Rivera Quotes

كنت أريد أن أكون شيئاً آخر في الحياة. لست أدري ماذا، ولكن شيئاً آخر.

Butterflies can't see their wings. They can't see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.

Reading would make me brilliant, but writing would make me infinite.

You are the evil scientist of your desires. - Ignacio Rivera

Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes... Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman. Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself. Don’t fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; let alone one that loves poetry (these are the most dangerous), or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn't able to live without music. Don’t fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feel a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body. Don’t fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irreverent. Don’t wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back.

Jesus, holy fuck,” Rivera murmured, coming to a quick halt and looking up at the tall, hulking, tattoo-sleeved Ryker. “Boy, what’d your Mama feed you growin’ up?” he asked. “Newborn babies,” Ryker answered, scowling down at Rivera.

The greatest mistake we can make is to stay on the ground after falling.

لماذا أرتضي أن أكون مجرد حشرة حُباحب مضيئة، بينما بمقدوري أن أصير نجمة". أم ماريا، راوية الأفلام

Be careful what you ask for, Erin," Ivan warned. "I'm not the kind of man to walk away from something I want." His thumb caressed the side of my neck. "One taste of you and I won't be able to let you go.

Success is not defined by what the people around you want. It is based on what you want for yourself.

I don't trust people who claim to like everyone, because, really, how is that possible? If that is true, then you must not have any standards. If you care about your life, then there are going to be certain people you don't want in it.

You need the ocean for this: to stop believing in reality. To ask yourself impossible questions. To not know. To cease knowing. To become intoxicated by the smell. To close your eyes. To stop believing in reality.

If it’s a phase, so what? If it’s your whole life, who cares? You’re destined to evolve and understand yourself in ways you never imagined before. And you’ve got our blood running through your beautiful veins, so no matter what, you’ve been blessed with the spirit of women who know how to love.

A freedom given up is not so easily regained.

Libraries are safe but also exciting. Libraries are where nerds like me go to refuel. They are safe-havens where the polluted noise of the outside world, with all the bullies and bro-dudes and anti-feminist rhetoric, is shut out. Libraries have zero tolerance for bullshit. Their walls protect us and keep us safe from all the bastards that have never read a book for fun.

The dirtier your Bible, the cleaner your heart!

All photos speak a thousand words. This one contained a library.

I wanted her to change my world." "Mi amor, only you can change your world.

It is not about knowing, but about living.

لم أكن أروي الفيلم، بل كنت أمثّله، بل أكثر من ذلك: كنت أعيشه.

الناس جميعًا يرغبون في أن تروى لهم قصص، وأنهم يريدون الخروج لحظات من الواقع والعيش في تلك العوالم الخيالية التي تقدمها الأفلام والتمثيليات الإذاعية والروايات، بل أنهم يرغبون في أن تروى لهم أكاذيب على أن تروى تلك الأكاذيب بصورة جيدة

You're too good for me and I should be a better man and push you away--but God help me I can't. I love you, Vee.

Children remember who showed them kindness when the world tried to make them cruel.

You see, that’s the thing about a girl, Her kisses leave you breathless Her eyes become your world But it never seems to matter where she stops, lingers or starts She’ll sometimes revive it, sometimes break it, but she will always steal your heart

Freedom is not doing what we want, but what we should.

There was nowhere else she belonged but right here with him. In his life, in his home, in his arms. She was his—and it was time to stake his claim.

I've never believed in God. But I believe in Picasso.

You too know that all my eyes see, all I touch with myself, from any distance, is Diego. The caress of fabrics, the color of colors, the wires, the nerves, the pencils, the leaves, the dust, the cells, the war and the sun, everything experienced in the minutes of the non-clocks and the non-calendars and the empty non-glances, is him.

You’ll meet people that you love who fuck up constantly. You’ll learn how to weed out the assholes from the warriors. You’ll know what groups of people to stay away from because they’re not safe spaces for your heart. You’ll learn when to forgive human error and when to eradicate the unworthy from your spirit.

I understood 'microaggressions' to mean 'little bullshit acts of racism.

Dimitri appreciated the pointer but Nikolai chortled with mock disgust. "If we start talking about our feelings, I'll throw myself out that window.

I wanted to be consumed in India Rivera in whatever form she’d allow.

The Earth was singing her revolution. She was calling her brave men and women to her defense.

...There are no ‘what ifs.’ You have to jump in. You go in all the way or back off completely. Take her in with all that you’ve got or cut her loose.

Libraries are safe but also exciting. Libraries are where nerds like me go to refuel. They are safe-havens where the polluted noise of the outside world, with all the bullies and bro-dudes and anti-feminist rhetoric, is shut out. Libraries have zero tolerance for bullshit. Their walls protect us and keep us safe from all the bastards that have never read a book for fun. I

As an artist I have always tried to be faithful to my vision of life, and I have frequently been in conflict with those who wanted me to paint not what I saw but what they wished me to see.

Your life doesn’t have to be perfect for you to be proud. In fact, I think it’s the opposite: the more imperfect your life has been, the prouder you should be, because it means you’ve come that much further, and also probably had a lot more fun along the way.

I had stopped asking what really happened in order to explore the foundation of reality itself. I was in pursuit of something new, something that, in one way or another, would change the way I experienced the ocean.

It's about women of color owning their own space and their voices being treated with dignity and respect. It's about women of color not having to shout over voices to be heard. We are the dominant force almost all the time. White women are the stars of all the movies. White women are the lead speakers in feminist debates, and it's little white girls that send the nation into a frenzy when they've been kidnapped. ...check your privilege. We're the ones that need to give women of color space for their voices.

Don't you want to be neighbors?" "No." he said. "I want to be lovers. Sleep-together lovers. Wake-up together lovers. One bed." Oh, God, she was going to fall in love. She could feel it happening.

The woman looked out at the madness of the world and dared to hope. Her eyes were burning coals of stars.

We never told on each other. That was an unspoken rule.

Make your own religion out of doubt and curiosity.

We've got to make change our national pastime and hold protests more regularly than weekend parties.

I'm going to love you without being in love with you.

و الفن يا أصدقائي له ثمن *

I am an atheist and I consider religions to be a form of collective neurosis. I am not an enemy of the Catholics, as I am not an enemy of the tuberculars, the myopic or the paralytics; you cannot be an enemy of the sick, only their good friend in order to help them cure themselves.

It made sense that these adult women worked hard on their friendships, even when sex and romantic love weren't part of the equation. It made me wonder about all the ways that we are able to love each other and how movies and TV make it seem like you have to discard people once they break your heart or once the love disappears. Maybe that was a horrible lie, a complete disservice to real love.

I vowed that I would never tell anyone of my shame. They say that when you kept a secret, it eats you up inside, but I felt it was better that way. I wanted to appear strong in front of my children and my family. I didn't want anybody to know. And I would maintain my persona as Jenni, the Rivera Rebel who had never lost a fight. But deep down inside I knew I had lost a piece of myself that I would never recover. My soul had been shattered, but to the outside world I did just as I had been taught since I was a little girl; I kept my head up and continued forward. It is, after all, the Rivera way.

Read everything you can push into your skull. Read your mother’s diary. Read Assata. Read everything Gloria Steinem and bell hooks write. Read all of the poems your friends leave in your locker. Read books about your body written by people who have bodies like yours. Read everything that supports your growth as a vibrant, rebel girl human. Read because you’re tired of secrets.

The love of Christ always helps us see beyond the faults of others.

The more the level of insecurity is reduced, the more the level of faith will grow.

More important than starting well in our walk with God is to finish well.

Maldigo tus ojos que no saben ver.

Geography and mileage mean nothing. Separate is a single word that covers all distances that aren't together.

We lived loud and hard against a neighborhood built to contain us. We moved like the earth pushing its way through cement sidewalks.

Never feel bad about cutting someone out of your life—sometimes that's the only option. When you hang out with people who are true friends, you come away feeling lighter, more inspired to work hard, give love, and take care of yourself.

As long as we don't cut off our hearts, the inner workings of the universe illuminate before us.

All of the moments where I was made to feel like an outsider in a group that was supposed to have room for me added up and left me feeling so much shame.

If I had a dollar for everytime my mother told me god had a plan I'd probably buy a new prada bag.

To love another woman is to look at yourself in the mirror and determine that you are worthy of the galaxy and its fury. To love another woman is to love yourself more than you love her.

I recommend her to you, not as a husband but as an enthusiastic admirer of her work, acid and tender, hard as steel and delicate and fine as a butterfly's wing, lovable as a beautiful smile, and as profound and cruel as the bitterness of life.

Our expectation in ourselves must be higher than our expectation in others.

Whatever you do, Mija, do your best. Be different from everyone. Stand out.

I waited so long to see if you'd change. And you didn't even look at me.

Contar una película es como contar un sueño. Contar una vida es como contar un sueño o una película.

(...)my mom was the gravitational pull that kept me stuck to this Earth

I can’t decide if that’s incredibly romantic or borderline stalker behavior.

So when life gives me lemons, I say fuck it and drink champagne.

I would be perfectly happy to wake up to find you wearing absolutely nothing in the mornings. Think of all the laundry it would save.

Ne žališ za danima kada ništa drugo nisi radio već si čekao da ti prođe vrijeme, nego žališ za onim godinama kada si nešto od sebe htio.

You gonna get a cut?” Blue Lips asked. “I’m afraid of looking like a dyke,” I said. “Are you a dyke?” “I think so.” “Then no matter what you do with your hair, you’re gonna look like a dyke,” Blue Lips said. They

Precarious, life is. A flying leap. A sweep of hand. A star flung across the night. A lucky catch in this whirling juggling circus act. From Steam Drills, Treadmills, and Shooting Stars

A strange thing happens when one speaks aloud: words take on their own meaning. They move in through the listener's ears and make themselves at home, decorating their meaning with whatever memories they find lying around.

My colors ran all over the page, poured out of the lines and meshed together to form colors no one had yet recognized. I was different–unique, bold, strong, smart, and hard-headed. I was simply me.

Freedom keeps us soaring, but quarreling destroys our ability to fly.

El futuro es una escalera infinita.

To live is to walk beside Death but never join hands. ~ Captain Buck "Slackeye" Roberts

Communism doesn't work because it's boring.

We should also be strategists in our lives and at work, and this is a simple and fun task.

All of the women in my life were telling me the same thing. My story, my truth, my life, my voice, all of that had to be protected and put out into the world by me. No one else.

Stability is the enemy of great things

لقد كانت روايتي للأفلام تخرجهم من ذلك العدم الفظ الذي تعنيه الصحراء وتنقلهم ولو لوقت قصير إلى عوالم بديعة مليئة بالحب والأحلام والمغامرات، وبدلًا من أن يروا تلك العوالم معكوسة على شاشة سينما كان بإمكان كل واحد منهم أن يتخيلها على هواه

So we just…we take it slow." With a mischievous grin, she added, "And even if you totally screw it up, I won't know right? What else do I have to compare it to, Kolya?" He snorted with amusement. "You really know how to encourage a man.

In my family they always called me "unbreakable", and I never wanted to shatter this image of myself. On the outside I kept my head up and maintained my tough girl image. However inside I was dying.

He pulled me upright, my back against his hot, hard chest. Brushing aside my hair, he started a long trail of ticklish kisses that followed the curve of my spine and ended on my left buttock. Without warning, his massive paw smacked my plump cheek. "Sergei!" I gasped and tried to slide away from him but he held tight. "This ass of yours has been tempting me for months. The least you deserve is that single spanking.

Tommy, I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before. If you repeat it, I'll deny I said it. Five years ago I saw a white owl with a seventy-foot wingspan swoop out of the sky and pluck a demon off a hillside and take off into the sky." "I heard that cops get the best drugs," Tommy said.

Hearing him talk business made me so hot. "Okay," I said a bit breathlessly. "That was ridiculously sexy." He laughed. "Kitten, if you think that's sexy, I've got piles of quarterly earnings estimates in my briefcase that I'd be happy to read to you." "Tease." I thumped his chest. "I do love a good bedtime story.

Dear Claire, "What" and "If" are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: What if? What if? What if? I don't know how your story ended but if what you felt then was true love, then it's never too late. If it was true then, why wouldn't it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart. I don't know what a love like Juliet's feels like - love to leave loved ones for, love to cross oceans for but I'd like to believe if I ever were to feel it, that I will have the courage to seize it. And, Claire, if you didn't, I hope one day that you will. All my love, Juliet

From sunrise to sunset, I was in the forest, sometimes far from the house, with my goat who watched me as a mother does a child. All the animals in the forest became my friends, even dangerous and poisonous ones. Thanks to my goat-mother and my Indian nurse, I have always enjoyed the trust of animals--a precious gift. I still love animals infinitely more than human beings.

فعلى خلفية شاشة الغروب تلك كنت أرى أبي يمضي على كرسيه ذي العجلات، وأرى مضي إخوتي، واحدا واحدا، وأمي بمناديلها الحريرية التى تخفق مع الريح أراهم يمضون مغادرين مثلما غادر سكان المعسكر المنجمي كلهم! أراههم يتلاشون فى ألافق مثل سراب، بينما تكون الموسيقي التصويرية آخذة فى الانطفاء شيئا فشيئا! وعلى ظلالهم تظهر، بحزم وحتمية، الكلمة التي لايرغب أحد في الحياة فى قراتها..... النهاية

Vivir en duelo es esto: nunca estar sola. Invisible pero patente de muchas formas, la presencia de los muertos nos acompaña en los minúsculos intersticios de los días. Por sobre el hombro, a un lado de la voz, en el eco de cada paso. Arriba de las ventanas, en el filo del horizonte, entre las sombras de los árboles. Siempre están allá y siempre están aquí, con y adentro de nosotros, y afuera, envolviéndonos con su calidez, protegiéndonos de la intemperie. Éste es el trabajo del duelo: reconocer su presencia, decirle que sí a su presencia. Siempre hay otros ojos viendo lo que veo e imaginar ese otro ángulo, imaginar lo que unos sentidos que no son los míos podrían apreciar a través de mis sentidos es, bien mirado, una definición puntual del amor. El duelo es el fin de la soledad.

No te enamores de una mujer que lee, de una mujer que siente demasiado, de una mujer que escribe… No te enamores de una mujer culta, maga, delirante, loca. No te enamores de una mujer que piensa, que sabe lo que sabe y además sabe volar; una mujer segura de sí misma. No te enamores de una mujer que se ríe o llora haciendo el amor, que sabe convertir en espíritu su carne; y mucho menos de una que ame la poesía (esas son las más peligrosas), o que se quede media hora contemplando una pintura y no sepa vivir sin la música. No te enamores de una mujer a la que le interese la política y que sea rebelde y vertigue un inmenso horror por las injusticias.Una a la que le gusten los juegos de fútbol y de pelota y no le guste para nada ver televisión. Ni de una mujer que es bella sin importar las características de su cara y de su cuerpo. No te enamores de una mujer intensa, lúdica y lúcida e irreverente. No quieras enamorarte de una mujer así. Porque cuando te enamoras de una mujer como esa, se quede ella contigo o no, te ame ella o no, de ella, de una mujer así, JAMAS se regresa.

How am I supposed to be this honest? I know you’re not a Magic 8 Ball. You’re just some lady that wrote a book. I fall asleep with that book in my arms because words protect hearts and I’ve got this ache in my chest that won’t go away. I read Raging Flower and now I dream of raised fists and solidarity marches led by matriarchs fueled by café con leche where I can march alongside cigar-smoking doñas and Black Power dykes and all the world’s weirdos and no one is left out. And no one is living a lie.

لقد قرأت ذات مرة في مكان ما -أو ربما شاهدت في فيلم- أنه عندما كان الألمان ينقلون اليهود في عربات القطارات المغلقة المخصصة للماشية، ليس لها سوى فتحة واحدة في الجزء العلوي كي يدخل إليها الهواء، وبينما هم يمضون عبر الحقول الشذية وسط الأعشاب الغضّة، كانوي يختارون أفضل راوٍ بينهم ويجعلونه يصعد فوق أكتافهم ويرفعونه حتى الفتحة العلوية كي يصف لهم المشهد في الخارج ويروي لهم ما يراه مع مرور القطار .. إنني واثقة الآن من أن كثيرين منهم كانوا يفضلون تخيل تلك الروائع التي يرويها زميلهم على أن يتمتعوا هم أنفسهم بامتياز النظر من تلك الفتحة

I know it was personally right, it was divinely right, for those apostles to hear what Jesus said and to tarry for the Holy Spirit; however, it is not right now to tarry for the Holy Spirit. Then why do we not all receive the Holy Spirit, you ask? Because our bodies are not ready for it; our temples are not cleansed. When our temples are purified and our minds are put in order so that carnalities and fleshly desires and everything contrary to the Spirit have gone, then the Holy Spirit can take full charge. The Holy Spirit is not a manifestation of carnality. There are any number of people who never read the Word of God who could not be led away by the powers of Satan. But the power of the Holy Spirit is most lovely, divine in all its construction. It is a great refiner. It is full of life, but it is always divine—never natural. If you deal in the flesh after you are baptized in the Holy Spirit, you cease to go on. Beloved, I want to speak about something greater; something to lift your minds, elevate your thoughts, and bring you into divine ways; something that elevates you out of yourself and into God, out of the world and into a place where you know you have rest for your feet, where you cease from your own works (Heb. 4:10), and where God works in you mightily “to will and to do for His good pleasure” (Phil. 2:13). When I think about a river—a pure, holy, divine river—I say, “What can stand against its inrush?” Wherever it is—in a railway coach, in the street, or in a meeting—its power and flow will always be felt; it will always do its work. Jesus spoke about the Holy Spirit that was to be given. I want you to think about how God gave it, how its coming was manifested, and its reception and its outflow after it had come.

From the outside, Cory’s life looked perfect—money, fame, beautiful girlfriend, millions of adoring fans—but I guess his same old demons were still there, raising as much mental and emotional hell as they always had. Maybe even more, now that everything was supposed to be okay. I think this is a common misconception about fame, or any kind of marker of “success” in life, be it landing your dream job, getting married, or having a kid: people think that you achieve these goals, you check off certain boxes, and all of a sudden life’s perfect and you don’t have any problems. That’s not true. You’re still going to wake up every morning, and your problems will still be there unless you figure out a way to make them go away. And more often than not, new ones will show up in their place. I

It infuriates him, this killing, this death. Infuriating that this is what we’re known for now, drug cartels and slaughter. This my city of Avenida 16 Septembre, the Victoria Theater, cobblestone streets, the bullring, La Central, La Fogata, more bookstores than El Paso, the university, the ballet, garapiñados, pan dulce, the mission, the plaza, the Kentucky Bar, Fred’s—now it’s known for these idiotic thugs. And my country, Mexico—the land of writers and poets—of Octavio Paz, Juan Rulfo, Carlos Fuentes, Elena Garro, Jorge Volpi, Rosario Castellanos, Luis Urrea, Elmer Mendoza, Alfonso Reyes—the land of painters and sculptors—Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Gabriel Orozco, Pablo O’Higgins, Juan Soriano, Francisco Goitia—of dancers like Guillermina Bravo, Gloria and Nellie Campobello, Josefina Lavalle, Ana Mérida, and composers—Carlos Chávez, Silvestre Revueltas, Agustín Lara, Blas Galindo—architects—Luis Barragán, Juan O’Gorman, Tatiana Bilbao, Michel Rojkind, Pedro Vásquez—wonderful filmmakers—Fernando de Fuentes, Alejandro Iñárritu, Luis Buñuel, Alfonso Cuarón, Guillermo del Toro—actors like Dolores del Río, “La Doña” María Félix, Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Salma Hayek—now the names are “famous” narcos—no more than sociopathic murderers whose sole contribution to the culture has been the narcocorridas sung by no-talent sycophants. Mexico, the land of pyramids and palaces, deserts and jungles, mountains and beaches, markets and gardens, boulevards and cobblestoned streets, broad plazas and hidden courtyards, is now known as a slaughter ground. And for what? So North Americans can get high.

home, alone in my room, with the sounds of #2 and #5 trains rumbling in the distance, I started with a letter to myself. Dear Juliet, Repeat after me: You are a bruja. You are a warrior. You are a feminist. You are a beautiful brown babe. Surround yourself with other beautiful brown and black and indigenous and morena and Chicana, native, Indian, mixed race, Asian, gringa, boriqua babes. Let them uplift you. Rage against the motherfucking machine. Question everything anyone ever says to you or forces down your throat or makes you write a hundred times on the blackboard. Question every man that opens his mouth and spews out a law over your body and spirit. Question every single thing until you find the answer in a daydream. Don’t question yourself unless you hurt someone else. When you hurt someone else, sit down, and think, and think, and think, and then make it right. Apologize when you fuck up. Live forever. Consult the ancestors while counting stars in the galaxy. Hold wisdom under tongue until it’s absorbed into the bloodstream. Do not be afraid. Do not doubt yourself. Do not hide Be proud of your inhaler, your cane, your back brace, your acne. Be proud of the things that the world uses to make you feel different. Love your fat fucking glorious body. Love your breasts, hips, and wide-ass if you have them and if you don’t, love the body you do have or the one you create for yourself. Love the fact that you have ingrown hairs on the back of your thighs and your grandma’s mustache on your lips. Read all the books that make you whole. Read all the books that pull you out of the present and into the future. Read all the books about women who get tattoos, and break hearts, and rob banks, and start heavy metal bands. Read every single one of them. Kiss everyone. Ask first. Always ask first and then kiss the way stars burn in the sky. Trust your lungs. Trust the Universe. Trust your damn self. Love hard, deep, without restraint or doubt Love everything that brushes past your skin and lives inside your soul. Love yourself. In La Virgen’s name and in the name of Selena, Adiosa.

On the TV screen in Harry's is The Patty Winters Show, which is now on in the afternoon and is up against Geraldo Rivera, Phil Donahue and Oprah Winfrey. Today's topic is Does Economic Success Equal Happiness? The answer, in Harry's this afternoon, is a roar of resounding "Definitely," followed by much hooting, the guys all cheering together in a friendly way. On the screen now are scenes from President Bush's inauguration early this year, then a speech from former President Reagan, while Patty delivers a hard-to-hear commentary. Soon a tiresome debate forms over whether he's lying or not, even though we don't, can't, hear the words. The first and really only one to complain is Price, who, though I think he's bothered by something else, uses this opportunity to vent his frustration, looks inappropriately stunned, asks, "How can he lie like that? How can he pull that shit?" "Oh Christ," I moan. "What shit? Now where do we have reservations at? I mean I'm not really hungry but I would like to have reservations somewhere. How about 220?" An afterthought: "McDermott, how did that rate in the new Zagat's?" "No way," Farrell complains before Craig can answer. "The coke I scored there last time was cut with so much laxative I actually had to take a shit in M.K." "Yeah, yeah, life sucks and then you die." "Low point of the night," Farrell mutters. "Weren't you with Kyria the last time you were there?" Goodrich asks. "Wasn't that the low point?" "She caught me on call waiting. What could I do?" Farrell shrugs. "I apologize." "Caught him on call waiting." McDermott nudges me, dubious. "Shut up, McDermott," Farrell says, snapping Craig's suspenders. "Date a beggar." "You forgot something, Farrell," Preston mentions. "McDermott is a beggar." "How's Courtney?" Farrell asks Craig, leering. "Just say no." Someone laughs. Price looks away from the television screen, then at Craig, and he tries to hide his displeasure by asking me, waving at the TV, "I don't believe it. He looks so... normal. He seems so... out of it. So... un dangerous." "Bimbo, bimbo," someone says. "Bypass, bypass." "He is totally harmless, you geek. Was totally harmless. Just like you are totally harmless. But he did do all that shit and you have failed to get us into 150, so, you know, what can I say?" McDermott shrugs. "I just don't get how someone, anyone, can appear that way yet be involved in such total shit," Price says, ignoring Craig, averting his eyes from Farrell. He takes out a cigar and studies it sadly. To me it still looks like there's a smudge on Price's forehead. "Because Nancy was right behind him?" Farrell guesses, looking up from the Quotrek. "Because Nancy did it?" "How can you be so fucking, I don't know, cool about it?" Price, to whom something really eerie has obviously happened, sounds genuinely perplexed. Rumor has it that he was in rehab.