Famous Nelson Quotes

The famous passage from her book is often erroneously attributed to the inaugural address of Nelson Mandela. About the misattribution Williamson said, "Several years ago, this paragraph from A Return to Love began popping up everywhere, attributed to Nelson Mandela's 1994 inaugural address. As honored as I would be had President Mandela quoted my words, indeed he did not. I have no idea where that story came from, but I am gratified that the paragraph has come to mean so much to so many people.

I still make coffee for two. - Zak Nelson

I learned that finding out what you think or feel about something can take time, and that that time is always worth taking. I learned that art is one way we live together in this world, even as it relates and separates us, like Hannah Arendt’s famous table.

Pharmakon means drug, but as Jacques Derrida and others have pointed out, the word in Greek famously refuses to designate whether poison or cure. It holds both in the bowl.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD once wrote, “The rich are different from you and me,” to which Hemingway famously replied, “Yes, they have more money.

Writing is a clarifying exercise. Seeing the words that have been swirling in your head captured and pinned to a piece of paper or a screen often brings a new perspective. As Flannery O’Connor famously said, “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.

Without the Oxford comma, you can give people the wrong idea. Famously, the London Times newspaper once ran a brief description of a television documentary featuring Peter Ustinov, promising: Highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector.

181. Pharmakon means drug, but as Jacques Derrida and others have pointed out, the word in Greek famously refuses to designate whether poison or cure. It holds both in the bowl. In the dialogues Plato uses the word to refer to everything from an illness, its cause, its cure, a recipe, a charm, a substance, a spell, artificial color, and paint.

Hollywood High School was flipping from the storied institute of legend to the high school of the barrio. Or, as CNN put it in a series of rave reviews for the “predominantly Latino” school: “Hollywood High Now a Diverse High School.” Hollywood High alumni include Cher, Carol Burnett, Lon Chaney, James Garner, Linda Evans, John Huston, Judy Garland, Ricky Nelson, Sarah Jessica Parker, John Ritter, Mickey Rooney, Lana Turner, and Fay Wray, among many others. By the mid-2000s, Hollywood High was more than 70 percent Hispanic,5 and students were less likely to be getting publicity shots than mug shots. Today the school is mostly famous for its stabbings, shootings, child molestations, thefts, and graffiti.6 Around 1990, a California TV producer trying to enroll a German exchange student in a Los Angeles high school asked the principal at Fairfax High if a foreign exchange student would be better served by Fairfax or Hollywood High. Without looking up, the principal replied, “Well, 90% of my students can speak English, and we haven’t had a shooting here in 5 years.

I learned something about the craving for connection that art conjures, frustrates, and possibly exists to satisfy. I learned that finding out what you think or feel about something can take time, and that that time is always worth taking. I learned that art is one way we live together in this world, even as it relates and separates us, like Hannah Arendt’s famous table.

Eventually they [Sarunas Marciulionis and Don Nelson] got a call from a representative of the Grateful Dead, whose members had been inspired by Lithuania's struggle for independence. Nelson and Marciulionis showed up at the address they were given in San Francisco, which was a small, nondescript garage. 'I thought we were the victim of a practical joke until we opened the door and there was a state-of-the-art recording studio' says Nelson. 'I still remember the Dead were trying out Beatles covers, doing stuff like "Here Comes the Sun" and "Hey Jude"... but they were just kind of working through things and sounding kind of nasally and, well, maybe there was a little pot going on. So Sarunas pulls me aside and says 'Donnie, no way these guys are famous. They're terrible.' '.

Nelson is glad to see a handler and her dog coming towards him. The recognises the woman as Jan Adams, famous in Norfolk for having won several medals for bravery. Her dog, a beautiful long-haired German Shepherd is a bit of a celebrity too. What was his name again? "Barney" says Jan in answer to his question. "What's going on?" Nelson explains about the attack. Barney looks at him, head on one side, as if her too might be about to ask a question.

He says this episode will be about grief. About helping other people to mourn. He says that my family's involvement could really help other people in similar situations. All those viewers who thought they lost a family member to a famous serial killer, then are told 36 years later that DNA from the crime scene matches both that of a retired nurse and a man who was four years old at the time and grew up to murder his mother, I think. With less graciousness than I'd hoped to display, I ask if there's a reason why stories about the bizarre, violent deaths of young, good-looking, middle- to upper-class white girls help people mourn better than other stories.

Pharmakon means drug, but as Jacques Derrida and others have pointed out, the word in Greek famously refuses to designate whether poison or cure. It holds both in the bowl. In the dialogues Plato uses the word to refer to everything from an illness, its cause, its cure, a recipe, a charge, a substance, a spell, artificial color, and paint. Plato does not call fucking pharmakon, but then again, while he talks plenty about love, Plato does not say much about fucking. In the Phaedrus, the written word is also notoriously called pharmakon. The question up for debate between Socrates and Phaedrus is whether the written word kills memory or aids it- whether it cripples the mind's power, or whether it cures it of its forgetfulness.

There were days, weeks, and months when I hated politics. And there were moments when the beauty of this country and its people so overwhelmed me that I couldn’t speak. Then it was over. Even if you see it coming, even as your final weeks are filled with emotional good-byes, the day itself is still a blur. A hand goes on a Bible; an oath gets repeated. One president’s furniture gets carried out while another’s comes in. Closets are emptied and refilled in the span of a few hours. Just like that, there are new heads on new pillows—new temperaments, new dreams. And when it ends, when you walk out the door that last time from the world’s most famous address, you’re left in many ways to find yourself again. So let me start here, with a small thing that happened not long ago. I was at home in the redbrick house that my family recently moved into. Our new house sits about two miles from our old house, on a quiet neighborhood street. We’re still settling in. In the family room, our furniture is arranged the same way it was in the White House. We’ve got mementos around the house that remind us it was all real—photos of our family time at Camp David, handmade pots given to me by Native American students, a book signed by Nelson Mandela. What was strange about this night was that everyone was gone. Barack was traveling. Sasha was out with friends. Malia’s been living and working in New York, finishing out her gap year before college. It was just me, our two dogs, and a silent, empty house like I haven’t known in eight years.

It is almost necessary to say nowadays that a saint means a very good man. The notion of an eminence merely moral, consistent with complete stupidity or unsuccess, is a revolutionary image grown unfamiliar by its very familiarity, and needing, as do so many things of this older society, some almost preposterous modern parallel to give its original freshness and point. If we entered a foreign town and found a pillar like the Nelson Column, we should be surprised to learn that the hero on the top of it had been famous for his politeness and hilarity during a chronic toothache. If a procession came down the street with a brass band and a hero on a white horse, we should think it odd to be told that he had been very patient with a half-witted maiden aunt. Yet some such pantomime impossibility is the only measure of the innovation of the Christian idea of a popular and recognized saint. It must especially be realized that while this kind of glory was the highest, it was also in a sense the lowest. The materials of it were almost the same as those of labour and domesticity: it did not need the sword or sceptre, but rather the staff or spade. It was the ambition of poverty. All this must be approximately visualized before we catch a glimpse of the great effects of the story which lay behind the Canterbury Pilgrimage.

Some people smoked when they were upset, some did yoga, or drank, or paced, or picked fights, or counted to one hundred. Georgia cooked. As a small girl growing up in Massachusetts, she'd spent most of her time in her grandmother's kitchen, watching wide-eyed as Grammy kneaded the dough for her famous pumpernickel bread, sliced up parsnips and turnips for her world-class pot roast, or, if she was feeling exotic, butterflied shrimp for her delicious Thai basil seafood. A big-boned woman of solid peasant stock, as she herself used to say, Grammy moved around the cramped kitchen with grace and efficiency, her curly gray hair twisted into a low bun. Humming pop songs from the forties, her cheeks a pleasing pink, she turned out dish after fabulous dish from the cranky Tappan stove she refused to replace. Those times with Grammy were the happiest Georgia could remember. It had been almost a year since she died, and not a day passed that Georgia didn't miss her. She pulled out half a dozen eggs, sliced supermarket Swiss and some bacon from the double-width Sub-Zero. A quick scan of the spice rack yielded a lifetime supply of Old Bay seasoning, three different kinds of peppercorns, and 'sel de mer' from France's Brittany coast. People's pantries were as perplexing as their lives.

Nietzsche’s famous dictum—the most common form of human stupidity is forgetting what one is trying to do

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, ‘who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the Glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” -Nelson Mandela

The dungeons—arranged along a hallway on the first floor, fifteen to a side, all divided by concrete partitions—were famous throughout Puerto Rico. This hallway was covered with filth, barely lit and poorly ventilated. Each row of fifteen cells shared a common roof of iron bars as thick as railroad tracks, topped with steel walkways. The guards patrolled them from opposite ends, stopping when they met in the middle to retrace their steps. It was a vantage point, like a captain’s bridge: the guards could look down and see every occupant of every cell. They could also point their rifles at them.

Mario Cuomo famously said that we campaign in poetry and govern in prose. We also critique the government in poetry—angsty, adolescent poetry, but poetry nonetheless. The

With Bob Dylan, Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver, and convicted Watergate lawyer Charles Colson proudly declaring to be 'born again,' Newsweek and Time called 1976 'the Year of the Evangelical.' The most famous 'born-again' Christian in the United States that year, however, was president-elect James Earl Carter. That same year, Francis Schaefer wrote How Should We Then Live, explicitly arguing that proliferating pornography, accelerating abortion rates, prohibition of prayer in public school, and other examples of 'secular humanism' were the work of Satan. It was the mission of evangelical Christians to save the country from Satan by taking back their government. Schaefer was central in bringing evangelical Christians to politics, but he was a reclusive intellectual theologian living on a mountaintop in Switzerland. His clarion call would not have been distributed so extensively without an infusion of money from Nelson Bunker Hunt. The rotund international oilman bankrolled a documentary adaptation of How Should We The n Live. A phenomenal success, the film convinced thousands of evangelical Christian that a culture war was afoot, and they had an obligation to take the fight to Satan by abandoning any past reluctance to engage in politics.

In my language there is a saying: “Ndiwelimilambo enamagama” (I have crossed famous rivers). It means that one has traveled a great distance, that one has had wide experience and gained some wisdom from it.

What is at issue here is not the familiar construct of formal mathematics, but a belief in the existence of ω (the set of natural numbers) prior to all mathematical constructions. What is the origin of this belief? The famous saying by Kronecker that God created the numbers, all the rest is the work of Man, presumably was not meant to be taken seriously. Nowhere in the Book of Genesis do we find the passage: And God said, let there be numbers, and there were numbers; odd and even created he them, and he said unto them be fruitful and multiply; and he commanded them to keep the laws of induction. No, the belief in ω stems from the speculations of Greek philosophy on the existence of ideal entities or the speculations of German philosophy on a priori categories of thought.

sensations exist without physical cause. “The future always looks good in the golden land, because no one remembers the past,”7 Didion famously claimed in this essay. However, looking at the now iconic portraits of the young writer, I see a woman who is reluctant to smile for the camera, as if happiness or hope were somehow naive, given all that she knows. By any account she actually was living the dream during this time, but the passionate gratitude her fans have for Joan the person can be explained, I think, by our certainty that she never bought into the myth. She had seen the world and accurately gauged its promise. And then she made her place in the sun anyway—defying her own odds.

The desk is covered with paper, which irritates Nelson whose desk at King’s Lynn Police Station is famously clear apart from his ever-present To Do List.

All these factors have made the ability to influence the deliberations within the admissions office infinitely more valuable. An annual donation to the college fund or attendance at cocktails with alumni and prominent professors is not enough. For the very, very rich, a pledge big enough to put their name on a building will do the trick, as will a seven- or eight-figure gift. Jared Kushner’s father famously donated $2.5 million to Harvard in the 1990s, and lo and behold, his son was admitted, despite middling grades in high school.

Freedom has mаnу dіffісultіеѕ аnd democracy is nоt реrfесt, but we hаvе nеvеr hаd tо put a wаll uр tо kеер our реорlе іn… All frее mеn, whеrеvеr thеу may lіvе, аrе сіtіzеnѕ оf Bеrlіn, аnd thеrеfоrе, as a frее mаn, I take рrіdе іn thе wоrdѕ “Iсh bin еіn Bеrlіnеr!

Ask nоt whаt уоur соuntrу can dо fоr уоu – аѕk whаt you саn do for уоur соuntrу.

The war years ended the depression, but brought on many other stressful problems, such as living in a country that was at war with my parents’ homeland. Life changed, and with so many men being drafted into the military, jobs at last became available. By this time, my father was beyond the age of compulsory military service and fortunately found employment as a cook in midtown Manhattan. My parents sold the burdensome delicatessen and bought a house at nearby 25 Nelson Avenue. For years thereafter, my father worked at the then-famous Lindy’s Restaurant on Broadway in New York City. Starting as a cook, he was soon elevated to Night Chef. Eventually he became the Sous Chef and later the Head Chef at the well-known restaurant. It was a long commute into the city by both bus and train, but his steady employment, gratefully, brought in a sustaining income. Fuel and food were rationed during the war years, so there were times when he brought home meaty bones, supposedly for our dog “Putzy,” which instead wound up in our soup pot, which of course we shared with our dog. Most people we knew were poor and struggling to make ends meet, but since everyone was in the same boat, we took our lifestyle in stride. Things were still difficult, but we had shelter and food. I guess you might say we were luckier than most.

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Enhancing its value through people. If you have smart/famous friends, your ego will associate with them to strengthen its identity. This is why some people love to tell others how smart, rich or famous their friends are. Gossiping. People gossip because it makes them feel different and superior in some way. This is why some people like to put other people down and talk behind their back; it makes them—and everybody else in their gossiping group—feel superior. Manifesting an inferiority complex. This hides a desire to be better than others. Yes, even in this case, people want to feel superior. Exhibiting a superiority complex. This hides the fear of not being good enough. Looking for fame. This offers the illusion of superiority, which is why people often dream of becoming famous. Being right. The ego loves to be correct. It’s an excellent way for it to affirm its existence. Have you noticed that everybody, from Adolf Hitler to Nelson Mandela, believe they’re doing the right thing? Most people think they are correct. But can everybody be right? Complaining. When people complain, by definition they believe they are right and others are wrong. It works with objects as well. Have you ever bumped into a table and complained or even insulted it? I have, and the darned table was wrong to be in my way, wasn’t it? Seeking attention. The ego likes to stand out. It loves recognition, praise or admiration. To seek attention, people may also commit crimes, wear eccentric clothes, or have tattoos all over their bodies.