Paul Walker Quotes

If one day the speed kills me, don't cry. Because I was smiling.

If one day the speed kills me, do not cry because I was smiling.

Remember that no matter how cool you think you may be, you're not cool enough to look down on anyone...ever.

I've always wanted to race cars, even since I was a young boy, as I think a lot of guys have.

I live by 'Go big or go home.' That's with everything. It's like either commit and go for it or don't do it at all. I apply that to everything. I apply that to relationships, I apply that to like sports, I apply that to everything. That's what I live by. That's how I like it.

I remember when I first came around, the computer-generated stuff was pretty wicked. I was like, 'Wow!' but I feel like then for the longest time, we saw so much of it, after a while, you might as well just be watching an animated movie.

No decision should be made on an empty shopping bag.

If one day the speed kills me dont be sad because i will have died smiling

He wonders if words aren't an essential element of sex, if talking isn't finally a more subtle form of touching, and if the images dancing in our heads aren't just as important as the bodies we hold in our arms. Margot tells him that sex is the one thing in life that counts for her, that if she couldn't have sex she would probably kill herself to escape the boredom and monotony of being trapped inside her own skin. Walker doesn't say anything, but as he comes into her for the second time, he realizes that he shares her opinion. He is mad for sex. Even in the grip of the most crushing despair, he is mad for sex. Sex is the lord and the redeemer, the only salvation on earth.

Somebody is in the hospital right now, begging God for the opportunity you have. Don't you dare go to bed depressed. Count your blessings and shake it off!

Sapevo che Isaac non mi avrebbe fatto del male. Non come Paul. Non sarei entrato un giorno in casa e non avrei trovato Isaac a letto con un altro ragazzo. Semplicemente non era quel tipo di persona. Ma questo non voleva dire che non potesse farmi del male o spezzarmi il cuore

So what are we watching, anyway?” “Fast six.” I realized the polite thing to do would have been to ask if he liked the Fast & Furious series, but if he didn’t, I couldn’t date him anyway. “And if I haven’t seen one through five?” “Then you’re basically un-American. Besides, what’s there to know? Fast cars, pretty girls, hot guys, stealin’ stuff in ways that could never happen… aaand you’re all caught up.” His beautifully chocolate brown eyes went skyward. “Let me guess, you’re a Rock fan?” “And Paul Walker, and Tyrese… the Asian guy, and a little Vin Diesel action doesn’t go amiss either. Any way you look, you win.” “I haven’t liked the Rock since SmackDown.” I pretended to clasp my hands in prayer and closed my eyes. “Let him keep his gay card, Lord, for he knows not what he says.” He grinned. “You’re lucky you’re fine.” “Am I?” I lifted my brows. A queen did need his compliments, after all.

Modern, Historical and Fictional Examples: Helena Blavatsky, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Anandamayi Ma, Kahlil Gibran, Herman Melville, Paul Gaugin, Whoopie Goldberg, Alice Walker, Mattie Stepanek, Igor Stravinsky, Meryl Streep

We're at a dinner party in an apartment on Rue Paul Valéry between Avenue Foch and Avenue Victor Hugo and it's all rather subdued since a small percentage of the invited guests were blown up in the Ritz yesterday. For comfort people went shopping, which is understandable even if they bought things a little too enthusiastically. Tonight it's just wildflowers and white lilies, just W's Paris bureau chief, Donna Karan, Aerin Lauder, Ines de la Fressange and Christian Louboutin, who thinks I snubbed him and maybe I did but maybe I'm past the point of caring. Just Annette Bening and Michael Stipe in a tomato-red wig. Just Tammy on heroin, serene and glassy-eyed, her lips swollen from collagen injections, beeswax balm spread over her mouth, gliding through the party, stopping to listen to Kate Winslet, to Jean Reno, to Polly Walker, to Jacques Grange. Just the smell of shit, floating, its fumes spreading everywhere. Just another conversation with a chic sadist obsessed with origami. Just another armless man waving a stump and whispering excitedly, "Natasha's coming!" Just people tan and back from the Ariel Sands Beach Club in Bermuda, some of them looking reskinned. Just me, making connections based on fear, experiencing vertigo, drinking a Woo-Woo.

Penni DePaul simply needed to be held. And, by God, he could certainly do that…

È per questo che Paul è andato a letto con un altro uomo?" La sua domanda mi stese. Mi colpì come un camion. Isaac sapeva tutto del mio ex e sapeva esattamente come ero stato male per quello che Paul aveva fatto. Fu come se l'aria fosse stata risucchiata fuori dalla stanza. Riuscivo a malapena a parlare "Che cosa?" Isaac sogghignò "È per questo che ti ha tradito? Perché lo soffocavi? Stavo cercando di controllare i suoi amici, con chi poteva parlare? Così si è scolato qualcun altro nel vostro letto?" Il mio stomaco sprofondò ai miei piedi. Isaac aveva sempre saputo come usare parole cattive, sapeva come mirare per uccidere. E non mi mancò

In the course of my life I have had pre-pubescent ballerinas; emaciated duchesses, dolorous and forever tired, melomaniac and morphine-sodden; bankers' wives with eyes hollower than those of suburban streetwalkers; music-hall chorus girls who tip creosote into their Roederer when getting drunk... I have even had the awkward androgynes, the unsexed dishes of the day of the *tables d'hote* of Montmartre. Like any vulgar follower of fashion, like any member of the herd, I have made love to bony and improbably slender little girls, frightened and macabre, spiced with carbolic and peppered with chlorotic make-up. Like an imbecile, I have believed in the mouths of prey and sacrificial victims. Like a simpleton, I have believed in the large lewd eyes of a ragged heap of sickly little creatures: alcoholic and cynical shop girls and whores. The profundity of their eyes and the mystery of their mouths... the jewellers of some and the manicurists of others furnish them with *eaux de toilette*, with soaps and rouges. And Fanny the etheromaniac, rising every morning for a measured dose of cola and coca, does not put ether only on her handkerchief. It is all fakery and self-advertisement - *truquage and battage*, as their vile argot has it. Their phosphorescent rottenness, their emaciated fervour, their Lesbian blight, their shop-sign vices set up to arouse their clients, to excite the perversity of young and old men alike in the sickness of perverse tastes! All of it can sparkle and catch fire only at the hour when the gas is lit in the corridors of the music-halls and the crude nickel-plated decor of the bars. Beneath the cerise three-ply collars of the night-prowlers, as beneath the bulging silks of the cyclist, the whole seductive display of passionate pallor, of knowing depravity, of exhausted and sensual anaemia - all the charm of spicy flowers celebrated in the writings of Paul Bourget and Maurice Barres - is nothing but a role carefully learned and rehearsed a hundred times over. It is a chapter of the MANCHON DE FRANCINE read over and over again, swotted up and acted out by ingenious barnstormers, fully conscious of the squalid salacity of the male of the species, and knowledgeable in the means of starting up the broken-down engines of their customers. To think that I also have loved these maleficent and sick little beasts, these fake Primaveras, these discounted Jocondes, the whole hundred-franc stock-in-trade of Leonardos and Botticellis from the workshops of painters and the drinking-dens of aesthetes, these flowers mounted on a brass thread in Montparnasse and Levallois-Perret! And the odious and tiresome travesty - the corsetted torso slapped on top of heron's legs, painful to behold, the ugly features primed by boulevard boxes, the fake Dresden of Nina Grandiere retouched from a medicine bottle, complaining and spectral at the same time - of Mademoiselle Guilbert and her long black gloves!... Have I now had enough of the horror of this nightmare! How have I been able to tolerate it for so long? The fact is that I was then ignorant even of the nature of my sickness. It was latent in me, like a fire smouldering beneath the ashes. I have cherished it since... perhaps since early childhood, for it must always have been in me, although I did not know it!

Ultimately, Hitler decided not to invade–at least he hasn't done so yet," Muller smirked as he spoke. "But what struck us both at the time was the spectacle of the leader of a great nation like Germany seemingly able to do whatever he wanted, without any apparent constraints. He could override his military leadership, ignore objections of even his closest advisors, like Göring, and simply roll the dice, gambling that sending the army into the Rhineland wouldn't provoke a war with France.

Paul Walker

abandon this community you’ve built for one.” This is what’s at the heart of Kooser’s poem. The objects giving us the report of what took place in this abandoned house are speaking the language of ubuntu, each of them saying, “I am because we are.” And it’s the essence of Paul’s words of wisdom and counsel to the Romans: “Remember, I am because we are. Pretending just won’t do. Like the Son is to the Father is to the Holy Spirit,

The street is lined with oversized houses on undersized lots. The stucco houses, each one nearly indistinguishable from the others, are all painted in various shades of flesh. Each lot has an artificially green front lawn with two evenly spaced queen palm trees, many of which are buttressed by two-by-fours. The street is devoid of any signs of life. No pedestrians or bicyclists. No dog walkers or children playing in the yard. To find life, an observer would need to go inside of the houses, where the giant glowing

If I still had the Prussian spirit, such a delay would exhaust my patience, but now I am so used to such negligence that very often I feel disposed to become negligent myself. STEUBEN TO BENJAMIN WALKER, FEBRUARY 23, 17801

followed by tanks and half-tracks laden with soldiers towing artillery.

Paul VI stated in an address that since the Church begins with God's call, the Church establishes a supernatural religion. Other religions are "unilateral human efforts." While other religions are incomplete and often 'inefficacious and wrong,' the Church creates a safe relationship with God and effects salvation.

Our desire would be to confirm and increase in you love for the Church, the Holy Church of Christ which is the mystical Body of Christ, the extension of the mystery of the incarnation in humanity and in time.

If Anita was a great walker, it was news to Paul. He'd seen her drive a car to the house across the street from theirs, and she denied all the tenets of physical culture by remaining young and graceful while eating like a farmhand and conserving her strength like a princess. Bound feet and six inch fingernails wouldn't have restricted her activities in the least.

It’s not a mistake I’m an alien experiment, I was born and placed in a tube. When I fuck girls in the ass, I do it without lube. I don't even have to look at the page to write this dude. The spirit of God is how I move. This shit's too easy, especially when you live eternally. I'm a fucking Wolf, the Alpha, and I was locked in a zoo It's just beginning, I'm sinking my teeth deeper inside of you Into your soul Where we're going only I know Connecting all your dots Never-ending Driving the wrong way on the street Hydroplaning through 4 feet Of water, like Paul Walker, the fire's getting hotter And I can't get out

The horns blew, and Jesus came floating out of the damned sky like Magneto to save us all! How did you repay him? You shot him in the fucking face and he hit the ground! He hit that shit harder than Paul Walker driving through a Christmas tree farm! So, yes! Congratulations! You’re the Antichrist and your father was a psychic!

RIDE OR DIE

Brigham Young answered [William McCary who had...] complained that he was 'hypocritically abused' among the Latter-Day Saints and had experienced racism... with an appeal to the New Testament and the broad commonality among all of God's children. Paraphrasing Acts 17:26, Young said, 'It's nothing to do with the blood, for of one blood has God made all flesh.' In an effort to calm McCary's worries, Young reinforced the commonality of the entire human family. Not only did God create racial diversity out of 'one blood'; Young insisted that Latter-Day Saints did not discriminate even in distributing priesthood authority. He then cited Q. Walker Lewis in the Lowell, Massachusetts branch as his proof: 'We [h]av[e] one of the best Elders[,] and African in Lowell---a barber,' he told McCary. Even Black men were welcome and eligible for the priesthood, Young affirmed. The interview continued in somewhat arbitrary directions after that but eventually returned to McCary's standing among the Saints. 'I am not a Pres[iden]t, or a leader of the p[eo]pl[e],' McCary lamented, but merely a 'common bro[the]r,' something he attributed to the fact that he was 'a little shade darker.' Brigham Young again asserted a universal ideal and told McCary, 'We don't care about the color.' McCary liked hearing that from Brigham Young but still wondered if other apostles shared the same sentiments. 'Do I hear that from all?' he asked. Those present responded with a unified 'aye.' Brigham Young counseled McCary to ignore 'what the p[eo]pl[e] say, shew by your actions that you don't care for what they say---all we do is serve the Lord with all our hearts,' he insisted... William McCary... [was] married [to] Lucy Stanton, a white Latter-Day Saint... McCary was a formerly enslaved [convert] from Mississippi [who attempted to pass as] Native American...

S. Lewis had his own misconceptions about this notion of praise and wrote of the lesson he learned: But the most obvious fact about praise—whether of God or anything—strangely escaped me. I thought of it in terms of compliment, approval, or the giving of honor. I had never noticed that all enjoyment spontaneously overflows into praise. . . . The world rings with praise—lovers praising their mistresses, readers their favorite poet, walkers praising the countryside, players praising their game. . . . I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is appointed consummation.7 Lewis realized that praise stems from doing what one can’t help doing—giving utterance to what we regard as supremely valuable: “It is good to sing praises to our God.” Why? “For it is pleasant and praise is becoming” (Ps. 147:1).

What was the alternative? To go along with the accommodationists, who would integrate at the pace white Birmingham set? To believe that the eloquent Albert Boutwell would be a good mayor and not just a dignified racist? Fred “made Black people uncomfortable,” Walker said, and discomfort was the point of this campaign. Walker had grown up in Merchantville, New Jersey, with a portrait of Frederick Douglass on the wall. What Douglass wrote still resonated with him: “It is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” Damn right. Fred was not the problem. Black Birmingham was the problem. Segregation was the problem. As Walker put it: “See, it was the uncomfortableness that the presence of a Fred Shuttlesworth created. You have to understand how segregation is like a stain and it’s on everybody, and Fred represented the person who had the task of going around trying to wash the stain off.” They would succeed, Walker argued, when Black Birmingham started scrubbing, too.

Walker discussed what he and so many of those present had just endured: the SCLC’s sustained civil rights campaign in Albany, Georgia, the year prior, in 1962. It had failed completely. It had failed for numerous reasons, Walker said, but one of them was that the nonviolence the SCLC favored and had learned from Gandhi’s success in India—assembling marchers and having them sit at the seat of white power, and then not move—needed to be met by violent white authority to work.

Spanish word sendereando, for hiking, is compact and pretty (sendero is path), but the wisest phrase for this activity is the Latin solvitur ambulando (“it is solved by walking”), attributed to Saint Augustine. The phrase was mentioned by the long-distance walker Patrick Leigh-Fermor to Bruce Chatwin. “Hearing it, immediately Bruce whipped out his notebook,” Chatwin’s biographer wrote. Walking to ease the mind is also an objective of the pilgrim. There is a spiritual dimension too: the walk itself is part of a process of purification. Walking is the age-old form of travel, the most fundamental, perhaps the most revealing.

Los doctores Benjamin y Money buscaron a otro amigo, el Dr. Paul Walker, un activista de los derechos homosexuales y transexuales, el cual ellos sabían era un apasionado de los tratamientos hormonales e intervenciones quirúrgicas de reasignación de sexo. Para darle legitimidad científica a sus fracasados intentos de cambiar el género, formaron un comité con el Dr. Walker a la cabeza. Este comité también incluyó a un psiquiatra, a un activista de la pedofilia, a dos cirujanos plásticos y a un urólogo, todos los cuales se beneficiarían económicamente de toda cirugía de reasignación de género. Es así que el ya mencionado Estándares para el cuidado y salud de personas transexuales, transgénero y no conformes con su género vio la luz en 1979. Pero estos “estándares”, como se puede ver, no eran más que un intento de darle legitimación científica a un procedimiento totalmente anticientífico.

But the most obvious fact about praise—whether of God or anything—strangely escaped me. I thought of it in terms of compliment, approval, or the giving of honor. I had never noticed that all enjoyment spontaneously overflows into praise. . . . The world rings with praise—lovers praising their mistresses, readers their favorite poet, walkers praising the countryside, players praising their game. . . . I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is appointed consummation

dlaurent The Ballad of Johnny Jihad (Down Desert Storm Way). © c. 2001 During the Gulf War (1990-1991), American Pro-Taliban Jihadist John Philip Walker Lindh was captured while serving with the enemy forces. Here is his tale in song and legend. My nowex at the time did not want me to run to the radio station with this, thought I’d look singularly ridiculii. The following, 'The Ballad of Johnny Jihad' is sung to the tune of 'The Ballad of Jed Clampett' (1962), commonly known as 'The Beverly Hillbillies' song, the theme tune for the TV show series starring Buddy Ebsen. (Lyrics, Paul Henning, vocals Jerry Scoggins, Lester Flatt; master musicians of the art of the ballad and bluegrass ways, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs). The Ballad of Johnny Jihad (Sung) Come and listen to the story of Johnny Jihad, Who left home and country to study his Islam, And then one day he was shooting at our troops, So down through the camp did the government swoop. (Voice Over): ‘Al Que-da that is, Af-ghani Tali-ban, Terror-ist . . .’ (Sung) Well, the first thing you know ol’ John from ’Frisco roamed, The lawman said ‘he’s a lad misunderstood very far from home.’ Said, ‘Californee is the place he oughta be,’ So they request his trial be moved to Berkeley . . . (Voice Over): ‘Liberals that is, group-ies, peace-activists . . .’ Announcer: The Johnny Jihad Show! (Intense bluegrass banjo pickin’ music) . . . (Sung) Now its time to say goodbye to John and all his kin, Hope ya don’t think of him as a fightin’ Taliban, You’re all invited back again to this insanity, To get yourself a heapin’ helpin’ of this travesty . . . Johnny Jihad, that’s what they call ’im now Nice guy; don’t get fooled now, y’hear? (Voice Over): ‘Lawyerin’ that is, O.J.ism, media-circus . . .’ (Music) . . . end

Secret societies…like the Skulls or the Free Masons?" "What do you know about them?" he asked, feeling me out. "Limited. I've seen a couple of movies with Johnny Depp and Paul Walker a while back. They're societies that have high influence over things like the American and foreign governments.

The more the walker thinks, the longer his path grows.

The more the walker thinks, the longer his path grows.