Rasta Quotes

Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

Clowns are vicious--they're all nefarious grins--and if you hung out with a bunch of clowns in a bar, pretty soon it would turn into a horror movie. Nefarious means evil. It's nothing to do with Rastas.

han dil udaas ha magar ab na teri koi aas ha zamana chora tujhay apna banaya tu ne hamein thukraya zamana apnaya ab jab zaroorat hay mujhay zamany ki tujhay b nahi koi zarorat ab laut any ki teri in adaaon ko jan gya mein yeh wohi adat purani c masoom dilon say khelna han yeh wohi kahani c rabba tu dikha dena issy bhala rasta kahin na le bethy baduwa kisi tootay dil say ye larki jan k jo bani anjani c.........xx

Watching it all, I had a panic attack. Holy shit! Most of the Thirld World sees America through the actions of backpackers. They're our diplomats in places like this. Our grungy kissingers. These folks must think we're all drawstring pant-wearing, Hacky-Sacking, white Rasta freaks. We're doomed.

Here, the women of my family all met under one sign, stamped by what confining fates we had been handed. A girl had no choice in the familythat made her. No choice in the many names that followed her, wet-lipped and braying in the street. She was Psssst. And Jubi. And Catty. Mampy. Matey. Wifey. Dawlin. B. And Heffa. My Size. Empress. Brownine. Fluffy. Fatty. Slimmaz. Mawga Gyal. And Babes. Sweets. Chu Chups. And Ting. Machine. Mumma. Sketel. Rasta Gyal. Jezebel. And Daughter.

If a man call himself Rasta today, by next week that is him speaking prophecy. He don’t have to be too smart either, just know one or two hellfire and brimstone verse from the Bible. Or just claim it come from Leviticus since nobody ever read Leviticus. This is how you know. Nobody who get to the end of Leviticus can still take that book seriously. Even in a book full of it, that book is mad as shit. Don’t lie with man as with woman, sure I can run with that reasoning. But don’t eat crab?

jo aana chaho hazar rastey, na aana chaho to uzr hazaron.........' ','mijaz brhm', 'taveel rasta',' barasti barish',' kharab mosam',............

Mohabbat goliyon se bo rahe ho Watan ka chehra khoon se dho rahe ho Gumaan tum ko ke rasta katt raha hai Yaqeen mujhko ke manzil kho rahe ho

Simplicity matters. Especially when it comes to the muscle memory of boxing. That is perhaps rule number one. Simplicity works. Simplicity is repetition. Repetition is function. Boil function down to one action, maybe two. Left or right. Simplicity. Simplicity is really the hardest thing.

You know for sure Jane would be annoyed she gave you all her money and you’re not even enjoying it. Should have given it to me.’ Myrna had shaken her head in mock bewilderment. ‘I’d have known what to do with it. Boom, down to Jamaica, a nice Rasta man, a good book—’ ‘Wait a minute. You have a Rasta man and you’re reading a book?’ ‘Oh, yes. Each has a purpose. For instance, a Rasta man is great when he’s hard, but not a book.’ Clara had laughed. They shared a disdain for hard books. Not the content, but the cover. Hardcovers were simply too hard to hold, especially in bed. ‘Unlike a Rasta man,’ said Myrna.

Furthermore, in Revelation 17:5 we find this proclamation: “MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.” This, the Rastas say, is the world of wretched cities into which the poor Ethiopian is cast, not unlike Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, to come forth, unscathed by flame. To come out pure. To have the faith to be untouched by the blasphemy of the world’s wrongdoing.

No worries" is the best thing to happen to sullen teenagers since I was one - even better than vampire sexting, GTL, or Call of Duty. When I was a sullen teenager, we had to make do wtih the vastly inferior "whatever". "No worries" beats "whatever" six ways to Sunday. I'ts a vaguely mystical way of saying "I hear your mouth make noise, saying something that I plan to ignore." It has a noble Rasta-man vibe, as if you're quoting some sort of timeless yet meaningless proverb on the nature of change - "Soon come," or "As the cloud is slow, the wind is quick." In terms of ignoring provocation, "no worries" is just about perfect.

the women of Babylon keep their men forever weak by filling their minds with lustful thoughts.

Part of it seems like how these Americans grew up. They collect things. So Tony Curtis or Tony Orlando will show up at Mantana’s and they all ask him for this autograph business, which is him signing his name on a napkin. And they cling to it, and collect it like they’ll never see Tony Curtis again. Now Chuck is taking things home, collecting them like he had to make sure they were safe. I don’t know what he has to protect a coffee cup from. Or five boxes of rubber bands, a picture of Farrah Fawcett, a picture of President Carter or a box full of liquor as if they don’t have liquor in America. Or a sculpture of a Rastaman grabbing on to his an erect penis, the head bigger than his actual head. The man must think he is Noah saving a statue of a Rasta with a huge cock for his ark. If he’s saving that fucking sculpture and don’t plan to save me I swear to God I will kill him.

Here, the women of my family all met under one sign, stamped by what confining fates we had been handed. A girl had no choice in the family that made her. No choice in the many names that followed her, wet-lipped and braying in the street. She was Psssst. And Jubi. And Catty. Mampy. Matey. Wifey. Dawlin. B. And Heffa. My Size. Empress. Brownine. Fluffy. Fatty. Slimmaz. Mawga Gyal. And Babes. Sweets. Chu Chups. And Ting. Machine. Mumma. Sketel. Rasta Gyal. Jezebel. And Daughter.

—Bueno, tendremos que buscarle un nombre. James alzó una mano deseoso de dar su opinión. —¿Pulga? ¿Apestoso? —preguntó sonriente. —Oh, no, James cariño… —Se llevó un dedo al mentón en actitud pensativa—. Podríamos llamarle… —¡Hostia, qué es eso! —gritó Marcus, que a causa del alboroto había acudido al lugar de reunión familiar. «Estúpido, mira que no saber lo que es un perro…», pensó el inglés, con la vista fija en las rastas del recién llegado. —Lo he encontrado en el bosque —explicó Kelsey orgullosa. —… revolcándose en un charco de barro —añadió James. —¡Joder! Pues para ser de la calle… está bastante limpio, ¿no? —repuso el hermano mientras achuchaba al animal. James se acercó de nuevo a Kelsey, inclinándose ligeramente. —Dime que eso ha sido una ironía o me muero. Kelsey le ignoró. Todos dejaron de lado al estudiante de intercambio para centrarse en el nuevo miembro de la familia. —¡Ya sé cómo vamos a llamarle! —Marcus alzó las manos, feliz—. ¡Whisky! —¿Y por qué no Ballantines, Ponche o JB? —preguntó James intentando no reír—. También son muy bonitos —añadió con inocencia.

One of the gunmen in the room, ending his call to his wife, and seeing me typing, came across and shook my hand. “You going to make a lot of money off this story!” the gunman with the Rastafarian hairstyle said. His pump-action shotgun was slung in the crook of his arm. He was smiling. “Yeah”, I said. “If I get out of here alive.” “You all right, you going to be all right”, he said, laughing. But you see me? I don’t know too much about my future right now.” “Everybody’s going to be all right,” I said. He laughed again. And reached into his back pocket and came out with a little white slip of paper in his hand. “I don’t know about me,” he said, smiling. “But if you write the story and make a lot of money, maybe you could get these things for the wife for me.” He handed me the slip of paper. On it, in block letters, was an itemized list: TV SET VIDEO SET WASHING MACHINE FRIDGE For a moment I shook my head in bewilderment, looking at that list. But he was laughing again and saying: “So if you make a lot of money off your book, get those things for the wife for me, nuh.” I said: “Sure.” I pocketed the note and walked away, flooded by nausea, thinking: so this is what he’s in it for, this young Trinidadian with the Rasta hairdo, the fake army camouflage shirt and pants tucked into his big soldier-looking black boots, with the wicked-looking shotgun crooked in his arm. A free television set. A video set. A washing machine. A fridge.

- Veća stopa rasta. Peteljke i listovi okreću se malo-pomalo prema zvučnicima, kao da žude za izvorom. - Sigurni ste da to nije samo vaš umišljaj? Biljke ne mogu uživati u klasičnoj glazbi. - Biljke svakako nemaju osobnost, no uvjeravam vas da reagiraju pozitivno. Sve je to uvjetovano biologijom, naravno. - Svakako. Zastao je, neko vrijeme razmišljao, a zatim rekao: - I mi smo uvjetovani biologijom.

Proces kretanja, mijenjanja, razvoja, rasta, rušenja starog, gradjenja novog, odvijao se i odvija u prirodi i u društvu kroz postepene, često jedva zametljive, neznatne kvantitativne promjene, koje nagomilane naglo i iznenada stvaraju novi kvalitativni oblik - novi kvalitet. Evolucija u društvu predstavlja kvantitativne nebitne promjene, a revolucija je bitne kvalitativne promjene.

But here come these people, the Rastas like the one who held her up now, who believe that Ethiopia is the true Holy Land and that Haile Selassie is the living God. Decrying the very foundation of their colonial education, preaching instead that whites are the ones who are inferior and wicked. Embracing her blackness had become unnatural to Patricia, and subsequently to Vera, but she wondered now why it seemed more natural to put lye acid on the roots of her hair than to let it grow the way she was born.

But here come these people, the Rastas like the one who held her up now, who believe that Ethiopia is the true Holy Land and that Haile Selassie is the living God. Decrying the very foundation of their colonial education, preaching instead that whites are the ones who are inferior and wicked. Embracing her blackness had become unnatural to Patricia, and subsequently to Vera, but she wondered now why it seemed more natural to put lye acid on the roots of her hair than to let it grow the way she was born. She understood why her mother carried on so when she saw Rastas walking the same streets as her, why she sometimes would call the police if she saw one near their house. They were manifestations of a truth she didn’t want to face, and believed that if scorned enough could be permanently banished. Her mother didn’t want to hear that more of her ancestors came from Africa than from England. That she was idolizing and mimicking the masters who raped and beat her foremothers and forefathers. That slavery was not over, and they’d never truly be free unless they rejected everything they’d been taught to value. Even the white Jesus she worshipped so feverishly. That woman would never embrace Haile Selassie, a god who looked like them, when she was taught that blackness was the opposite of everything divine.

Not every Rasta knows who he is, but eventually he will have no choice but to know. Once he realizes who he is and what he has been assigned to do, he has no choice but to embrace this divine gift. This is why to some it may appear a person has "become a Rasta" and that they are entering a "phase" of life. The truth of the matter is, natural-born Rasta has always been and will always be Rastafari. Born Rasta is here to share the love of Jah, and to share the light so that those who seek spiritual truth can also follow this way of life.

Despite the absence of speech, the green area on the upper part of the gyrus was glowing. “If it’s lighting up, it means she’s talking to me at this very moment.” “Eugenie?” Sharko grunted. Leclerc felt a chill. To see his chief inspector’s meninges react to speech like this, when you couldn’t even hear a fly buzzing, made him feel like there was a ghost in the room. “What’s she saying?” “She wants me to buy a pint of cocktail sauce and some candied chestnuts next time I go shopping. She loves those miserable chestnuts. Excuse me a second…” Sharko closed his eyes, lips pressed tight. Eugenie was someone he might see and hear at any moment. On the passenger seat of his old Renault. At night when he went to bed. Sitting cross-legged, watching the mini-gauge trains run around the tracks. Two years earlier, Eugenie had often shown up with a black man, Willy, a huge smoker of Camels and pot. A real mean son of a bitch, much worse than the little girl because he talked loud and tended to gesticulate wildly. Thanks to the treatment, the Rasta had disappeared for good, but the other one, the girl, came and went as she pleased, resistant as a virus.

Tum chale jao jab bhi, dekho tumhara rasta Zaik tum lout ke na aao aesa kabhi na karna

The Police – Maracanãzinho, 1982. Uma noite quente no Rio de Janeiro, com todos os seus 40 graus estampados, e empapados de suor na camiseta escura do vocalista. Logo aqui embaixo, o couro come no palco. Iluminação simples de matizes rasta. Time de metais dando o tempero com discrição e esperteza. E, para a alegria dos -aqui nebuloso- quatro ou cinco mil presentes, um verdadeiro supergrupo em plena forma, fazendo uma certa história. Esse pode não ter sido um “show que mudou o mundo”, como se diz daquele Sex Pistols em Manchester; ou, mais na nossa categoria, o Nirvana no Morumbi, em 1993. Mas, nesse 16 de fevereiro de 1982, o Police, ainda que de maneira fugaz, nos iluminou no Maracanãzinho. Para além da música, a presença da banda no Brasil, nesse momento, nos deu uma sensação praticamente inédita de, com o perdão da palavra, modernidade. De frescor, de novidade…Foi a captação, a sacação coletiva, ao vivo e com riffs e coros, do tal zeitgeist do pop planetário. Durante um par de horas, fizemos parte do mundão dos bons sons.

scat to rock steady

They were kicked out of their homes, abandoned by their families, turned away at every door. So, when Rastas read the biblical accounts of Jewish persecution and strife, they recognized a similar suffering in their own tribulation. From those psalms of Jewish exile came the Rastafari’s name for the systemically racist state and imperial forces that had hounded, hunted, and downpressed them: Babylon. Babylon was the government that had outlawed them, the police that had pummeled and killed them.

Jer Božja je volja da vjerujemo da ga stalno vidimo, iako nam se čini da je taj vid samo djelimičan; i kroz ovo vjerovanje on nas čini da uvek dobijamo više blagodati, jer Bog želi da bude viđen, i želi da bude tražen, i želi da se od njega očekuje, i želi da mu verujemo." Sposobnost da vidimo Boga i Božji svijet dolazi kroz proces rasta u bliskosti sa njim. Carstvo Božje se progresivno otvara nama dok se naš karakter i razumijevanje sve više dovode u sklad sa realnostima Božje vladavine.

Sab Khafa hai” Zindagi ke mod pe aisa aa poncha hun Mohabbat bhi naraaz, dost bhi khafa hai Ghar ke log bhi mujh se door ho gaye hai Aur khwabon ki duniya bhi veeran pari hai Dil ki har dhadkan mein dard ka shor hai Har saans mein bechaini ka dor hai Taleem ki rahein bhi ajnabi ho gayi Har rasta jaise andheron mein gum hai Mohabbat ke chiragh bujhne ko hai Doston ki baatein ab bojh ban gayi hai Ghar ka sukoon bhi kahin kho sa gaya Zindagi ki ronaqein jaise chhup si gayi hai Ansuon ki qatar, ghamon ki bahar hai Har khwab adhura, har khwahish beqarar hai Mohabbat ka rang, ab dhundhla sa para hai Aur dil ki har umeed, bujh si gayi hai Zindagi ke is safar mein tanha sa hun Jahan koi bhi saathi nahin mera Mohabbat ho, dosti ho, ya taleem ka rasta Sab kuch ab bikra, sab kuch hai veeran Phir bhi yeh dil kehta hai, umeed rakhoon Andheron ke baad roshni zaroor aaye gi Khwab phir se sajain ge, dil phir se chamke ga Zindagi ke is safar mein ek naya sooraj ubhrey ga

I respond instinctively to kindness with no side attached. In those days when I hung in Steer Town, I could walk in any door and my every need would be satisfied. I was treated as family and I acted like family. Not acted! I behaved like family, became family. Me sweep the yard, me mash up coconuts, me make chalice for the sacramental smoking. Man, I was more Rasta than they. I’d fallen in with just the right bunch of guys, and their old ladies. It was another one of those across-the-tracks things —just being accepted and welcomed into something I didn’t even know existed.

Of course if I’d done it, I’d probably be a general by now. There’s no way to stop a primate. If I’m in, I’m in. When they got me in the scouts, I was a patrol leader in three months. I clearly like to run guys about. Give me a platoon, I’ll do a good job. Give me a company, I’ll do even better. Give me a division, and I’ll do wonders. I like to motivate guys, and that’s what came in handy with the Stones. I’m really good at pulling a bunch of guys together. If I can pull a bunch of useless Rastas into a viable band and also the Winos, a decidedly unruly band of men, I’ve got something there. It’s not a matter of cracking the whip, it’s a matter of just sticking around, doing it, so they know you’re in there, leading from the front and not from behind. And to me, it’s not a matter of who’s number one, it’s what works.

¿Cuál sería la denominación de un dread, es decir un rasta, que vive como un yuppie? ¿Un duppie [fantasma]?

What are we gonna do about these two children?” And they lived up there while Anita was in jail, and the Rastas took perfect care of them. And that was very important to me. It was a huge relief to know they were safe and protected, safer than if they’d been whipped off to a foster home. Angie and Marlon up there with their playmates—who still remember them, who are now great big guys. Then I could concentrate on springing Anita. There are myths and

La música caribeña siempre ha hablado de la gente y siempre ha servido para que la gente se comunique. Se puede decir sin temor a equivocarse que la música es el periódico del gueto. El calypso y el mento trataban de eso; el ska y el rocksteady reflejan la época rude boy. El reggae inicial celebraba la independencia y el optimismo de la época, mientras que el movimiento rasta y la música roots mostraban el descontento generalizado por lo que pasaba.

As I grew older, I knew I would never be his perfect Rasta daughter. I was too headstrong, too curious. Too much of myself, and not enough of him.

Pretnja religioznom stavu ne leži u nauci, već u pretežnim praksama svakodnevnog života. Tu je čovek prestao da traži u sebi vrhovni smisao života i od sebe je napravio instrument, koji služi ekonomskoj mašini, koju su njegove ruke napravile. Njega brine efikasnost i uspeh, umesto njegove sreće i rasta njegove duše. Naročito, orijentacija koja većinom ugrožava religiozni stav je ono, što sam nazvao „tržišnom orijentacijom” modernog čoveka.

It’s funny about religion, whether it’s the religion of white Rasta kids or even my own mom it’s usually got some other point than thanks and praise. For the people doing the thanking and praising, I mean.

The Uruguayan kid was well-spoken and intelligent; he was a 21-year-old Rasta kid from Montevideo. His name was Cristobal. He seemed really interested in the products and wanted to find a job, saying that if he did not find one soon he would have to leave his girlfriend behind in Barcelona and go back to Uruguay. He had a gorgeous Spanish girlfriend; he showed me a picture, I had met her once. She was so hot, I did not even know how he had gotten close to her. So, I thought the kid had the right motives and the necessary motivation to do this job. His situation was not really that different from mine. He was kind and soft-spoken; he had innocent eyes. You could tell by his voice that he was a good person and would not do anything wrong, not even if he was forced to. I was sure he was not a Silvio-like Spaniard thief who would dare go wild stealing orders and collecting full money for half-delivered products. Silvio might even have involved the store owners, the alleged clients, in the scam to squeeze more products out of poor fool Adam, „The Goof-Proof.

I have also desisted employing the concept of ‘Rastafarianism’, a term I personally abhor which seems to be a source of confusion to outsiders and embarrassment to Rastas themselves. Almost every contemporary commentator on the movement has used this insensitive term without considering the discipline of doctrine and organisation it seems to connote. Even Garvey who did establish a rigorous ideological programme and formal organisation through which to articulate it was not keen on ‘isms’ (M. Garvey, 1967, Vol. 2, p. 334). Ras Tafari most certainly does not warrant the attachment of ‘ism’ to its name.

Jedan put u životu san se bila ošišala skoro na nulu. Bija mi je umra prijatelj. Prijatelj koji je uvik nosija kosu svezanu u rep. Dan kad smo organizirali večer u njegovu čast, večer di smo tribali čitat njegove tekstove, hodala san ulicama moga grada tražeći ulicu u kojoj ću moć stat i vrištat. Nigdi nije bilo ulice za vrištanje, ni jedna nije bila dovoljno pusta ni dovoljno velika da bi moj vrisak u nju sta, a vrisak je u meni rasta i rasta. Moran nešto napravit, moran nešto napravit. Tako san mislila, tako su se misli u mojoj glavi utrkivale i gurale i tako san blesavo virovala da možeš nešto napravit kad ti umre prijatelj. Od svih ljudi na svitu on je bija onaj koji je najmanje smija umrit. Ovo je neka greška, glupa, svemirska greška i ja moran nešto napravit i moran to popravit. I tako san naišla na frizerski salon, ušla unutra, rekla „Dobar dan, molin vas na nulu.“ Nije bilo baš do nule, ali vrlo blizu. Bija je to čin agresije i ditinjasti čin ljutnje i nanošenja boli samoj sebi. Tila san da me nešto zaboli toliko jako da smanji bol za prijateljen i ošišala san se skoro na nulu i onda san otišla na tu večer i čitala njegovu priču tako bez kose ka da to nisan ja jer da san bila ja, ne bi bila mogla pročitat ni rič. Tako smo se svemir i ja minjali, dala san mu svoju kosu, a on meni hrabrost da se popnen na binu i pročitan priču čovika koji je najmanje na svitu smija umrit.

Don’t be a “Hypocrite” and think you can “pick and choose” which black individuals you have love for, and which ones you don’t. Rastafari is about love and unity with and for the black community. Completely… truly.

conscious of your own contributions concerning your nation,

Gruodžio 31 Išnykimo estetika: ilgėtis visko, kas nesugrąžinamai pra­rasta, kas egzistavo tik vaizduotėje; žavėtis nebūties atsimini­mais ir siekti mirtingo nemirtingumo, t.y. gyventi.

क़ैद का मक़सद अपने ख़्वाब को हासिल करने का रास्ता तलाशना है Quaid ka maqsad apne khwab ko haasil karne ka rasta talashna hai LEADERSHIP IS ABOUT NEGOTIATING YOUR WAY TO YOUR VISION. Leadership is not about changing rules, giving direction. It is about facing the lobbies and negotiating your way to your vision

A man shouldn't reason with a sister unless she is his woman, or he wants her to be.

Rasta is good and Rasta is bad. Rasta is beautiful and Rasta is ugly. Rasta is madness, and Rasta is so much sense,