Knockout Quotes

Ah those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!

A cotton-candy knockout, a strawberry sundae sweetheart, and a vanilla soft-serve misfit. We are the youth. And we live in a world where innocence is so short.

She married the prince and all went well except for the fear — the fear of sleep. Briar Rose was an insomniac... She could not nap or lie in sleep without the court chemist mixing her some knock-out drops and never in the prince's presence.

A knock down has never been a knockout unless you allow it.

Beautiful,' Jason exclaimed. 'Piper, you... you're a knockout.

It was a knockout blow — a punch so overwhelming that I didn't get back on my feet for fourteen years.

A pretty girl with butterfly clips in her dreadlocks put her hand on his arm. “You were amazing,” she told him, her voice fluting. “You have the reflexes of a striking snake. You should be a stuntman. Really, with your cheekbones, you should be an actor. A lot of people are looking for someone as pretty as you who’d do his own stunts.” Alec threw Magnus a terrified and beseeching look. Magnus took pity on him, putting a hand on the small of Alec’s back and leaning against him. His attitude and the glance he shot at the girl clearly communicated my date. “No offence,” said the girl, rapidly removing her hand so she could dig in her bag. “Let me give you my card. I work in a talent agency. You could be a star.” “He’s foreign,” Magnus told the girl. “He doesn’t have a social security number. You can’t hire him.” The girl regarded Alec’s bowed head wistfully. “That’s a shame. He could be huge. Those eyes!” “I realize he’s a knockout,” Magnus said. “But I am afraid I have to whisk him away. He is wanted by Interpol.” Alec shot him a strange look. “Interpol?” Magnus shrugged. “Knockout?” Alec said. Magnus raised an eyebrow at him. “You had to know I thought so. Why else would I agree to go on a date with you?

It was a knockout blow - a punch so overwhelming that I didn't get back on my feet for fourteen years.

Two babies in little more than a year and a half. Knockout Jimmy was forced to give up boxing and take a job in the paper mill. It broke him, and in turn, he broke us all.

There ought to be a law against the sun rising and setting for you in somebody else.

In a boxing match, the fighters absorb some vicious blows because they’re ready for them. And usually, the knockout punch is the one they didn’t see coming.

Are you sure you’ve never wooed a girl before? You’re very good at it.” “I’m not trying to woo you. I’m trying to ruin you for all others.

Is there a darker night of the soul than eighth grade?

The novel wins by points, the short story by knockout.

If I'd let my mind roll with that boxing metaphor just a little longer, I might've followed it to its logical conclusion: In a boxing match, the fighters absorb some vicious blows because they're ready for them. And usually, the knockout punch is the one they didn't see coming

You two have to promise to be careful!" Sinead handed Amy a small plastic bag. "I made you a going-away present–a high-powered miniature smoke bomb. Could come in handy against the Vespers. It works with knockout gas, so I tossed in a couple of breathing filters." "That's the Cahill equivalent of a Hallmark moment," Dan observed. "A smoke bomb. When you care enough to send the very best–explosives." "I'm not a flowers-and-candy kind of girl," Sinead informed him.

The world is full of people who want to play it safe, people who have tremendous potential but never use it. Somewhere deep inside them, they know that they could do more in life, be more, and have more -- if only they were willing to take a few risks.

Many people fail not so much because of their mistakes; they fail because they are afraid to try.

James “Knockout Jimmy” O’Brien, Granite Fall’s very own boxing legend—a title he held until a young groupie poked holes in the condom she made him wear “for protection.” My brother was born nine months later, fists already swinging.

Where's the fun in fucking if the fucker can't slam the fuckee into a wall or two?

Don't be afraid to employ people who will force you out of your comfort zone.

Without appreciation and respect for other people, true leadership becomes ineffective, if not impossible.

When problems arise, you will usually find two types of people: whiners and winners. Whiners obstruct progress; they spend hours complaining about this point or that, without offering positive solutions. Winners acknowledge the existence of the problem, but they try to offer practical ideas that can help resolve the matter in a manner that is satisfactory to both parties.

To be successful in life, you must get in the habit of turning negatives into positives.

To succeed in business, you need somebody in your corner who cares enough to challenge you and is courageous enough to tell you the truth, especially when the pressure is on.

We needed to pretend violence was something we could control. That if you were good and did the right things, it wouldn’t happen to you.

That’s what you don’t get, Hadlee. You’re saving me too. Every second I spend with you, you save me a little more. When I’m around you, I want to better myself. I want to be a better man.

A couple of buffoons were running for some state-senate seat just vacated by the incumbent's prison term. One accused the other of being "against the Internet" - a knockout punch in a world where whole hordes of humans think better sex is a faster modem.

You?" I start to laugh. "Look at you. You're a knock-out. You're smarter than I am. You're on a career track and you're family-centered and you probably even can balance your checkbook." "And I'm lonely, Cambell." Jewel adds. Why do you think I had to learn to act so independent? I also get mad too quickly, and I hog the covers, and my second toe is longer than my big one. My hair has its own zipcode. Plus, I get certifiably crazy when I've got PSM. You don't love someone because they're perfect," she says. "You love them in spite of the fact that they're not.

As an entrepreneur, don't follow the crowd; let them follow you.

Nobody can do everything well, so learn how to delegate responsibility to other winners and then hold them accountable for their decisions.

Beautiful is seeing a woman smile and  the simple sight of it  nearly takes your breath away.

I’m not trying to woo you. I’m trying to ruin you for all others.

I’m not beautiful. My mother—” “I know. Your mother was a knockout, and you’re paper bag ugly... Sorry to upset all those cherished illusions of yours, but I don’t see it your way.” “That’s because you didn’t know her.” “Could your mother have led tiger back into its cage?” “Maybe not that, but she was very good with men. They’d do anything for her.” “This man will do anything for you.

His crying stops instantly the minute Ry cradles him in her arms. He knows. How simple is that? And if I thought I was sucker-punched before, the sight of her holding our son is the knockout punch. I’m looking down at his little face and hers next to each other, and shit I never expected to feel in my life surges through me, wraps around my heart, and fills it in a way I never thought was possible

All right, Chris, you've given me a breather. I'm prepared for anything. And thank you for saying all of that, and for loving me, for you haven't gone unloved, or unadmired, yourself." I kissed him quickly on the lips, and told him to go on, to hit me with his knockout blow. "Really, Chris, I know you must have something perfectly awful to tell me-so out with it. Keep holding me as you tell me, and I can stand anything you have to say.

In your business or in your close relationships, if you want people to perform Herculean feats on your behalf, they must know that you care about them.

The best entrepreneurs have found a way to serve others and as a result discover their greatest fulfillment.

Money doesn’t make you a good person.

A Knock Down Does Not Have To Be A KnockOut

Okay? You’ll be a knockout. Listen, we’ll buy a bottle of high-price Scotch and take it along. That Vat 69.’ Frank,

Angela was a knockout who would knock you out for saying so.

I was not confident enough to tell him what I myself barely knew, which is that being true to yourself, even if it makes everyone hate you, even if it makes people want to kill you, is the most radical form of liberty, and when you make contact with something as electric and terrifying as the unadorned truth of yourself, it burns away so many other smaller forms of bondage you weren’t even aware of, so you find yourself irradiated and unencumbered.

That was the thing that was turning out to be most difficult about being a person. The people I had the most sympathy for were almost never the ones everyone else felt sympathy for.

So, does literacy lead to a knockout or a blockade of the cortex? Our experiments suggest the latter: learning to read blocks the growth of face-recognition areas in the left hemisphere.

Jason still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d acted like an idiot, announcing in front of everyone that she was a knockout. Not like there’d been anything wrong with her before. Sure, she looked great after Aphrodite zapped her, but she also didn’t look like herself, not comfortable with the attention.

My mom said it’s different when it’s the woman who’s violent. It strikes people as abnormal. Like, it’s natural for a guy to just ‘lose his temper,’ but if a woman does the same thing, then it’s a sign of something deeper wrong, like psychologically or almost metaphysically.

In totalitarian regimes—communism, fascism, religious fundamentalism—popular support is a given. You can start wars, you can prolong them, you can put anyone in uniform for any length of time without ever having to worry about the slightest political backlash. In a democracy, the polar opposite is true. Public support must be husbanded as a finite national resource. It must be spent wisely, sparingly, and with the greatest return on your investment. America is especially sensitive to war weariness, and nothing brings on a backlash like the perception of defeat. I say “perception” because America is a very all-or-nothing society. We like the big win, the touchdown, the knockout in the first round. We like to know, and for everyone else to know, that our victory wasn’t only uncontested, it was positively devastating.

They stamped their own pattern of lovers onto the fabric of Paris.

From one small lie her dream had transformed into a hideous nightmare

If I want more than sex from this girl, I’ll have to fight for it. And I’ve never lost a fight.

Filling a need is not merely good business; it's a basic attitude towards life. If you see a need, do whatever you can to meet that need.

What had happened was so big, and we were so used to considering our lives as trivial. We almost didn’t know how to approach it. The largeness of what had happened, of what we had done.

Yet even though Herodotus and Thucydides understood reality much better than the authors of the Bible, when the two world views collided, the Bible won by a knockout. The Greeks adopted the Jewish view of history, rather than vice versa. A thousand years after Thucydides, the Greeks became convinced that if some barbarian horde invaded, surely it was divine punishment for their sins. No matter how mistaken the biblical world view was, it provided a better basis for large-scale human cooperation.

We play in twelve rounds. The present against me. I lost the previous eleven. Defeat after defeat. And now I am waiting for the last round. The key round. The fact that I did not fall so far gives me more strength. It’s only now that I hope to win, by knock-out, because the fate is too tired from punches that it will eventually fall by itself. And maybe it will fall on knees when it realizes that I am not going to fall.

I don’t have it in me to deny her this, no matter how mad I am or how hurt. I’ll always want her, regardless of what she does or what painful words she throws my way. All she has to do is say the word, and I’m hers.  That probably makes me weak and pathetic, but right now I don’t care. Because right now I’m pulling her to me and bending down to kiss her. 

But sometimes when you are in a moment, it’s so close to your face, reality, it’s pressed up so close to you, that you just flinch, you react, and then your fate is decided, and all you have done was what you couldn’t help doing, and yet your fate is decided. You’ve done something that can’t be taken back.

Somehow they were entwining without touch, following a choreography laid down in time for lovers.

You never help others by allowing them to getaway with giving less than their best efforts.

Blood doesn’t make you family,

Pretty packaging can mask some of the worst kinds of ugly.

Find cute shoes in a size 11, I dare you. Find a size 11 in women’s at all!

Family is like that," he said gently. "They're the most important people in my life, but they also contribute a lot of stress. Unconditional love is amazing

We see the world the way we want to see it. Warp our views to fir our own agenda

seemed to be right there, loving the wrong person, betting on the wrong dark horse.

I was so confused by her. By her naïveté mixed up with her worldliness, by her beauty that was so unattended by vulnerability.

it’s very weird to be the main character of a story that’s technically yours but feels more like everyone else’s.

Say it in the street, that's a knock-out But you say it in a tweet, that's a cop-out.

Don't go for knockout in one punch, if your desire is to stay longer in the fight and thrive; go for outlasting them. Take the higher road.

Raymond Chandleresque She was a cherry red blonde, you know, the kinda knockout blonde that could wean a priest off young boys and leave him blushing holding the lollipop.

First, we’re not the same size. And second, no.” She glared at me. “What’s wrong with my dress?” “Technically, it’s dad’s dress.” “White isn’t his color,” mom disagreed. “He’s an autumn.

Don’t you think I’m just as fucked up as you are? I might even be worse.” He pulls me closer and tightens his grip around me. “All I know is that you, Hadlee Flax, are different than any other girl I’ve ever met and I’m willing to give this my all. Yes, we’ve both got issues. We’re both mentally and emotionally fucked up. But I’ve got this theory that we just might be what each other needs to make it through our broken and fucked up lives and live to see the next day.

You... didn't use the knockout pills, I take it?" he finally asked, staring out into the void. I shook my head. He sat down and we spilt the last Twinkie. "You realise we just sent a herd of flying pigs soaring out over medieval Wales," I said, sometime later, when the last little oinking cloud had disappeared over the horizon. "Hm." "You don't look too concerned." Rosier got to his feet and then actually extended a hand to help me up. "Maybe it will give the Pythias something else to do. And in any case......" "In any case?" " Well. The expression had to start somewhere, didn't it?

I loved him impersonally, abstractly, like a character in a book who, by virtue of their very distance from you, their belonging to a different world that you may never yourself enter, enflames your longing all the more.

It was my otherness that so angered these boys, my unknowableness, my dangerous wrongness. They couldn't understand me and it made them want to extinguish me, and Terrance couldn't understand me and it made him want to save me.

Here is the first guest, a young woman in a short blue dress. Her face is a trifle on the vacant side but she’s got a knockout bod. Somewhere inside that dress, Hodges knows, there will be the sort of tattoo now referred to as a tramp-stamp. Maybe two or three. The men in the audience whistle and stomp their feet. The women in the audience applaud more gently. Some roll their eyes. This is the kind of woman you don’t like to catch your husband staring at.

America is a very all-or-nothing society. We like the big win, the touchdown, the knockout in the first round. We like to know, and for everyone else to know, that our victory wasn’t only uncontested, it was positively devastating.

Anything that happens after this party breaks up is nothing. Everything is now. It's like war. Everyone is handsome, shining, just thinking about other people's blood. As though the red was flying from veins not theirs is facial makeup patented for its glow. Inspiriting. Glamorous. Afterward there will be some chatter and recapitulation of what went on; nothing though like the action itself and the beat that pumps the heart. In war or at a party everyone is wily, intriguing; goals are set and altered, alliances rearranged. Partners and rivals devastated; new pairings triumphant. The knockout possibilities knock Dorcas out because here -- with grown-ups and as in war -- people play for keeps.

SHE WAS A KNOCKOUT. A stoned fox. I’d never seen her before. Not one of the cutesy Irish Barbie Dolls I normally fell for, this was something of a different class altogether. No disco glam or sparkles or fashionably trashy stripper chic. No make-up or slutty, revealing outfit. No desperate, tits-in-your-face “notice me” B.S. This was something pure and earthy -- fresh as newly cut grass. The smoking-hot girl next door, but yet completely of another world and time. A true classic.

that being true to yourself, even if it makes everyone hate you, even if it makes people want to kill you, is the most radical form of liberty, and when you make contact with something as electric and terrifying as the unadorned truth of yourself, it burns away so many other smaller forms of bondage you weren’t even aware of, so you find yourself irradiated and unencumbered.

We would get lost sometimes because everybody does. But that’s why you travel with the people you love. Because no matter how far off course you get, they’re always there to guide you home. They’re your lighthouse on the shore. Your star in the evening sky. Your True North.

Looking back now, there's something that bothers me abut the newspaper article about her death: it has Celine as Knockout, as Queen Bee, as Prom Superstar. The kid the newspaper grieved for wasn't Celine. She was none of those things. Their version of her was less distinctive than the real Celine was, less an individual, devoid of any real-life individual's quirks and smudges. The paper seemed to believe Celine's death could only be fully newsworthy, only fully sad, if she were outlandishly beautiful, outlandishly popular, outlandishly everything.

A knockout," Curran said behind me. I jumped in the air about a foot and managed to land with some semblance of dignity. He had managed to sneak up on me again. Time to save face. "Nah. That wasn't a knockout. I just staggered him a bit." "I wasn't talking about the kick, baby.

Strong Points: I could definitely spend the rest of my life with him. Shortcomings: He killed his last boyfriend (acquitted: involuntary manslaughter). Comments: The knockout blonde he kept having lunch with wasn’t his lover—she was his attorney. Serves me right for spying on him.

What is this?” she coughed out. “All you’re gonna get…or maybe not.” The last bit was said in such a deep, throaty voice, she strained to catch it. It sounded naughty, like he was contemplating tangling his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back, and covering her mouth with his own. Oh sweet pirouette. She felt a little bit breathless at the idea. The booze didn’t help. Needing something to do with her hands besides reaching across the table and testing out his “maybe not,” she fiddled with the hem of her sweater. Her cheeks warmed, nevertheless. KNOCK OUT

You... didn't use the knockout pills, I take it?" he finally asked, staring out into the void. I shook my head. He sat down and we spilt the last Twinkie. "You realise we just sent a herd of flying pigs soaring out over medieval Wales," I said, sometime later, when the last little oinking cloud had disappeared over the horizon. "Hm." "You don't look too concerned." Rosier got to his feet and then actually extended a hand to help me up. "Maybe it will give the Pythias something else to do. And in any case......" "I any case?" " Well. The expression had to start somewhere, didn't it?

Today, when we talk about the two atomic bombs* the United States dropped on Japan, we tend to do so in the context of the morality of dropping them. The truth is, the decision makers almost certainly didn’t have the range of options we often assume (or wish) they had. The idea that President Truman could have done something other than use the atomic bomb on Japan is probably a little out of step with the political realities of the time.* As the historian Garry Wills wrote in his book Bomb Power: “If it became known that the United States had a knockout weapon it did not use, the families of any Americans killed after the development of the bomb would be furious. The public, the press, and Congress would turn on the President and his advisors. There would have been a cry to impeach President Truman and court-martial General Groves. The administration would be convicted of spending billions of dollars and draining massive amounts of brain power and manpower from other war projects and all for nothing.

Looking up at him from across the room, Bond had to admit that there was something larger than life in the looming, imperious figure, in the hypnotically direct stare of the eyes, in the tall white brow, in the cruel downward twist of the thin lips. The square-cut, heavily draped kimono, designed to give the illusion of bulk to a race of smallish men, made something huge out of the towering figure, and the golden dragon embroidery, so easily to be derided as a childish fantasy, crawled menacingly across the black silk and seemed to spit real fire from over the left breast. Blofeld had paused in his harangue. Waiting for him to continue, Bond took the measure of his enemy. He knew what would be coming – justification. It was always so. When they thought they had got you where they wanted you, when they knew they were decisively on top, before the knock-out, even to an audience on the threshold of extinction, it was pleasant, reassuring to the executioner, to deliver his apologia – purge the sin he was about to commit.

If you really want to go down this road, I will gladly take your shorts off and bury myself so far inside you, you won’t be able to tell where I end and you begin. But let me warn you, Kitten, it won’t end there. Before the night is over, I’ll have had you in every way imaginable, and on every damn surface in this apartment. You sure you’re up for that?

Death is inevitable. Our fear of it makes us play safe, blocks out emotion. It’s a losing game. Without passion you are already dead. Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne

We can wrestle sometimes and see who is OK and who is KO.

The edge of the hand blow and the chin jab, if applied as demonstrated in this manual, will quickly convince the student that in a matter of days he has developed a blow that is not only as effective as a good punch with the fist, but one which permits him to obtain a knock-out under conditions in which it would be almost impossible to punch effectively with the fist.

Harper had so wanted to destroy the Liberal Party, to reshape Canadian politics along American or British or Australian lines, with a dominant party of the centre right – his – and a dominant party of the centre left – the NDP, or the Liberal New Democrats, or whatever emerged; he really didn’t care. He might have pulled it off, had Patrick Brazeau landed a lucky knockout punch against Trudeau in the first round.

is possible, too, that OK has its origins in the Wolof waw kay. That said, the expression has also been claimed as Greek, Finnish, Gaelic, Choctaw and French; as an abbreviation of the faintly humorous misspelling Orl Korrect or of Obediah Kelly, the name of a freight agent who initialled documents he’d checked; and as an inversion of the boxing term KO (knock-out), used because a boxer who hadn’t been knocked out was considered to be … well, OK.

It's what I told him. You and Kellen have been dancing around each other for years. Pull the trigger or put down the gun, but it's time to make a decision." "What did he say to that?" Dad picked up his beer, a faint smile on his lips as he pressed the bottle to them. "Bang, bang.

She was familiar with a certain type of American crazy. Gun crazy was normal to her, shooting-kids-at-school or putting-on-a-Joker-mask-and-mowing-people-down-in-a-mall or just plain murdering-your-mom-at-breakfast crazy, Second Amendment crazy, that was just the everyday crazy that kept going down and there was nothing you could do about it if you loved freedom; and she understood knife crazy from her younger days in the Bronx, and the knockout-game type of crazy that persuaded young black kids it was cool to punch Jews in the face. She could comprehend drug crazy and politician crazy and Westboro Baptist Church crazy and Trump crazy because those things, they were the American way, but this new crazy was different. It felt 9/11 crazy: foreign, evil.

FDR’s August 1941 oil embargo of Japan proved to be the final straw. As former State Department official Charles Maechling explains, “While oil was not the sole cause of the deterioration of relations, once employed as a diplomatic weapon, it made hostilities inevitable. The United States recklessly cut the energy lifeline of a powerful adversary without due regard for the predictably explosive consequences.”144 In desperation, Japanese leaders approved a plan to deliver a preemptive “knockout blow” against the US Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, clearing the way to seize resource-rich territory in Southeast Asia and the Dutch East Indies. As scholar Jack Snyder notes, Japan’s strategy reflected its conviction that “if the sun is not ascending, it is descending,” and that war with the US was “inevitable” given America’s “inherently rapacious nature.”145

I hated how sometimes life threw you a curveball—how you thought you were going to make some money selling a stolen tiger to make your dad proud, but then all the sudden there were drugs instead of money and then you were probably going to relapse mostly because you didn’t want to disappoint your best friend who had recently drawn a very funny cartoon about an octopus on your ass cheeks that would not come off your body no matter how hard you scrubbed.

I counted my years and discovered that I have fewer years left to live compared to the time I have lived until now. I feel like a boy who won a package of treats. The first he eats with pleasure, but when he realizes that there are a few left, he then starts to contemplate upon them. I no longer have time for endless meetings that achieve nothing as statuses, rules, procedures and regulations are discussed. Neither do I have time to give encouragement to absurd people who, despite their age, have not grown up. I don't have time to deal with mediocrity. I don't want to be in meetings where egos parade. I won't tolerate manipulators and opportunists. I am bothered by envious people, seeking to discredit the able ones, to usurp their places, talents and accomplishments. I hate to witness the ill effects, generated by the struggle for a better job, among ambitious people. I detest people who do not argue about content but titles. My time is too precious to discuss titles. I want the essence, my soul is in a hurry. Not many treats are left in the packet. I want to live among human people, very human. People, who can laugh at their mistakes. Who do not become full of themselves because of their triumphs. Who do not consider themselves elite, before they have really become one. Who do not run away from their responsibilities. Who defend human dignity. Who do not want anything else but to walk along with truth, righteousness, honesty and integrity. The essential thing is what makes life worthwhile. I want to surround myself with people who can touch the hearts of others. People who despite the hard knockouts of life, grew up with a soft touch in their soul. Yes, I am in a hurry. So that I can live with the intensity, which only maturity can give me. I intend not to waste any of the treats I have left. I am sure they will be more exquisite compared to the ones I have eaten so far. My goal is to reach the end satisfied and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience. I hope yours is the same, because the end will come anyway...

Danny and the Memories was the band at the root of Crazy Horse. They were a vocal group with Danny Whitten, Ralphie, Billy, and a guy named Ben Rocco. When I recently saw their old video of "Land of a Thousand Dances" on You-Tube, I realized that is is truly the shit. You know, I looked at it maybe twenty times in a row. Even though Danny was amazing and he held the Horse together in the early days, I did not know how great Danny was until I saw this! The moves! What an amazing dancer he was. His presence on that performance is elevating! He is gone, and no one can change that. We will never see and hear where he was going. I am telling you, the world missed one of the greatest when Danny and the Memories did not have a NUMBER ONE smash record back in the day. They were so musical, with great harmonies, and Danny was a total knockout! I am so moved by this that it could make me cry at any time. This is one of those many times when words can't describe the music. Danny and the Memories eventually transformed into the Rockets; they were playing in this old house in Laurel Canyon, and I somehow connected with them while Buffalo Springfield was at the Whiskey. We had a lot of pots jams in the house. Later on I saw Danny and the guys at somebody's house in Topanga. After that I asked if Danny, Billy, and Ralphie would play on a record with me. We did one day, practicing in my Topanga house, and it sounded great. I named the band Crazy Horse and away we went. The Rockets were still together, but this was a different deal. At that time, I thought Danny was a great guitarist and singer. I had no idea how great, though. I just was too full of myself to see it. Now I see it clearly. I wish I could do that again, because more of Danny would be there. I have made an Early Daze record of the Horse, and you can hear a different vocal of "Cinnamon Girl" featuring more of Danny. He was singing the high part and it came through big-time. I changed it so I sang the high part and put that out. That was a big mistake. I fucked up. I did not know who Danny was. He was better than me. I didn't see it. I was strong, and maybe I helped destroy something sacred by not seeing it. He was never pissed off about it. I wasn't like that. I was young, and maybe I didn't know what I was doing. Some things you wish never happened. But we got what we got. I never really saw him a sing and move until I saw that "Land of a Thousand Dances" video. I could watch it over and over. I can't believe it. It's just one of those things. My heart aches for what happened to him. These memories are what make Crazy Horse great today. And now we don't have Briggs, either, for the next record, but we have the spirit and the heart to go on. And we have John Hanlong, taught by Briggs, to engineer this sucker. It will rock and cry. Please let's get to this before life comes knocking again.