Geronimo Quotes

Geronimo!

Loving means sharing what you have however big or small it may be!

I just friends whom I can trust and call them my "Best Friends".

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to slide across the finish line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, and shouting GERONIMO!!!

The Doctor (Matt Smith): Legs! I've still got legs! Good. Arms. Hands. Oo! Fingers. Lots of fingers. Ears. Yes. Eyes two. Nose. I've had worse. Chin. Blimey. Hair. I'm a girl. No no. I'm not a girl. And still not ginger. There's something else. Something important! I'm- I'm- crashing! Ha ha! Geronimo! -Doctor Who

She stood looking carefully at the labeled portraits Ursala had put up: Little Crow, Chief of the Santees, Geronimo, last of the Apaches, and Ursala's favorite, Big Foot, dying in the snow at Wounded Knee. "Isn't that where the massacre was?" asked Ellen. "Yes. I'm going to go there when I'm grown up. To Wounded Knee." "That seems sensible," said Ellen.

I was warmed by the sun, rocked by the winds and sheltered by the trees as other Indian babes. I can go everywhere with a good feeling. — Geronimo 1829 – 1909 Apache

He blew time like he had it to spare, like it grew on clocks instead of died there.

-Bir gözlük almalısın Geronimo. -Neden? -Her defasında dudaklarımı ıskalıyorsun.

I cannot think that we are useless or God would not have created us. There is one God looking down on us all. We are all the children of one God. The sun, the darkness, the winds are all listening to what we have to say.

I cannot think that we are useless or God would not have created us.

While living, I want to live well.

We are vanishing from the earth, yet I cannot think we are useless or else Usen would not have created us. He created all tribes of men and certainly had a righteous purpose in creating each.

The powerful intellect leashed by an impoverished vocabulary is a myth. Without a vocabulary, a language, the intellect cannot develop.

Geronimo [is]...an example of our practice of destroying those who oppose us and then honoring them.

We have talked about Suzy and about her last days, but it's as if our lives stopped then and there. If I say anything to him about feeling lonesome, he goes outside and does some little chore. I can't tell if he is secretly blaming me, or himself, or just too full of pain to talk. That was the one thing we could always do together. I wish for the old days. I wish for the struggling days and the days of Geronimo, and the days of birthing Charlie with no one but Jack to help me. How happy and in love we were then. I want to be in love again, but all I feel is darkness and shadows. Everything is changed and different

If this were a courageous country, it would ask Gloria to lead it since she is sane and funny and beautiful and smart and the National Leaders we've always had are not. When I listen to her talk about women's rights children's rights men's rights I think of the long line of Americans who should have been president, but weren't. Imagine Crazy Horse as president. Sojourner Truth. John Brown. Harriet Tubman. Black Elk or Geronimo. Imagine President Martin Luther King confronting the youthful "Oppie" Oppenheimer. Imagine President Malcolm X going after the Klan. Imagine President Stevie Wonder dealing with the "Truly Needy." Imagine President Shirley Chisholm, Ron Dellums, or Sweet Honey in the Rock dealing with Anything. It is imagining to make us weep with frustration, as we languish under real estate dealers, killers, and bad actors.

A relationship is like a road trip: You get bugs splattered on the windshield. By the time you see them, it’s too late, but you still keep going.

just be your self, and let god lead your way.

I was no chief and never had been, but because I had been more deeply wronged than others, this honor was conferred upon me, and I resolved to prove worthy of the trust.

Of the seminal moments in my life, Careers Day in the autumn of Year 5 is my favorite. Everyone had to dress as whatever they wanted to be once they grew up. I had gone in a tweed jacket and a bow tie, and when Miss Weston asked me what I wanted to be, I told her that I wanted to be the Doctor. 'Shouldn't you be wearing a lab coat and stethoscope like Paul?' She pointed to Paul Black, who was trying to strangle everyone with the stethoscope in question. Before I could answer, a boy I didn't know from the other class spoke up. 'Paul's *a* doctor,' he explained, giving me a look of approval. 'He wants to be *the* Doctor.' 'Who?' 'Exactly,' we said at the same time, relieved that she understood. She didn't. We were sent to the quiet table to reflect on why cheeking teachers was wrong.

During my many wars with the Mexicans I received eight wounds, as follows: shot in the right leg above the knee, and still carry the bullet; shot through the left forearm; wounded in the right leg below the knee with a saber; wounded on top of the head with the butt of a musket; shot just below the outer corner of the left eye; shot in left side; shot in the back. I have killed many Mexicans; I do not know how many, for frequently I did not count them. Some of them were not worth counting.

Following the killing of Osama Bin Laden, in a mission coined Operation Neptune Spear (Neptune being synonymous with King Nimrod who built the tower of Babel), there was a US Navy ‘burial at sea.’ We were all led to believe that, for the event, Bin Laden’s body was ‘encased in concrete’ (just as the cadaver of Lincoln had supposedly been) and cast ‘into the sea.’ Also if you will remember, for the assassination mission, carried out by Seal Team 6, Bin Laden had the distinction of having been assigned the code-name, ‘Geronimo!

I won the vote but shunned the soft parade [...] I won every battle and lost the war" (Geronimo)

Well, he was scarcely a parfit gentil knight; as Wolfie said, he looked like some Hollywood Geronimo trying to kick a ninety-dollar habit.

Kevin was restless; he belly-flopped into the water, spraying me, stood, turned and scudded more water at me with the heel of his hand. I knew I should shout ''Geronimo!'' and leap in after him, clamber up on his back and push him under. The horseplay would dissolve the tension and sexual melancholy; my body would become not a snare but a friendly sort of weapon.

Quand le dernier arbre aura été abattu, quand la dernière rivière aura été empoisonnée, quand le dernier poisson aura été péché, alors enfin nous saurons que l'argent ne se mange pas.

Micro-aggression—The plastic gun of racism; you can sneak this one through security most of the time because it is comprised of nonracist ways of being racist, nonsexist ways of being sexist, and the like. E.g., You’re not like other BLANK people, or, You speak English very well.

alphabet, and G meant that bin Laden was “secured.” McRaven relayed the word Geronimo to the White House. But this was ambiguous: Was bin Laden captured or dead? So McRaven asked the SEAL ground force commander, “Is he EKIA [Enemy Killed in Action]?” A few seconds later, the answer came back: “Roger, Geronimo EKIA.” Then McRaven announced to the White House, “Geronimo EKIA.” There were gasps in the Situation Room, but no whoops or high fives. The president quietly said, “We got him, we got him.” It was still the middle of the night in Pakistan, and the SEALs were able to see only through the murky, pixilated

Peace and beauty? You think Indians are so worried about peace and beauty? ... If Wovoka came back to life, he'd be so pissed off. If the real Pocahontas came back, you think she'd be happy about being a cartoon? If Crazy Horse, or Geronimo, or Sitting Bull came back, they'd see what you white people have done to Indians, and they'd start a war. They'd see the homeless Indians staggering around downtown. They'd see fetal-alcohol-syndrome babies. They'd see the sorry-ass reservations. They'd learn about Indian suicides and infant mortality rates. They'd listen to some dumb-ass Disney song and feel like hurting somebody. They'd read books by assholes like Wilson, and they would start killing themselves some white people, and then kill some asshole Indians too. Dr. Mather, if the Ghost Dance worked, there would be no exceptions. All you white people would disappear. All of you. If those dead Indians came back to life ,they wouldn't crawl into a sweathouse with you. They wouldn't smoke the pipe with you. They wouldn't go to the movies and munch popcorn with you. They'd kill you. They'd gut you and eat your heart.

Geronimo arrived at Fort Pickens, across the bay from Pensacola, on the morning of October 25. Others went to Fort Marion, near St. Augustine. It was the beginning of twenty-seven years as prisoners of war for the Chiricahua people.

I am not ashamed to be a Christian, and I am glad to know that the President of the United States is a Christian, for without the help of the Almighty I do not think he could rightly judge in ruling so many people. I have advised all of my people who are not Christians, to study that religion, because it seems to me the best religion in enabling one to live right.

We were the last tribe to surrender. We have warrior in our blood.” “What do you mean?” Berkeley asks. “Geronimo was the last Indian warrior to formally surrender to the U.S. Government,” I tell him. “He was Apache.” “Wow,” Berkeley says. “I didn’t know that.

The language of the packers quickly entered the army vocabulary. A skittish, inexperienced young mule had its tail shaved so as to be instantly recognizable to the packers. “Shavetail” soon became the name for every spit-and-polish, greenhorn lieutenant from the East. A

After being maligned for his lack of offense for much of his career, [César] Gerónimo batted .280 with two home runs, a triple, three runs, and three RBIs vs. Boston during the 1975 World Series, and then he batted .308 with two doubles, two steals, and three runs vs. New York during the 1976 World Series. The man who’s defense Sparky Anderson called 'ungodly' became an offensive star on baseball’s biggest stage.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to skid across the line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, shouting GERONIMO! Bill McKenna, professional motorcycle racer, Cycle magazine Feb. 1982

You better keep your mouths shut if you know what's good for you." Rider strolled up to her, a punch glass in each hand. "What's going on here? You look ready to take on Geronimo." The girls giggled and moved off across the room. Rider frowned and glanced back at Willow. "Were they making fun of you?" "Yes." Embarrased, she refrained from commenting on the topic of their taunts. "I'd like to slap their silly smiles off their silly faces," she hissed. She took a step forward and, for a moment, Rider thought she meant to carry out her threat. He caught her arm. "Whoa, there.

Listen to your own music. Feel its rhythm and beat. Notice what creates music in you. Tap into your natural gifts and talents, your passionate interests so your soul can sing.

Love is the first feeling we felt since birth and the last thing will need in Death.

I learned long ago to never be disappointed by people. Especially politicians.

College makes you smart. It doesn’t make other people stupid. I’m not so sure it makes you so smart, to have a second say.

Take time to empower yourself. Delegate tasks so you have time to pamper yourself and invest your energy in what you love. Be the ruler of your own life. http://journeycharms.com/charms-store...

Try to Avoid Dealing with Irrational People. If you encounter them, try to eliminate them from your life. Nothing good or logical comes out of them. Maintain your credibility in your own dealings.

But without a Montezuma, how do you lead? Instead of a chief, the Apaches had a Nant'an-a spiritual and cultural leader. The Nant'an led by example and held no coercive power. Tribe members followed the Nant'an because they wanted to, not because they had to. One of the most famous Nant'ans in history was Geronimo, who defended his people against the American forces for decades. Geronimo never commanded an army. Rather, he himself started fighting, and everyone around him joined in. The idea was, "If Geronimo is taking arms, maybe it's a good idea. Geronimo's been right in the past, so it makes sense to fight alongside him." You wanted to follow Geronimo? You followed Geronimo. You didn't want to follow him? Then you didn't. The power lay with each individual-you were free to do what you wanted. The phrase "you should" doesn't even exist in the Apache language. Coercion is a foreign concept.

The leisure class, a.k.a. the landed gentry, on whom my business depends,” he told Geronimo Manezes, “are the hunters, not the gatherers; they make their way by the immoral road of exploitation, not the virtuous path of industry. But I, to make my way, have to treat the rich as the good guys, the lions, the creators of wealth and guardians of freedom, which naturally I don’t mind doing because I’m an exploiter too and I also want to think of myself as virtuous.

To be American is to be part of a dialogical and democratic operation that grapples with the challenge of being human in an open-ended and experimental manner. Although America is a romantic project in which a paradise, a land of dreams, is fanned and fueled with a religion of vast possibility, it is, more fundamentally, a fragile experiment-precious yet precarious-of dialogical and democratic human endeavor that yields forms of modern self-making and self-creating unprecedented in human history. From Thomas Jefferson to Elijah Muhammad, Geronimo to Dorothy Day, Jane Adams to Nathaniel West, it holds out the possibility of self-transformation and self-reliance to New World dwellers willing to start anew and recast themselves for the purpose of deliverance and betterment. This purpose requires only a restlessness, energy and boldness that galvanizes people to organize and mobilize themselves in a way that makes new opportunities and possibilities credible and worth the

Vincent Colyer was certainly a good man, well-meaning, sincere, and deeply committed to bringing both Christ and civilization to the Apaches; but he was no match for the hard cases—both Indian and white—who made up the population of Arizona and New Mexico.

So many of our people died that I consented to let one of my wives go to the Mescalero Agency in New Mexico to live. This separation is according to our custom equivalent to what the white people call divorce, and so she married again soon after she got to Mescalero.

Let’s start at the beginning, D’aron. Is it Daron or Daron or Daron? Daron, ma’am. What about this apostrophe? The name’s . . . Irish, he started to say before catching himself . . . The name’s misspelled. I never figured why it’s like that or how to git ’em to change it.

Unprotected by the army, the Mexican peasants were helpless to resist the Apache raiders, with scores carried off into captivity and hundreds more slaughtered. The desert now reclaimed the untilled fields. Cattle, sheep, mules, and goats wandered free only to fall prey to the great packs of wolves and coyotes that trailed the Apache raiding parties just as the raven shadows the predator on his rounds. Skeletons lined the roads, littered the burned haciendas, and were picked clean by scavengers in deserted villages. It was a perfect reign of terror.

Oppression porn—(1) The depiction of poverty, oppression, and/or despair with the intent of provoking moral arousal. Frequently appears as digital media, literature, and pseudo-immersive favela tours. The most common side effect is a dangerously inflated sense of national and/or cultural superiority.

They were like an overconstructed novel, each representative of some cul-de-sac of idiolect and stereotype, missing only a handicapped person – No! At Berkeley we say handi capable person – and a Jew and a Hispanic, and an Asian not of the subcontinent, Louis always said. He had once placed a personals ad on Craigslist to recruit for those positions: Diverse social club seeking to make quota requires the services of East Asian, Jew, Hispanic, and handicapable individuals to round out Multicultural Brady Bunch Troupe. All applicants must be visibly identifiable as members of said group. Reformed Jews and ADHDers need not apply.

The whole town is a Confederate museum, replied Louis, holding his hands up palm out. I’m not saying your whole town is housist or anything! Housist! Housist was Louis-speak for racist, invoked after Daron tried explaining that just because someone preferred a mansion didn’t mean they’d torch a ranch. Housist, Loose?

He was right. At the heart of the branch was a dark, five-pointed star. “Your people have a story about this,” he said to Mose. “They say that all the stars in the sky are actually made inside the earth. Then they seek out the roots of cottonwood trees and slip into the wood, where they wait, real patient. Inside the cottonwood, they’re dull and lightless, like you see here. Then, when the great spirit of the night sky decides that more stars are needed, he shakes the branches with his wind and releases the stars. They fly up and settle in the sky, where they shine and sparkle and become the luminous creations they were always meant to be.” He looked at the star in that cottonwood branch with a kind of reverence. “And we’re like that, too. Dreams shook loose. You boys and me and everybody else on God’s earth. Your people, Geronimo, they got a lot of wisdom

He had a Geronimo Amati at home, just as Aubrey had a treasured Guarnieri, but they travelled with rough old things that could put up with extremes of temperature and humidity. The rough old things always started the evening horribly flat, but in time the players tuned them to their own satisfaction, and exchanging a nod they dashed away into a duet which they knew very well indeed, having played it together these ten years and more, but in which they always found something fresh, some half-forgotten turn of phrase or of particular felicity. They also added new pieces of their own, small improvisations or repetitions, each player in turn. They might have pleased Corelli’s ghost, as showing what power his music still possessed for a later generation: they certainly did not please Preserved Killick, the Captain’s steward. ‘Yowl, yowl, yowl,’ he said to his mate on hearing the familiar sounds. ‘They are at it again. I have a mind to put ratsbane in their toasted cheese.

It was nearly midnight when Daron sat down next to his friends again. They looked pleasantly tired. He was about to ask them if they were enjoying themselves when his father opened the back door and whistled for him. His parents were alone in the kitchen. His father studied his face, his mother was straightening the canisters, her back to them, but her posture belied where her attention lay. Call it off, son. How do you mean? D’aron, I don’t want to keep you from your friends or have a big discussion about this. Whatever you was planning, call it off.

Maybe in the case of true human, their mind, their soul, their consciousness flows through their bodies like blood, inhabiting every cell of their physical being, and so Aristotle was right, in humans the mind and body are one and cannot be separated, the self is both with the body and perishes with it too. She imagined that union with a thrill. How lucky human beings were if that was the case, she wanted to tell Geronimo who was and was not Ibn Rushd: lucky and doomed. When their hearts pounded with excitement their souls pounded too, when their pulses raced their spirits were aroused, hen their eyes moistened with tears of happiness it was their minds that felt the joy. Their minds touched the people their fingers touched, and when they in turn were touched by others it was as if two consciousnesses were briefly joined. The mind gave the body sensuality, it allowed the body to taste delight and to smell love in their lover's sweet perfume; not only their bodies but their minds, too, made love. And at the end the soul, as mortal as the body, learned the last great lesson of life, which was the body's death.

All at once a grizzly bear rose in her path and attacked the pony. She jumped off and her pony escaped, but the bear attacked her, so she fought him the best she could with her knife. Her little dog, by snapping at the bear’s heels and detracting his attention from the woman, enabled her for some time to keep pretty well out of his reach. Finally the grizzly struck her over the head, tearing off almost her whole scalp. She fell, but did not lose consciousness, and while prostrate struck him four good licks with her knife, and he retreated. After he had gone she replaced her torn scalp and bound it up as best she could,

Dunia was a consummate whisperer, but she possessed, additionally, a rarer skill: the gift of listening, of approaching a sleeping man and placing her ear very gently against his chest and, by deciphering the secret language that the self speaks only to itself, discovering his heart’s desire. As she listened to Geronimo Manezes, she heard first his most predictable wishes, please let me sink down towards the earth so that my feet touch solid ground again, and beneath that the sadder unfulfillable wishes of old age, let me be young again, give me back the strength of youth and the confidence that life is long, and beneath that the dreams of the displaced, let me belong again to that faraway place I left so long ago, from which I am alienated, and which has forgotten me, in which I am an alien now even though it was the place where I began, let me belong again, walk those streets knowing they are mine, knowing that my story is a part of the story of those streets, even though it isn’t, it hasn’t been for most of a lifetime, let it be so, let it be so, let me see French cricket being played and listen to music at the bandstand and hear once more the children’s back-street rhymes. Still she listened and then she heard it, below everything else, the deepest note of his heart’s music, and she knew what she must do. —

Major General Leonard Wood Leonard Wood was an army officer and physician, born October 9, 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His first assignment was in 1886 at Fort Huachuca, Arizona where he fought in the last campaign against the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for carrying dispatches 100 miles through hostile territory and was promoted to the rank of Captain, commanding a detachment of the 8th Infantry. From 1887 to 1898, he served as a medical officer in a number of positions, the last of which was as the personal physician to President William McKinley. In 1898 at the beginning of the war with Spain, he was given command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. The regiment was soon to be known as the “Rough Riders." Wood lead his men on the famous charge up San Juan Hill and was given a field promotion to brigadier general. In 1898 he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. In 1920, as a retired Major General, Wood ran as the Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States, losing to Warren Harding. In 1921 following his defeat, General Wood accepted the post of Governor General of the Philippines. He held this position from 1921 to 1927, when he died of a brain tumor in Boston, on 7 August 1927, at 66 years of age after which he was buried, with full honors, in Arlington National Cemetery.

The committee looked into one of the most notorious COINTELPRO actions in L.A., the framing of Gerard “Geronimo” Pratt, a Black Panther and a decorated Vietnam vet. Pratt would be imprisoned for twenty-seven years for a murder the FBI knew he didn’t commit. He was in Oakland at the time of the crime, four hundred miles away, at a Black Panther house that the Bureau had wiretapped. It had transcripts of a call he’d made to the Panther headquarters in Los Angeles just hours before the murder. Still, Bureau agents enlisted a federal informant to lie on the stand about Pratt’s involvement. Even before the frame-up, FBI gunmen had attempted to kill Pratt by shooting at him through the window of his apartment; he survived only because a spine injury he’d sustained in the war made it more comfortable to sleep on the floor. Pratt was serving a life sentence when the Church Committee released its landmark findings, confirming what he’d long suspected: LASO and the LAPD were complicit in the COINTELPRO operation. The committee quoted a report that the FBI’s Los Angeles outpost had sent to Hoover himself, advising that “the Los Angeles [Field] Office [of the FBI] is furnishing on a daily basis information to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Office Intelligence Division and the Los Angeles Police Department Intelligence and Criminal Conspiracy Divisions concerning the activities of black nationalist groups in the anticipation that such information might lead to the arrest of the militants.” By the Church Committee’s estimation, this meant that Los Angeles law enforcement was guilty of obstructing justice and hindering prosecution.

Once more Mary Jo, Bobby, Kevin, Dennis, Raymond, Lucille, Frankie, Coddles, Lyle, John, Andy, Miss Ursula, Jim, Lonnie, Postmaster Jones, William, Travis, Todd, Tony, Dennis M. . . . On the ride home from Sheriff’s office, everyone was again on porches or at windows. Daron didn’t call out their names this time, and this time no one waved. Where do the black people live? In the front yards! It was funny. (I guess that’s better than the back of the bus, Louis had later added. Daron had thought that funny, too.) Louis’s absence was always noticeable. Though skinny, he’d filled space like a fat man on a crowded elevator, except a welcome addition, not someone who provoked strangers to regard each other with situational solidarity. He had, in fact, induced people to regard each other with suspicion, to question the known.

She bent over the table and proceeded to tip the pitcher over each plate and spill a thick white goo over everything. It covered the turkey and the yams and puddled all over each plate. Roughly the texture of heavy whipping cream. Decker couldn’t, by god, tell what that was supposed to be. “What is that?” he asked. “Gravy?” Stung, Araceli backed away from the table and clutched the pitcher to her heart. “Is los mash potatoes!” she cried and ran to the kitchen in humiliation. They could hear her crying in there. Dexter rose. “God. Damn. It,” he announced. “Look here. This is my country. This is my country. We been here, working this land, forever. We made our lives here. We planted crops here. We had our children and - and we buried our loved ones here. Right here! Is it too goddamned much to ask that somebody pay the slightest fucking attention to our traditions and history and stop wrecking everything? Could you learn the language? Could you cook a simple meal that anybody from here would recognize as real food? Am I asking too much?” He was red in the face and shaking. He was embarrassed about the whole thing - ashamed of his comment to Araceli, ashamed to have shown his emotions, ashamed that he had tears in the corners of his eyes. Outbursts were simply not the West Linden way. Reverend Visser just stared at his own hands with his head bowed. Juan fingered the arrowhead, spun it around and around with one finger. He didn’t want to eat the goopy mash potatoes either. “Yeah, Jefe. That’s what Geronimo said.

Practicing gratitude can be hard to do because marketers flood our surroundings daily with reminders about what we do not have, what we “need,” or what will supposedly make us feel better about ourselves.

Being present” is key to many of the lessons related to life fulfillment. Being carefully aware of how you’re spending your time. Not allowing your mind and ego to rob you of the current moment. And, when you are in the present moment, looking, watching, and paying attention to all the things happening in your path, as this is where you will experience, see, and appreciate the many gifts that come your way.

For many of us, money is a focal point that impacts how we feel about our lives, work, and contributions.

It has taken dedicated effort and time to shift my scarcity mindset into empowering energy that uses money as a tool to create momentum and impact.

Seeking will empower you to tap into your inner wisdom by listening to your whispers, recognizing the energy that depletes you, and working on releasing your stories.

The calling is upon us now to make the time to investigate our internal nudges, seek new areas of wisdom, and believe in what we have to share with the world.

The calling upon us now is to step into our knowing and uncover those gifts that will help balance the masculine and feminine energies. This requires us to make the time to dust off our innate talents, invest in ourselves, and align with what we know is true.

The oasis of success essentially conditions us to over-strive for external metrics and detaches us from our inner knowing. This often leaves us disconnected and drained.

We often get signs, messages, or whispers, yet we brush them off because we fear looking silly or not having everything figured out before we start.

Many of us know we have gifts, messages, inventions, and all kinds of things buried inside of us.

If you do not make the time, no one is likely to do it for you. You are the only one who can make the time to invest in yourself!

I have learned that being present provides the attention needed to immerse myself in the lesson, and this helps to move me along on my journey.

Our stories act as anchors that lock us into thoughts and patterns that influence our actions and choices.

Being aware and open to new levels of self-awareness is always a possibility for us, but it often takes life events to create the space within us for the Universe to squeeze in some new insights.

My money stories were confusing my self-worth, as they were buried deep in my subconscious mind, and my ego would serve them up anytime I was ready to step out in a new way.

Self-defined mantras related to not having enough or being enough can act as constraints.

Mr. Geronimo was a hoarder of fuel, gas masks, flashlights, blankets, medical supplies, canned food, water in lightweight packets; a man who expected emergencies, who counted on the fabric of society to tear and disintegrate, who know that superglue could be used to hold cuts together, who did not trust human nature to build solidly or well. A man who expected the worst.

Don Guillermo,” Elias said to Oury with a smile, “your countrymen are grand on resoluting and speechifying, but when it comes to action, they show up exceedingly thin.

Certainty is for young people and fools.

Be so good they can't ignore you. (Steve Martin) Direction is so much more important than speed.

Be so good they can't ignore you. (Steve Martin) Direction is so much more important than speed. Breathe, Darling, This is just a chapter. It is not your whole story. S.C. Laurie

Davey Lopes, Johnny Bench, George Foster, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Tony Perez, Ken Griffey, Cesar Geronimo, with Sparky Anderson behind the bench. I think

Class is mostly a way to find something in myself I didn't know was there. Learning doesn't fill me up so much as opens me up. Shakes me loose and throws me off my habits -- might even rearrange me. It's like if you only rode Brandy and not Geronimo or Elvis. Once in a while I want to get on a horse that scares me sideways.

Get out and lead. Get out of your comfort zone to take a chance even when you are afraid and unsure. Create your own opportunities. http://journeycharms.com/charms-store... 

Select your travel companions carefully. Your life companions create your circle of influence. Invest in the ones that will help you drive forward. http://journeycharms.com/charms-store...

Dream Big. Don't be afraid to dream big. The universe welcomes & fosters dreams with good intentions. Be prepared when the opportunity presents itself. No dream is too big! http://journeycharms.com/charms-store...

Blossom at your own pace. We are here to learn, contribute, and flourish. Be patient with yourself and with your journey as it unfolds. http://journeycharms.com/charms-store...

格罗尼默，Geronimo，是美国一位传奇式的印第安人。他带领部落英勇地抵御美国和墨西哥军队或拓荒者对家园的侵袭。）！

We always jump, you know. People can’t help it. They yell Geronimo, they kiss the girl on the stoop. They step onstage, into the ring, onto the dance floor, into battle. They chip away stone to find the treasure in the tomb. They risk curses and dark magic and failure and fraud. They risk life, and jump. We just can’t, can’t, help it.

Usen and the members of our tribe were considered

sprang on your nerves with all the abruptness of a normal night’s dream turning to nightmare. Dog into wolf, light into twilight, emptiness into waiting presence, here were your underage Marine barfing in the street, barmaid with a ship’s propeller tattooed on each buttock, one potential berserk studying the best technique for jumping through a plate glass window (when to scream Geronimo? before or after the glass breaks?), a drunken deck ape crying back in the alley because last time the SP’s caught him like this they put him in a strait jacket.

Getting bin Laden

Boring down through the haul from Iso didn’t just take vision, it took grit.

There were four types of borers; those who dug for treasures to sell via the city’s few stores, those who dug to on-sell from home-run operations, those who deconstructed and sold new creations, and the fourth – those who dug for themselves. Geronimo was all of these, but most of all, the last one. Not in the way most people would think.

President Grover Cleveland proposed to execute Geronimo, but he and his band of Chiricahua Apache—men, women, and children alike—were taken by train to Florida from their native Southwest and spent more than two decades as prisoners of war.

Our future starts in our decisions.

George Armstrong Custer a massacré les Indiens Lakota. Sheridan a exterminé les bisons, pour faire mourir de faim le peuple des grandes plaines. Un crime organisé, froidement pensé et systématiquement mis en ouvre. Arrosé de whisky frelaté. Ensuite, et depuis, il y a eu la Corée, le Vietnam, Cuba, La Grenade, Haïti, le Guatemala, le Nicaragua, l'Irak, l'Afghanistan. L'Amérique n'est pas un rêve. Elle ne l'a jamais été. L'eau du Mississippi ne sera jamais lavée du sang et des larmes du peuple noir. Antiaméricain ? Je suis frère de Geronimo, de Mumia Abu-Jamal et de Noam Chomsky.