Emi Life Quotes

Sometimes it's easier to face your own problems in life, when you look at the problem through someone else's eyes

You remind me of myself from several years ago,” she says. “I always offered help—but I refused to accept any. My mother scolded me about that. Do you know what she told me? When you refuse to ask for help, it tells others that they also shouldn’t ask for help from you. That you look down on them for needing your help. That you like feeling superior to them. It’s an insult, Emi, to your friends and peers. So don’t be like that. Let us in.

Don't give up on yourself when life gets a little harder. Instead, love harder those who do value your life

Nuren isn't a cure for your problems, it's a way of life. It's the understanding of a problem, before it actually becomes one

The evening vegetables looked so fresh and juicy, the tips of the greens bursting with life. Yeah, I’d love to have another baby. Maybe by the time I’m thirty-seven.

Have you ever been in love, Emi?” “I don’t think so.” “Then this is a real shame,” he tells me. “What is?” “You’ve neverbeenin love.  You don’twant to be in love.  How does one live their life without love?” “So, you were in love with that girl?” “No,” he says.  “I thought I was, but no.

Life is easy for some, hard for others. Some succeed with minimal effort, others have to put in a lot of efforts and some have it served in a dish. Whichever your case is, make the best of it. Enjoy the journey.You can't control the side of life you fall into but you can rise beyond any limitation it places on you. Those who have it easy are made of plastic, you are made of steel. Do what you must today.

Instead of making a life that would redeem the past—an impossible feat—I sought out a life that I could live with.

Adults viewed suicidal ideation as a pathology. But for me it was logic. Weighing the bad against the good, projecting forward to decide if life was worth sticking around for.

Here I was, more than thirty years of life behind me, still completely unaware of the simplest things.

Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that’s the only thing that gave meaning to your existence … Hey, did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up … And then to have him crucified like that. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you ….

This is the way it ought to be, he thought to himself, to be able to dance with a girl you like and really get a kick out of it because everything’ on an even keel and one’s worries are of the usual ones of unpaid bills and sickness in the family and being late to work too often. Wh can’t it be that way for me? Nobody’s looking twice at us. Nobody’s asking me where I was during the war or what the hell I am doing back on the coast. There’s no trouble to be had without looking for it. Everything’s the same, just as it used to be. No bad feelings except for those that have always been and probably always will. It’s a matter of attitude. Mine needs changing. I’ve got to love the world the way I used to. I’ve got to love it and the people so I’ll feel good, and feeling good will make life worthwhile. There’s no point in crying about what’s done. There’s a place for me and Emi and Freddie here on the dance floor and out there in the hustle of things if we’ll let it be that way. I’ve been fighting it and hating it and letting my bitterness against myself and Ma and Pa and even Taro throw the whole universe out of perspective. I want only to go on living and be happy. I’ve only to let myself do so.

Cras te victurum, cras dicis, Postume, semper. dic mihi, cras istud, Postume, quando venit? quam longe cras istud, ubi est? aut unde petendum? numquid apud Parthos Armeniosque latet? iam cras istud habet Priami vel Nestoris annos. cras istud quanti, dic mihi, possit emi? cras vives? hodie iam vivere, Postume, serum est: ille sapit quisquis, Postume, vixit heri.

Whether you sweep the toilet of a school or you make cloths. Whether you take pictures of dancers or you are a full-time house wife. Whether you are a village jester or the president of a company, never trivialize what you do. Your work, no matter how small you think it is can make a difference in someone's life. It all begins with you. It's not what you do, it's how you do it.

I looked up again at the stained glass window. There she was, the same smile on her lips. I'm sure you were totally freaked out when they told you that you were pregnant, but at least your baby's birth is now celebrated all around the world! And so many people have been saved by you, and by your child! Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that's the only thing that gave meaning to your existence... Hey did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up... And then to have him crucified like that. I can't imagine how hard that must have been. I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you...

Finally, this is, in many ways, a book about a young man’s long journey back to a place he can call home. Writing his story has reminded me again and again that no one is more blessed by his home life than I am. I want to thank the three lovely and intelligent women who make it so: my daughters, Emi and Bobi—each of whom has lent her own unique talents to the making of this book—and my wife, Sharon. Her thoughtful reading of the manuscript, her many conversations with me about it, and her deeply insightful comments and suggestions have vastly improved it on every conceivable level. Her love, her confidence, and her continual support have made writing it possible in the first place. Without her, there would be no books.

For as the Father has life in himself,  zso he has granted the Son also to have life in himself. 27And he  ahas given him authority to execute judgment, because he is the Son of Man. 28Do not marvel at this, for  van hour is coming when  ball who are in the tombs will hear his voice 29and come out,  cthose who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment. Witnesses to Jesus 30 d“I can do nothing on my own. As I hear, I judge, and  emy judgment is just, because  fI seek not my own will  gbut the will of him who sent me. 31 hIf I alone bear witness about myself, my testimony is not true. 32There is  ianother who bears witness about me, and  jI know that the testimony that he bears about me is true. 33 kYou sent to John, and he has borne witness to the truth. 34Not that  lthe testimony that I receive is from man, but I say these things so that you may be saved. 35He was a burning and  mshining lamp, and  nyou were willing to rejoice for a while in his light. 36But  lthe testimony that I have is greater than that of John. For  othe works that the Father has given me  pto accomplish, the very works that I am doing,  qbear

my role my goal my dream my life not yours -all mine

Because of these lengthy and protracted court battles, it is important for Kanaka Maoli farmers to remember to assert their rights in the real world. Not only does this punctuate the legal battles taking place in the courts, but actively asserting your rights sheds light on the injustice that is happening to the Kanaka Maoli. In the end, our rights are undeniable, and the actions taken by the brave taro farmers in the face of the Goliath corporation EMI, as well as the state of Hawai‘i, serve as a reminder that we have rights to our ‘āina, our resources.

I took for granted that, no matter what happened in my life, I could escape into my ambitions; they would transport me to a future where the way I grew up couldn’t matter less.

Job is a big Scam in Life! Salary doesn't make you rich, you are just able to pay your EMIs!

Whether you sweep the toilet of a school or you make cloths. Whether you take pictures of dancers or you are a full-time house wife. Whether you are a village jester or the president of a company, never trivialize what you do. Your work, no matter how small you think it is can make a difference in someone's life. It all begins with you. It's not what you do, it's how you do it. I have seen a traffic police bring minutes of joy and happiness to people's lives in a way that Presidents of nations cannot. Anytime you trivialize what gives you an income, you sell yourself cheap and lose your dignity. Do your work with all excitement, joy and positivity. Learn and grow from it. And if you haven't found a job to do, look for one with the same zeal as you would do the actual work. Good morning and may God bless our efforts. Emi Iyalla

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, ‘A man in debt is so far a slave.’ In our modern times, we have coined a variety of terms that dull the slavish nature of debt. We refer to EMIs as ‘financing solutions’, we speak of zero interest and zero down payments, we hear about floating and fixed rates, but in its most basic form, debt is slavery. The possessions you acquire while you get into debt do not belong to you. They belong to the person who loaned you the money, and because so many of us trade our time for money, he owns your time too, and a tiny bit of your life. In the past, slaves were legal property of their masters. Today, slavery is practised in the form of monetary debt.

The sessions for Some Girls always had a following wind from the moment we started rehearsing in the strangely shaped Pathé Marconi studios in Paris. It was a rejuvenation, surprisingly for such a dark moment, when it was possible that I would go to jail and the Stones would dissolve. But maybe that was part of it. Let’s get something down before it happens. It had an echo of Beggars Banquet about it—a long period of silence and then coming back with a bang, and a new sound. You can’t argue with seven million copies and two top ten singles out of it, “Miss You” and “Beast of Burden.” Nothing was prepared before we got there. Everything was written in the studio day by day. So it was like the earlier times, at RCA in Los Angeles in the mid-’60s—songs pouring out. Another big difference from recent albums was that we had no other musicians in with us—no horns, no Billy Preston. Extra stuff was dubbed later. If anything the buildup of sidemen had taken us down a different path in the ’70s, away from our best instincts on some occasions. So the record was down to us, and it being Ronnie Wood’s first album with us, down to our guitar weaving on tracks like “Beast of Burden.” We were more focused and we had to work harder. The sound we got had a lot to do with Chris Kimsey, the engineer and producer who we were working with for the first time. We knew him from his apprenticeship at Olympic Studios, and so he knew our stuff backwards. And he would, on the basis of this experiment, engineer or coproduce eight albums for us. We had to pull something out—not make another Stones-in-the-doldrums album. He wanted to get a live sound back and move away from the clean and clinical-sounding recordings we’d slipped into. We were in the Pathé Marconi studios because they were owned by EMI, with whom we’d just made a big deal.

The only reason we got a record deal with Decca was because Dick Rowe turned down the Beatles. EMI got them, and he could not afford to make the same mistake twice. Decca was desperate—I’m amazed the guy still had the job. At the time, just like anything else in “popular entertainment,” they thought, it’s just a fad, it’s a matter of a few haircuts and we’ll tame them anyway. But basically we only got a record deal because they could just not afford to fuck up twice. Otherwise they wouldn’t have touched us with a barge pole. Just out of prejudice.

I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you...

Life Must Go On; Whether You 'LIKE' It or 'NOT'..." ~ Emi

Life Must Go On; Whether You 'LIKE' It or 'NOT'...

An album of Paul’s music was selected as the first rock album to be released officially by Melodiya. Technically, the album chosen for release was Band on the Run, but because the title track was replaced with ‘Silly Love Songs,’ the album was renamed ПОЛ МАККАРТНИ+Ансамбль (Wings)—Paul McCartney + Ensemble (Wings). The release, EMI cautioned Paul, would not make him appreciably more wealthy: as classical musicians who toured in Russia already knew, fees and royalties were paid in rubles, which were not freely exchangeable for Western currency. Classical players found that they were best off spending their fees in Russia and returning to the West with fur coats, vodka or other Russian goods.

Not the perfect place for a studio,” he told Thomas, noting that it was under the flight path to Machrihanish airport. “But that’s what you’re going to do.” “What, a studio here?” “Yeah,” Paul responded, “this is the studio. I want a mezzanine with a solid wall in front of the mezzanine so that if you’re down here, you can just see the tips of the violin bows when they play a top C.” “How high is that?” Thomas asked. “I don’t know, work it out,” Paul told Thomas, and then led him to the next room—the milking area—and said, “This is going to be the control room. You don’t have to worry about [the equipment], because that’s all going to be coming up from London in a lorry. But the windows have to be double or triple glazed, and each glass panel has to be at a different angle so that the sound doesn’t go through, and I want soundproofed double doors. And the farmhouse has to be completely redone for human habitation, because that’s where the band is going to stay, and the technicians.” Thomas looked over at the farmhouse and began organizing his thoughts about what would be necessary, and how to approach it, when Paul added one more requirement. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “you’ve got a month.” “What?” Thomas and Whitmore asked in unison. “Yeah, yeah, you’re fine,” Paul said. “People are very willing to work quite hard up here. Use everybody local you can, because there’s so much unemployment up in Campbeltown.” But why, Thomas wondered, must the studio be ready in a month? “Because this record I’ve got in mind is going to be the biggest seller of all time, and we all know that’s down to Christmas,” Paul told him. He then explained the timeline, working backward from the release. “EMI need a month to press and distribute it, and I need a week to record it, so therefore you’ve got this bit, which is a month.”34

To retain the distribution rights for Paul’s music worldwide and in the United Kingdom, EMI agreed to increase the royalties McCartney received on the Beatles’ back catalog. Lennon, Harrison and Starr were kept in the dark about McCartney’s royalty uplift.

When I think of disabled literature and writing, I can think of a breadth of writing that spans decades and generations, that uses the D-word and does not. I think of Audre Lorde—Black Lesbian poet warrior mother, legally blind, living and dying with cancer, whose work shines with the knowledge she gained from living with bodily difference and fighting the medical industrial complex. I think of Gloria Anzaldúa, queer Latinx maestra who started her period at age three and lived with bodily and reprogenital differences, living and dying with diabetes. Some of my work as a disability justice writer has been to look at the legacies and work of those foundational second-wave queer and trans feminist writers and creators of color—Audre Lorde and June Jordan, Gloria Anzaldúa and Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, Chrystos and Sapphire, to name a few—and to witness the disability all up in their work, even if they did not use that word because of any number of factors including the whiteness of the disability rights movement of the time. June's last decade of writing was all about her cancer. Gloria's writing had everything to do with her diabetes and neurodivergence and life-long bodily differences. Marsha and Sylvia were both neurodivergent Trans Black and Latinx activists and creators whose writing, performance, and art was at the center of their lives and activism. Chrystos and Sapphire's Indigenous and Black feminist incest survivor stories and poetry write from spaces of surviving extreme trauma, chronic pain from stripping and cleaning houses, CPTSD, grief, and psychiatrization. "I also think of the deep legacy of disabled writers (some dead, some still living but having done this for a while) who intentionally, politically identified as disabled. Laura Hershey. Leroy Moore. Qwo-Li Driskill. Aurora Levins Morales. Billie Rain. Dani Montgomery. Nomy Lamm. Cheryl Marie Wade. Emi Koyama. Pat Parker. Tatiana de la tierra. Raymond Luczak. Anne Finger. Leslie Feinberg, who died of Lyme disease. Peggy Munson. Beth Brant. Vickie Sears. Writers who are small press, micro-press, self-published, indie press, out of print. Writers I know and cherish, whose names I call when I talk about disabled writing. We are so often kept apart, we disabled people, and kept from knowing each other's names. We are told not to hang out with the other kid with cerebral palsy, told to deny or downplay our disabilities or Deafness or ND. We often grow up not learning disabled history, Deaf literature, or that those are even a thing.

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