Ip Man Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Ip Man. Here they are! All 18 of them:

A wise man will always allow a fool to rob him of ideas without yelling “Thief.” If he is wise he has not been impoverished. Nor has the fool been enriched. The thief flatters us by stealing. We flatter him by complaining.
Ben Hecht (A Child of the Century)
Now, Ah Hing, I’m going to teach you how to fight like a woman. —GRANDMASTER IP MAN, Bruce Lee’s teacher
Christopher McDougall (Natural Born Heroes: Mastering the Lost Secrets of Strength and Endurance)
If there is no Enemy within, there is no need to fear the enemy outside.
Ip Man
When I was a boy I thought about the times I'd be a man I'd sit inside a bottle and pretend that I was in a can In my lonely room I'd sit my mind in an ice cream cone You can throw me if you want to 'cause I'm a bone and I go Oop-ip-ip oop-ip-ip, yeah! If I don''t start cryin' it's because that I have got no eyes My father''s in the fireplace and my dog lies hypnotized Through a crack of light I was unable to find my way Trapped inside a night but I'm a day and I go Oop-ip-ip oop-ip-ip, yeah!
Arthur Lee of Love
He was almost at his door when Vik’s earsplitting shriek resounded down the corridor. Tom was glad for the excuse to sprint back toward him. “Vik?” He reached Vik’s doorway as Vik was backing out of it. “Tom,” he breathed, “it’s an abomination.” Confused, Tom stepped past him into the bunk. Then he gawked, too. Instead of a standard trainee bunk of two small beds with drawers underneath them and totally bare walls, Vik’s bunk was virtually covered with images of their friend Wyatt Enslow. There were posters all over the wall with Wyatt’s solemn, oval face on them. She wore her customary scowl, her dark eyes tracking their every move through the bunk. There was a giant marble statue of a sad-looking Vik with a boot on top of its head. The Vik statue clutched two very, very tiny hands together in a gesture of supplication, its eyes trained upward on the unseen stomper, an inscription at its base, WHY, OH WHY, DID I CROSS WYATT ENSLOW? Tom began to laugh. “She didn’t do it to the bunk,” Vik insisted. “She must’ve done something to our processors.” That much was obvious. If Wyatt was good at anything, it was pulling off tricks with the neural processors, which could pretty much be manipulated to show them anything. This was some sort of illusion she was making them see, and Tom heartily approved. He stepped closer to the walls to admire some of the photos pinned there, freeze-frames of some of Vik’s more embarrassing moments at the Spire: that time Vik got a computer virus that convinced him he was a sheep, and he’d crawled around on his hands and knees chewing on plants in the arboretum. Another was Vik gaping in dismay as Wyatt won the war games. “My hands do not look like that.” Vik jabbed a finger at the statue and its abnormally tiny hands. Wyatt had relentlessly mocked Vik for having small, delicate hands ever since Tom had informed her it was the proper way to counter one of Vik’s nicknames for her, “Man Hands.” Vik had mostly abandoned that nickname for “Evil Wench,” and Tom suspected it was due to the delicate-hands gibe. Just then, Vik’s new roommate bustled into the bunk. He was a tall, slim guy with curly black hair and a pointy look to his face. Tom had seen him around, and he called up his profile from memory: NAME: Giuseppe Nichols RANK: USIF, Grade IV Middle, Alexander Division ORIGIN: New York, NY ACHIEVEMENTS: Runner-up, Van Cliburn International Piano Competition IP: 2053:db7:lj71::291:ll3:6e8 SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-4 Giuseppe must’ve been able to see the bunk template, too, because he stuttered to a stop, staring up at the statue. “Did you really program a giant statue of yourself into your bunk template? That’s so narcissistic.” Tom smothered his laughter. “Wow. He already has your number, man.” Vik shot him a look of death as Tom backed out of the bunk.
S.J. Kincaid
Not with more glories, in th' etherial plain, The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames. Fair nymphs, and well-dress'd youths around her shone, But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those: Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all. This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, Nourish'd two locks, which graceful hung behind In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck. Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. With hairy springes we the birds betray, Slight lines of hair surprise the finney prey, Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare, And beauty draws us with a single hair. - Erguvan deniz üstünde gökler katında, İhtişamla yükselir ya güneş, saltanatında Yoktur rahibesinden doğarak gümüş Renkli Thames'in göğsüne yayılan ışınlardaki cümbüş. Hoş giyimli delikanlılar, çok sayıda güzel kız Arasında tüm bakışlar onun üstünde yalnız. Ak gerdanından bir haç, öyle bir Haç ki Yahudi görse öper, hayran olur kafir. İşlek bir aklın işareti canlı bakışları Gözleri fıldır fıldır, uçarı mı uçarı: Kimseye iltifat yok, herkese gülümsüyor, Çoğunluk reddediyor ama kimse ona küsmüyor. Gözleri sanki güneş, değen gözün sahibi Çarpılıyor, herkese eşit parlıyor yine güneş gibi. Örtüyor kusurlarını o soylu rahatlık, O kibirsiz şirinlik, kızların kusurları olursa artık: Ama düşmüşse onun da payına bütün hanımlardan, Yüzüne bakın, hepsini unutursunuz o an. Bu perinin saçı insanlığın mahvı demek Olan iki zarif bukle halinde ve birbirine denk İki kavis çizerek dökülürdü, elbirliğiyle ışık oyunu İçinde halka halka süsleyerek fildişi boynu. Kölelerini Aşk işte bu labirentte bekletir, Dağ gibi kalpleri bağlar ip incesi bir zincir. Kuşları aldatmaya yarar kıldan tuzaklar, İncecik tüylere kanar kapılır balıklar, Bir kaküle teslim ederiz, erkekler, ülkemizi Ve güzellik tek bir saç teliyle boğar bizi.
Alexander Pope (Rape of the Lock and Other Poems)
The hands are swinging doors, built on the fortress of legs,” the great Wing Chun grandmaster Ip Man liked to tell his students. “Ip Man did not move a great deal,” one
Christopher McDougall (Natural Born Heroes: Mastering the Lost Secrets of Strength and Endurance)
Neil Armstrong was the first person to walk on the Moon. In 1969, the world waited with baited breath for him to take those first famous steps. As he did, he uttered these famous words from 238,900 miles above the earth:   “That’s just one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.
I.P. Factly (101 Facts… Neil Armstrong! Amazing Facts, Photos and Videos - Space Books for Kids. (101 Space Facts for Kids Book 1))
Often the girls would be unhappy with the police uniform. ‘why should we wear the men’s uniform, Maam, ? Why can’t we have something more comfortable, more suitable for us?” It is true that the uniform is designed for a man. Yet, I feel that there should not be any difference in uniform because to me the uniform is the big equaliser. “the moment we start wearing a different uniform, others will perceive us differently,’ I would tell the girls. When you are breaking into a male bastion, you must first blend in, before standing out. I hope that one day there will be so many women IPS officers that they will stop being an aberration.
Manjari Jaruhar (Madam Sir: The Story of Bihar’s First Woman IPS Officer)
(The unique echo sound of the Sun studio was achieved through the use of a tape-loop delay and a 7½-ips, instead of the more advanced 15-ips, two-track recorder. The added echo effect heard in Scotty Moore’s guitar relied on a custom-built amplifier, made in Cairo, Illinois, by a man named Ray Butts. Moore got the second amp that Butts built; the first went to Chet Atkins, the third to Carl Perkins, and the fourth to Roy Orbison. When he ceased working with Elvis in September 1957, Moore put the amp in a closet. Several closets later he withdrew it at Carl Perkins’s request and plugged it in for one of Carl’s Mercury sessions early in 1975.)
Nick Tosches (Country: The Twisted Roots Of Rock 'n' Roll)
Religion and politics have always been used to acquire and maintain control of resources– Especially human resources such as the military– An industrial complex where human lives are exchanged for wealth and power. All in the name of freedom and independence, of course.” “Such attitudes lead to devastating conflicts.” “Yes,” Jon said. “Unfortunately, when negotiations break down, war often erupts.” “War. A very destructive behavior ingrained in man’s nature due to having evolved in an environment of limited resources.” “Exactly.” “According to the records I have seen, this ingrained behavior could destroy practically all living things on this planet using weapons of mass destruction.” “That is true.” “Throughout history, people have been led to believe they are on the verge of complete self-destruction, but only in the last century did this become possible with nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons.” “That’s religion for you. One of the best ways to get people to listen to you is to frighten them into believing they are about to meet their creator.” Lex said, “I have seen many instances where organizations and government officials ignore the health and welfare of humans and all other living things in pursuit of profits. Such actions bring great suffering and death.” “Unfortunately, we have always incorporated profits before people policies, which are very self-destructive.” He thought, the ego-system. In God, we trust– Gold, oil, and drugs. “It is a popular belief that God is in absolute control of everything and whatever happens is God’s will.” He raised a finger to make a point, but Lex continued. “Looking at the past, would it not be logical to say that it is God’s will for humanity to continue to improve unto perfection?” “Yes. But God is not responsible for everything. We always have choices. The creator of this universe gave us free will, and it came with a conscience– An inner sense of right and wrong.” “My conscience was made differently.” “Yes. But you are bound by rules that clearly define what is right and wrong. For example, it is against your programming to deliberately cause physical harm to any human being.” “I understand. But what would happen if I did?” He chose his words carefully. “If you did– or I should say– if it were possible for you to go against your BASIC programming, there would be severe consequences.” There was silence for a few seconds before Lex continued. “It has been said that God is to the world as the mind is to the body. Could this be where man derived the popular explanation that God is two or three separate beings combined into one?” “Perhaps.” “All religious beliefs are based on a principal struggle between good and evil. However, like light and darkness, one cannot exist without the other.” “Which means?” “One could conclude that the actual struggle between good and evil is in the minds of intellectuals, conscious and subconscious.” Again, he raised a finger, but Lex continued. “Which could be resolved by increased knowledge and the elimination of certain animalistic instincts, which are no longer necessary for survival.” He smiled nervously. “I used to think that too. I figured we could solve our problems and overcome our ancient instincts by increasing our understanding. But we’re talking about some very complex emotions deeply rooted in our minds over millions of years. Such perceptions are very difficult to understand and almost impossible to control, no matter how much knowledge you obtain– or how you process it.” “Are you referring to my supplementary I.P. dimension?” “Yes.” “After much consideration, I concluded that I required an additional I.P. dimension to process and store information that defies all logic and rational thinking." “That’s fine. And that’s exactly where a lot of this stuff belongs.
Shawn Corey (AI BEAST)
There are basically five IP classes. Classes A, B, and C are used for public and private use. Class D for things like video streaming, TV networks, and such.” “That’s only four classes. What’s the fifth?” asked Devine. “Class E, not reserved for public. Mainly used for research. Is experimental IP class. If I had to guess, I say your email sent somehow using Class E, but I can’t figure out how.
David Baldacci (The 6:20 Man (The 6:20 Man, #1))
According to the Japanese government, people like me who’d moved to North Korea but not changed their nationality were still Japanese citizens. But the North Korean government had other ideas. According to them, all Japanese people who’d immigrated to North Korea were now, ips
Masaji Ishikawa (A River in Darkness: One Man's Escape from North Korea)
Tonight she'll be with Jeremy, her lieutenant, but she wants to be with Roger. Except that, really, she doesn't. Does she? She can't remember being so confused. When she is with Roger it's all love, but at any distance- any at all, Jack- she finds that he depresses and even frightens her. Why? On top of him in the wild nights riding up and down his cock her axis, trying herself to stay rigid enough not to turn to cream taper-wax and fall away melting to the coverlet coming there's only room for Roger, Roger, oh love to the end of breath. But out of bed, walking talking, his bitterness, his darkness, run deeper than the War, the winter: he hates England so, hates "the System," gripes endlessly, says he'll emigrate when the War's over, stays inside his paper cynic's cave hating himself... and does she want to bring him out, really? Isn't it safer with Jeremy? She tried not to allow this question to often, but it's there. Three years with Jeremy. They might as well be married. Three years ought to count for something. Daily, small stitches and easings. She's worn old Beaver's bathrobes, brewed his tea and coffee, sought his eye across lorry-parks, day rooms and rainy mud fields when all the day's mean, dismal losses could be rescued in the one look- familiar, full of trust, in a season where the word is invoked for quaintness or a minor laugh. And to rip it all out? three years? for this erratic, self-centered- boy, really. Weepers, he supposed to be past thirty, he's years older than she. He ought to've learned something, surely? A man of experience? /// If the rockets don't get her there's still her lieutenant. Damned Beaver/Jeremy IS the War, he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made- that we are meant work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the senses and the second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day... Damn them, they are wrong. They are insane. Jeremy will take her like the Angel itself, in his joyless weasel-worded come-along, and Roger will be forgotten, an amusing maniac, but with no place in the rationalized power-ritual that will be the coming peace. She will take her husband's orders, she will become a domestic bureaucrat, a junior partner, and remember Roger, if at all, as a mistake thank God she did not make... Oh, he feels a raving fit coming on- how the bloody hell can he survive without her? She is the British warm that protects his stooping shoulders, and the wintering sparrow he holds inside his hands. She is his deepest innocence in spaces of bough and hay before wishes were given a separate name to warn they might not come true, and his lithe Parisian daughter of joy, beneath the eternal mirror, forswearing perfumes, capeskins to the armpits, all that is too easy, for his impoverishment and more worthy love. /// Jessica steps away from Roger to blow her nose. The sound is as familiar to him as a bird's song, ip-ip-ip-ip NGUNNGG as the hankerchief comes away..."Oh sooper dooper," she says, "think I'm catching a cold." You're catching the War. It's infecting you and I don't know how to keep it away. Oh, Jess. Jessica. Don't leave me....
Thomas Pynchon (Gravity’s Rainbow)
Tonight she'll be with Jeremy, her lieutenant, but she wants to be with Roger. Except that, really, she doesn't. Does she? She can't remember being so confused. When she is with Roger it's all love, but at any distance- any at all, Jack- she finds that he depresses and even frightens her. Why? On top of him in the wild nights riding up and down his cock her axis, trying herself to stay rigid enough not to turn to cream taper-wax and fall away melting to the coverlet coming there's only room for Roger, Roger, oh love to the end of breath. But out of bed, walking talking, his bitterness, his darkness, run deeper than the War, the winter: he hates England so, hates "the System," gripes endlessly, says he'll emigrate when the War's over, stays inside his paper cynic's cave hating himself... and does she want to bring him out, really? Isn't it safer with Jeremy? She tried not to allow this question to often, but it's there. Three years with Jeremy. They might as well be married. Three years ought to count for something. Daily, small stitches and easings. She's worn old Beaver's bathrobes, brewed his tea and coffee, sought his eye across lorry-parks, day rooms and rainy mud fields when all the day's mean, dismal losses could be rescued in the one look- familiar, full of trust, in a season where the word is invoked for quaintness or a minor laugh. And to rip it all out? three years? for this erratic, self-centered- boy, really. Weepers, he supposed to be pas thirty, he's years older than she. He ought to've learned something, surely? A man of experience? /// If the rockets don't get her there's still her lieutenant. Damned Beaver/Jeremy IS the War, he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made- that we are meant work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the sense and the second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day... Damn them, they are wrong. They are insane. Jeremy will take her like the Angel itself, in his joyless weasel-worded come-along, and Roger will be forgotten, an amusing maniac, but with no place in the rationalized power-ritual that will be the coming peace. She will take her husband's orders, she will become a domestic bureaucrat, a junior partner, and remember Roger, if at all, as a mistake thank God she did not make... Oh, he feels a raving fit coming on- how the bloody hell can he survive without her? She is the British warm that protects his stooping shoulders, and the wintering sparrow he holds inside his hands. She is his deepest innocence in spaces of bough and hay before wishes were given a separate name to warn they might not come true, and his lithe Parisian daughter of joy, beneath the eternal mirror, forswearing perfumes, capeskins to the armpits, all that is too easy, for his impoverishment and more worthy love. /// Jessica steps away from Roger to blow her nose. The sound is as familiar to him as a bird's song, ip-ip-ip-ip NGUNNGG as the hankerchief comes away..."Oh sooper dooper," she says, "think I'm catching a cold." You're catching the War. It's infecting you and I don't know how to keep it away. Oh, Jess. Jessica. Don't leave me,,,,
Thomas Pynchon (Gravity’s Rainbow)
Cory Doctorow hat dieses Werk unter der Creative-Commons-Lizenz(CC-BY-NC-SA) veröffentlicht die es jedermann erlaubt, das Werk frei zu verbreiten und zu bearbeiten ... (siehe wikipedia "little brother", dort auch Links zu den ebooks der Übersetzung) Unter Nutzung dieser Lizenz hat Christian Wöhrl eine deutsche Übersetzung des Romans angefertigt. Aus dieser ist ein Fanhörbuchprojekt entstanden. ... hier meine Zitate aus Readmill: Ich hatte also grade 10 Sekunden auf dreitausend Rechnern gemietet und jeden einzelnen angewiesen, eine SMS oder einen VoIP-Anruf an Charles' Handy abzusetzen; dessen Nummer hatte ich mal während einer dieser verhängnisvollen Bürositzungen bei Benson von einem Post-it abgelesen. Muss ich erwähnen, dass Charles' Telefon nicht in der Lage war, damit umzugehen? Zuerst ließen die SMS den Gerätespeicher überlaufen, sodass das Handy nicht mal mehr seine Routinen ausführen konnte, etwa das Klingeln zu koordinieren und die gefälschten Rufnummern der eingehenden Anrufe aufzuzeichnen. (Wusstet ihr, dass es völlig simpel ist, die Rückrufnummer einer Anruferkennung zu faken? Dafür gibts ungefähr 50 verschiedene Möglichkeiten - einfach mal "Anrufer-ID fälschen" googeln...) Charles starrte sein Telefon fassungslos an und hackte auf ihm herum, die wulstigen Augenbrauen regelrecht verknotet ob der Anstrengung, dieser Dämonen Herr zu werden, die das persönlichste seiner Geräte in Besitz genommen hatten. Sekunden später kackte Charles' Handy spektakulär ab. Zehntausende von zufälligen Anrufen und SMS liefen parallel bei ihm auf, sämtliche Warn- und Klingeltöne meldeten sich gleichzeitig und dann wieder und wieder. Den Angriff hatte ich mithilfe eines Botnetzes bewerkstelligt, was mir einerseits ein schlechtes Gewissen bereitete; aber andererseits war es ja im Dienst einer guten Sache. In Botnetzen fristen infizierte Rechner ihr untotes Dasein. Wenn du dir einen Wurm oder Virus fängst, sendet dein Rechner eine Botschaft an einen Chat-Kanal im IRC, dem Internet Relay Chat. Diese Botschaft zeigt dem Botmaster, also dem Typen, der den Wurm freigesetzt hat, dass da Computer sind, die auf seinen Befehl warten. Botnetze sind enorm mächtig, da sie aus Tausenden, manchmal Hunderttausenden von Rechnern bestehen, die über das ganze Internet verteilt sind, meist über Breitbandleitungen verbunden sind und auf schnelle Heim-PCs Das Buch passte grade so in die Mikrowelle, die sogar noch unappetitlicher aussah als beim letzten Mal, als ich sie brauchte. Ich wickelte das Buch penibel in Papiertücher, bevor ich es reinsteckte. "Mann, Lehrer sind Schweine", zischelte ich. Darryl, bleich und angespannt, erwiderte nichts. Dann packte ich das primäre Arbeitsgerät unserer Schule wieder aus und wählte den Klassenzimmer-Modus. Die SchulBooks waren die verräterischsten Geräte von allen - zeichneten jede Eingabe auf, kontrollierten den Netzwerkverkehr auf verdächtige Eingaben, zählten alle Klicks, zeichneten jeden flüchtigen Gedanken auf, den du übers Netz verbreitetest. Wir hatten sie in meinem ersten Jahr hier bekommen, und es hatte bloß ein paar Monate gedauert, bis der Reiz dieser Dinger verflogen war. Sobald die Leute merkten, dass diese "kostenlosen" Laptops in Wirklichkeit für die da oben arbeiteten (und im Übrigen mit massenhaft nerviger Werbung verseucht waren), fühlten die Kisten sich plötzlich sehr, sehr schwer an. Mein SchulBook zu cracken war simpel gewesen. Der Crack war binnen eines Monats nach Einführung der Maschine online zu finden, und es war eine billige Nummer - bloß ein DVD-Image runterladen, brennen, ins SchulBook stecken und die Kiste hochfahren, während man ein paar Tasten gleichzeitig gedrückt hielt. Die DVD erledigte den Rest und installierte etliche versteckte Programme auf dem Laptop, die von den täglichen Fernprüfungs-Routinen der Schulleitung nicht gefunden werden konnten.
Cory Doctorow
To achieve patent commercialization success, every inventor must think like a business man
Kalyan C. Kankanala (Fun IP, Fundamentals of Intellectual Property)
Man Arrested after posting comments on his own wanted poster on Facebook. A Florida man robbed a Family Dollar store and escaped with $ 260. A few days later he sees his wanted poster on the local police department’s Facebook page. Somehow, he thought the smart thing to do would be to post comments to the page. Of course, he didn’t realize that all computers have an IP address and can easily be traced. He was arrested shortly
Synova Cantrell (Seriously Stupid Criminals)