. “You just jealous ’cause Daddy didn’t bring you none.” “OK.” He shrugged across her head at Leslie to say I warned her, didn’t I? and Leslie nodded back. Neither of them was too surprised to see May Belle come screaming toward them at recess time. “She stole my Twinkies!” Jess sighed. “May Belle, didn’t I tell you?” “You gotta kill Janice Avery. Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!” “Shhh,” Leslie said, stroking May Belle’s head, but May Belle didn’t want comfort, she wanted revenge. “You gotta beat her up into a million pieces!

Why would anyone set arbitrary limits on another human being? Why were we being treated as unreasonable for asking reasonable questions? Why were we constantly told, you can't do this, don't do that, temper your ambition, lower your voice, stay in your place, act less confident than you are, do as you're told. Why weren't a female striving in individual differences seen as life enriching, a source of pride, rather than a problem. If I felt that way, I wondered how the people of color around me felt.

What do you mean, you never have a chance to talk to me? We see each other all the time.” I patted the bed. “We live together.” “Yeah, exactly. And that’s about it.” He was off the bed now, pacing, scratching the side of his neck, like he always did when he was nervous. “We see each other all the time, but we never talk. The little we do is about nothing; I mention the baby, our baby, and you turn to stone.” Billy stopped pacing and looked away from me to a point above my head, a blank wall—my room had no decorations. “I’m so lonely.

Pauvre Gringoire ! le fracas de tous les gros doubles pétards de la Saint-Jean, la décharge de vingt arquebuses à croc, la détonation de cette fameuse serpentine de la Tour de Billy, qui, lors du siège de Paris, le dimanche 29 septembre 1465, tua sept Bourguignons d’un coup, l’explosion de toute la poudre à canon emmagasinée à la porte du Temple, lui eût moins rudement déchiré les oreilles, en ce moment solennel et dramatique, que ce peu de paroles tombées de la bouche d’un huissier : Son Éminence monseigneur le cardinal de Bourbon. Ce n’est pas

When I was little, I didn’t understand that you could change a few sounds in a name or a phrase and have it mean something entirely different. When I told teachers my name was Benna and they said, “Donna who?” I would say, “Donna Gilbert.” I thought close was good enough, that sloppiness was generally built into the language. I thought Bing Crosby and Bill Crosby were the same person. That Buddy Holly and Billie Holiday were the same person. That Leon Trotsky and Leo Tolstoy were the same person. It was a shock for me quite late in life to discover that Jean Cocteau and Jacques Cousteau were not even related. Meaning, if it existed at all, was unstable and could not survive the slightest reshuffling of letters. One gust of wind and Santa became Satan. A slip of the pen and pears turned into pearls. A little interior decorating and the world became her twold, an ungrammatical and unkind assessment of an aging aunt in a singles bar. Add a d to poor, you got droop. It was that way in biology, too. Add a chromosome, get a criminal. Subtract one, get an idiot or a chipmunk. That was the way with things.

My gratitude goes as well to the other data scientists I pestered and to the institutions that collect and maintain their data: Karlyn Bowman, Daniel Cox (PRRI), Tamar Epner (Social Progress Index), Christopher Fariss, Chelsea Follett (HumanProgress), Andrew Gelman, Yair Ghitza, April Ingram (Science Heroes), Jill Janocha (Bureau of Labor Statistics), Gayle Kelch (US Fire Administration/FEMA), Alaina Kolosh (National Safety Council), Kalev Leetaru (Global Database of Events, Language, and Tone), Monty Marshall (Polity Project), Bruce Meyer, Branko Milanović (World Bank), Robert Muggah (Homicide Monitor), Pippa Norris (World Values Survey), Thomas Olshanski (US Fire Administration/FEMA), Amy Pearce (Science Heroes), Mark Perry, Therese Pettersson (Uppsala Conflict Data Program), Leandro Prados de la Escosura, Stephen Radelet, Auke Rijpma (OECD Clio Infra), Hannah Ritchie (Our World in Data), Seth Stephens-Davidowitz (Google Trends), James X. Sullivan, Sam Taub (Uppsala Conflict Data Program), Kyla Thomas, Jennifer Truman (Bureau of Justice Statistics), Jean Twenge, Bas van Leeuwen (OECD Clio Infra), Carlos Vilalta, Christian Welzel (World Values Survey), Justin Wolfers, and Billy Woodward (Science Heroes). David Deutsch, Rebecca Newberger Goldstein, Kevin Kelly, John Mueller, Roslyn Pinker, Max Roser, and Bruce Schneier read a draft of the entire manuscript and offered invaluable advice.

What does one wear to a ranch early in the morning? I wondered. I was stumped. I had enough good sense, thank God, to know my spiked black boots--the same boots I’d worn on basically every date with Marlboro Man thus far--were out of the question. I wouldn’t want them to get dirty, and besides that, people might look at me funny. I had a good selection of jeans, yes, but would I go for the dark, straight-leg Anne Kleins? Or the faded, boot-cut Gaps with contrast stitching? And what on earth would I wear on top? This could get dicey. I had a couple of nice, wholesome sweater sets, but the weather was turning warmer and the style didn’t exactly scream “ranch” to me. Then there was the long, flax-colored linen tunic from Banana Republic--one I loved to pair with a chunky turquoise necklace and sandals. But that was more Texas Evening Barbecue than Oklahoma Early-Morning Cattle Gathering. Then there were the myriad wild prints with sparkles and stones and other obnoxious adornments. But the last thing I wanted to do was spook the cattle and cause a stampede. I’d seen it happen in City Slickers when Billy Crystal fired up his cordless coffee grinder, and the results weren’t the least bit pretty. I considered cancelling. I had absolutely nothing to wear. Every pair of shoes I owned was black, except for a bright yellow pair of pumps I’d bought on a whim in Westwood one California day. Those wouldn’t exactly work, either. And I didn’t own a single shirt that wouldn’t loudly broadcast *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* I wanted to crawl under my covers and hide.

Billy pulled her snug against his body, forgetting his arousal in the urgent need to give her comfort. He felt her stiffen, sought the reason, and realized she must have felt his erection. She shoved him away with the flat of her palms and stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Or maybe shock was a better word. Billy knew instantly what he’d lost. The wariness in her gaze spoke for itself. She’d always trusted him implicitly. Like a brother. But it was a lover’s body she’d felt. He could see she was astonished that he’d become aroused by touching her. He let his hands drop to his sides. He didn’t think excuses would work, but he was willing to give them a try. His mouth curled up on one side in a cock-eyed grin. “Sorry about that. The feel of a female body does that to a man, whether he wants it to happen or not.” “It shouldn’t happen between us,” she said with certainty. “We’re friends.” He shrugged. “You’re female. I’m male. Sometimes it happens.” “Not to us,” she insisted. She stared into his face suspiciously. “Or has it?” “It might have happened once or twice. No big deal.” She stared at the visible bulge in his jeans, then glanced up at him, her face flushed and said, “It looks pretty big to me.” Billy couldn’t help grinning. “Summer, you can’t be this naïve. This is how a man reacts when he’s around an attractive woman.” “You find me attractive?” He saw the startled interest in her eyes and realized he’d opened another can of worms. He didn’t want her judging him as a prospective suitor. There was no way he could match up to the men her father presented to her on a silver platter. “Any man would find a pretty girl like you attractive,” he said, backpedaling as fast as he could. He flipped one of her golden curls back from her shoulder and said, “Curls this bouncy, and eyes like topaz jewels, and a nose this nosy.” He tapped her playfully on the nose. “What man wouldn’t react like I did?

Pam sat in a daze with a large sewing needle protruding from her finger. Blood had covered the knee of the blue jeans she was mending and had dripped down, making a large wet stain on the rug.

People often say “Billie Jean” was the first black music video on MTV. “Pass the Dutchie” was first. Because they were little and spoke in funny British accents, Musical Youth were deemed as nonthreatening, and therefore non-black.

fun challenges. Losses inspire them to work harder to improve and pressure moments of a match are longed for rather than dreaded. As Billie Jean King said in the title of her recent book, “Pressure is a Privilege.

The Bible lists in Hebrews 11 the heroes of the faith . . .who were tortured, imprisoned, stoned, torn apart, and killed by the sword. They didn’t wear designer jeans but went about in animal skins, destitute and tormented.

Barry shined his flashlight on Marshall’s broken body. Blood had pooled around it, and several severed bones protruded from his shirt and jeans. “Does anyone have a knife?” he asked.

Champions keep playing untill they get it right.

Joan Joyce is the real deal, a fierce competitor and one of the greatest athletes and coaches in sports history. Tony Renzoni’s moving tribute to Joan shows us why she is a champion in sports and in life. —Billie Jean King, sports icon and equality pioneer The story is all true. Joan Joyce was a tremendous pitcher, as talented as anyone who ever played. [responding to a newspaper account of his early 1960s match-ups against Joan Joyce] —Ted Williams, Hall of Famer and Boston Red Sox great, December 30, 1999 Joan Joyce is truly the greatest female athlete in sports history. And a great coach as well. Tony Renzoni’s well-researched book is a touching tribute to this phenomenal athlete. I highly recommend this book! —Bobby Valentine, former MLB player and manager Quotes for Historic Connecticut Music Venues: From the Coliseum to the Shaboo: I would like to thank Tony Renzoni for giving me the opportunity to write the foreword to his wonderful book. I highly recommend Connecticut Music Venues: From the Coliseum to Shaboo to music lovers everywhere! —Felix Cavaliere, Legendary Hall of Famer (Young Rascals/Rascals, Solo) As the promoter of the concerts in many of the music venues in this book, I hope you enjoy living the special memories this book will give you. —Jim Koplik, Live Nation president, Connecticut and Upstate New York Tony Renzoni has captured the soul and spirit of decades of the Connecticut live music scene, from the wild and wooly perspective of the music venues that housed it. A great read! —Christine Ohlman, the “Beehive Queen,” recording artist/songwriter Tony Renzoni has written a very thoughtful and well-researched tribute to the artists of Connecticut, and we are proud to have Gene included among them. —Lynne Pitney, wife of Gene Pitney Our Alice Cooper band recorded the Billion Dollars Babies album in a mansion in Greenwich. Over the years, there have been many great musicians from Connecticut, and the local scene is rich with good music. Tony Renzoni’s book captures all of that and more. Sit back and enjoy the ride. —Dennis Dunaway, hall of famer and co-founder of the Alice Cooper band. Rock ’n’ Roll music fans from coast to coast will connect to events in this book. Strongly recommended! —Judith Fisher Freed, estate of Alan Freed

all talk, though, something to occupy our minds and fill our sleep with big, bright images. Billy was content with our life, what we had was more than enough for him, and I was pretty sure it was enough for me too.

It was weird that Billy called my mom “Mom.” It broke my heart how Mom drank her coffee every morning, how she so carefully put her lips on the rim and drank deeply, like she was grateful for every sip. Dad would pour pepper over all his food, and now I was afraid to put a sprinkle of the stuff on anything, even though scrambled eggs looked weird without it. If food could change people, I didn’t want my baby to eat anything. I wanted it to exist on air alone and take in deep gulps of it, power born from within, no outside sources. I started to picture the world without me in it.

He looked back at me and then I was the one that wanted to look away. “Sometimes I’ll stand in front of that mirror talking to myself. I’ll tell myself stories about my day, or stories from my past, my future, things I dream about, that I can only see when I close my eyes. When I get tired of talking about myself, I’ll pick up something to read out loud. Books, newspaper articles, receipts, ingredients on the backs of snack foods—did you know on Goldfish bags in addition to all the chemicals and shit, it says ‘Made with smiles’?” Billy himself smiled for a second at that, but then seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Basically, I say everything that I should be saying to you.” It was impossible not to hear the anger

Pressure is a privilege,’ said tennis legend Billie Jean King,” the homeless man shared. “You get to grow. And ascending as a person is one of the smartest ways to spend the rest of your life. With every challenge comes the gorgeous opportunity to rise into your next level as a leader, performer and human being. Obstacles are nothing more than tests designed to measure how seriously you want the rewards that your ambitions seek.

Tennis great Billie Jean King said that pressure is a privilege,

People often ask me if I'm jealous that later generations have earned more or had it easier than we did and I always say, not on your life! My reward has been watching women athletes who are freer now to concentrate on optimum performance, rather than worrying about making a living or creating places to play.

Chrissie and Martina were the first generation of women tennis pros to who lived out the dreams my generation had about what the modern female athlete could be.

I love Billie Jean. I've never stopped loving her and that translates not into possession, but in trying to do whatever makes her the happiest. Most people look at love as an ability to possess people. I look at it as sharing with them, loving them, and wanting the best for them. I love Billie Jean and I'll always love Billie Jean. That doesn't mean that she might not be happier because of her capacity and needs for attention with some other person.. It's not about owning her, or possessing her time necessarily. - Larry King

No matter how old you are when a parent dies, it's like losing an anchor that kept you safely moored.

as Billie Jean King tells us, the mark of a champion is the ability to win when things are not quite right—when you’re not playing well and your emotions are not the right ones.

I watched Billy's back as he undressed for bed. I knew I wanted to start a fight. I also knew that I hated fighting, hated how ugly I felt and how I was sure I looked when I screamed.

a person’s character is grown by adversity, not by ease.

Every single person you meet, no matter how together they look, is trying to manage their own problems, trying to be happy, and hopefully trying to not tear lumps out of anyone else as we do. Everyone has secrets, everyone has a past.

She went back to the bedroom and into the large walk-in closet. The beginnings of the closet were not the closet itself but its contents. According to Billy, she was to have an array of shoes, bags, belts, jeans, white shirts, suits for luncheons, cocktail dresses, evening gowns, resort clothes for both mountain and island, and any sport in which one might be called upon to participate: golf, tennis, horseback riding, parasailing, rappelling, white-water rafting, and even hockey.

«La presión es un privilegio», como dijo la leyenda del tenis Billie Jean King —contó el sintecho—. Te permite crecer. Elevarte como persona es uno de los modos más inteligentes de pasar el resto de tu vida. Cada desafío conlleva la valiosa oportunidad de pasar a un nuevo nivel como líder, persona productiva y ser humano.

It's so funny how so much of "finding yourself" in adulthood is simply getting back to who you were and what you loved as a child.

Olahraga mengajarkanmu karakter, itu mengajarkanmu untuk bermain menurut aturan, itu mengajarkanmu tentang menang dan kalah - itu mengajarkanmu tentang kehidupan.

For me, losing a tennis match isn’t failure. It’s research. —Billie Jean King

The mind is amazing. It can transport you out of yourself when the situation you’re in becomes intolerable.

I think we don’t regret much of what we do, unless it’s to hurt someone, but we often regret what we don’t do.

Adversity is what grows our character, not ease, Billie. I’m a complicated person, but I like who I am. And all of it – my personality, my beliefs, my values – was born out of hardship. People whose lives are too easy become vacuous – the world is full of them. People who care what the neighbours think, or who let petty jealousies rule their lives, they’ve had no real struggles. Surround yourself with people who haven’t had it easy

person’s character is grown by adversity, not by ease. It was a comforting thought, that there was a point to all the suffering, that she would be a better, kinder, more empathetic person because of it. Perhaps

Adversity is what grows our character, not ease, Billie. I’m a complicated person, but I like who I am. And all of it – my personality, my beliefs, my values – was born out of hardship. People whose lives are too easy become vacuous – the world is full of them. People who care what the neighbours think, or who let petty jealousies rule their lives, they’ve had no real struggles. Surround yourself with people who haven’t had it easy – they are much more interesting.

Meanwhile, other cupcakeries were popping up all over Manhattan. A near Magnolia replica turned up in Chelsea when a former bakery manager jumped ship to open his own Americana bakeshop, Billy's (the one AJ and I frequented). Two Buttercup employees similarly ventured downtown to the Lower East Side and opened Sugar Sweet Sunshine, expanding into new flavors like the Lemon Yummy, lemon cake with lemon buttercream, and the Ooey Gooey, chocolate cake with chocolate almond frosting. Dee-licious. Other bakeries opted for their own approach. A husband-and-wife team opened Crumbs, purveyor of five-hundred-calorie softball-sized juggernauts, in outrageous flavors like Chocolate Pecan Pie and Coffee Toffee, topped with candy shards and cookie bits. There were also mini cupcakes in wacky flavors like chocolate chip pancake and peanut butter and jelly from Baked by Melissa and Kumquat's more gourmet array like lemon-lavender and maple-bacon. Revered pastry chefs also got in on the action. After opening ChikaLicious, the city's first dessert bar, Chika Tillman launched a take-out spot across the street that offered Valhrona chocolate buttercream-topped cupcakes. And Pichet Ong, a Jean-Georges Vongerichten alum and dessert bar and bakery rock star, attracted legions of loyal fans- no one more than myself- to his West Village bakery, Batch, with his carrot salted-caramel cupcake.

Her eyebrows looked unnaturally dark and a weird shape, and her teeth were ridiculously white. He suspected there was a lot of cosmetic investment in that face, but it had the effect of making her look odd. She also had that annoying upward inflection at the end of every sentence, popular among young people in America and increasingly with young Irish people too.

Indigenous Lives Holding Our World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkala-Sa A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie Spirit Car, by Diane Wilson Two Old Women, by Velma Wallis Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School, by Adam Fortunate Eagle Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq Walking the Rez Road, by Jim Northrup Mamaskatch, by Darrel J. McLeod Indigenous Poetry Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings, by Joy Harjo Ghost River (Wakpá Wanági), by Trevino L. Brings Plenty The Book of Medicines, by Linda Hogan The Smoke That Settled, by Jay Thomas Bad Heart Bull The Crooked Beak of Love, by Duane Niatum Whereas, by Layli Long Soldier Little Big Bully, by Heid E. Erdrich A Half-Life of Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation, by Eric Gansworth NDN Coping Mechanisms, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Invisible Musician, by Ray A. Young Bear When the Light of the World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through, edited by Joy Harjo New Poets of Native Nations, edited by Heid E. Erdrich The Failure of Certain Charms, by Gordon Henry Jr. Indigenous History and Nonfiction Everything You Know About Indians Is Wrong, by Paul Chaat Smith Decolonizing Methodologies, by Linda Tuhiwai Smith Through Dakota Eyes: Narrative Accounts of the Minnesota Indian War of 1862, edited by Gary Clayton Anderson and Alan R. Woodworth Being Dakota, by Amos E. Oneroad and Alanson B. Skinner Boarding School Blues, edited by Clifford E. Trafzer, Jean A. Keller, and Lorene Sisquoc Masters of Empire, by Michael A. McDonnell Like a Hurricane: The Indian Movement from Alcatraz to Wounded Knee, by Paul Chaat Smith and Robert Allen Warrior Boarding School Seasons, by Brenda J. Child They Called It Prairie Light, by K. Tsianina Lomawaima To Be a Water Protector, by Winona LaDuke Minneapolis: An Urban Biography, by Tom Weber

Judd: You like being scared? Louis: I remember when I was a kid, Billie Jean King was doing that Battle of the Sexes thing—I don’t remember if it was happening when I was a kid or if I saw a show about it. But I was so impressed with her. She reminded me of my mom and I just thought she was the coolest person and I hated Bobby Riggs because my mom was a single, working mother. They toured together and did these interviews together, and he was always going, like, women should just go back, put on a tight shirt, and make me a steak. He said this amazing shit and she’s just sitting there with a smile on her face. And they turned to her and they say, “How do you feel about all this?” And she says, “Well, all this does is put pressure on me. Everything he says just means that I have to beat him.” She gets this big smile on her face and says, “I love pressure.” Judd: Wow. Louis: And I never forgot it. I was like, fuck that. That was such an interesting notion—that pressure, give me, give me, give me, because all that’s going to do is make me better. Like, eating pressure. Having it be fuel. I like that.

Pressure is a privilege

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.' — Billie Jean Parker Moon, 1975

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.' — Billie Jean Parker Moon (Bonnie Parker's sister), 1975

It was the influence of the Great Depression, recycling, thriftiness, stocking up to the point of hoarding for fear of being without. ... She [Rhea Leen] remembered coming home from school before Jean [Billie Jean Parker] got off work to a cold, empty house, and finding only one can of soup in the cupboard, heating the soup and eating only half of it, saving the rest for he aunt. Rather remembered ... when her father took a job as a janitor because his savings had been wiped out in the crash of 1929 and there were no other jobs. He always distrusted banks thereafter, refusing to do business with them, preferring to bury his money in the yard. He was not alone.

Don't talk yourself out of wanting something just because you can't figure out how to get it.