Rodgers Quotes

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?

Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there.

I often lose motivation, but it's something I accept as normal.

I look into your eyes and I’m sure that some divine artist dipped her brush in the same soul and used it to paint us both.

Climb every mountain, Ford every stream, Follow every rainbow, 'Till you find your dream. A dream that will need All the love you can give, Every day of your life For as long as you live

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a woman too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem?

Lots of people imagine wrongly that 'My Favorite Things' is one of my compositions; I would have loved to have written it, but it's by Rodgers and Hammerstein.

The price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.

Listen closely. Even the trees exhale sweet love songs that roll off their boughs and echo out to all of creation. Love is always in the air.

Don't let yesterday use up too much of today.

I do not make love, Miss Bennet," he had told her."I bonk. I have it off. I get my end way, I rodger, I boff.

to the everlasting glory of the infantry, shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young!

Summer rushes in on the heels of spring, eager to take her turn; and then she dances with wild abandon. But the time soon comes when she gratefully falls, exhausted and sated, into the auburn arms of autumn.

You might be on the right track but if you don't move on, you'll get hit by a train.

My mind is the sun, and my heart is the moon. In the sky between them, there I am. Cristen Rodgers

If God wants to move me, then I go! Yes, I am scared. Yes, I doubt. Yes, I am afraid things will crumble around me. Yes, I know this will be tough and this stress will sometimes seem unbearable. Yes, I know life will never be the same. But God wants to use ME! I am not saying no. I have my call. I must go!

We're all here for a spell; get all the good laughs you can.

Dear Genevieve,” she would say, “I love that you are full of finer feelings and insist upon protecting me from myself, but if you do not rodger me this instant, I may perish away for the lack.“ Although, did two ladies together call it rodgering? Or was there a proper, more feminine word? Gertruding, perhaps?

Solitude is an unmarked place beyond the borders of the map, a place where most fear to tread. It’s no surprise, then, that this is where the greatest secrets and most valuable treasures are hidden.

I think a lot of times, the things you can't measure are often the things that give people the most success.

There's a traditional Kenyan prayer: "From the cowardice that dares not deal with new truth, from the laziness that is content with half-truth, from the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth, Good Lord, deliver me.

We can’t choose our poetic fathers any more than our biological ones — but we can choose how to come to terms with them.

The moon doesn’t consider one phase better than another. She just glows, equally stunning at each turn. Why should we be any different?

In everything that I go through and experience, I know that God is at my side directing my path and shining a light to my future.

You have to have been out on a long patrol to appreciate this properly. You need to have looked forward to your day of guard duty, for the privilege of standing two hours out of each six with your spine against bulkhead thirty and your ears cocked for just the sound of a female voice. I suppose it's actually easier in the all-stag ships... but I'll take the Rodger Young. It's good to know that the ultimate reason you are fighting actually exists and that they are not just a figment of the imagination.

Maybe the moon just lost herself gazing too long at the brilliance of the sun and that’s how she got her glow. And maybe we’re made of the same mysterious sort of magic that makes us magnify and mirror whatever we look at the most.

A writer must get beyond the thrill of a byline, plunge deeper than the words themselves, and dive head-on into a bottomless pit where all the good stories are swimming around waiting to be rescued from the soul.” Kathleen M. Rodgers ~ 1998

Everybody is ignorant. Only on different subjects. An ignorant person is one who doesn’t know what you just found out.

I think my knowledge of music theory is rooted in jazz theory, and a lot of the writers of standards – Rodgers and Hart, and Gershwin.

The history of popular music is littered with great partnerships. Rodgers had his Hammerstein, Lennon had his McCartney, and Lloyd Webber had… his photocopier…

Some Me of Beauty I took a good long look at myself in a full length mirror Sometimes it’s good to look in a full length mirror And what I saw was not some soul sister poetess of the moment But I saw just a woman Just a woman feeling Just a woman human And what I felt was What I felt was a spiritual revelation And what I felt was a root revival of some love coming on Coming on strong And I knew then, looking in a full length mirror, That many things were over And some me of beauty was about to begin

Thinking negative thoughts is a form of self-sabotage that keeps you “safe” and therefore stagnant. Even if the status quo is uncomfortable or makes you unhappy, it feels safer than trying to do something new.

Don’t hide your hurt, beautiful soul. Grab a hold of it. Run it through the purifying flame of your heart and mold it into something beautiful. Allow the depths of your pain to expand the breadth of your compassion. Gather up your stumbling stones and build a bridge for someone else. Remember what it’s like to be lost in darkness so you can be someone else’s much needed light. Don’t deny your pain or bury it away. Let it rise to the surface. And then transform it into something that makes it worthwhile.

I faced the hallway. My feet and my brain discussed the situation very, very briefly, a la: Feet: He’s right there. Brain: Go get him. Feet: Rodger that, we’re on our way. Then my feet moved me toward the open door of the office.

Show tunes are great. Stephen Sondheim. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Wicked. Rent. The Music Man. Almost any musical will do. Except Cats.” “Why? Doesn’t it shut out the voices?” “No, it shuts them out fine. But it’s a terrible musical.

Often in the summer, as I go to or come from the vestry, I sit down for a moment on the turf that covers my old friend Rodgers, and think that this body of mine is everyday moldering away, til it shall fall a heap of dust into it's appointed place. But what is that to me? It is to me the drawing nigh of the fresh morning of life when I shall be young and strong again, glad in the presence of the wise and beloved dead, and unspeakably glad in the presence of God.

Sometimes what’s dead must be burned away to make room for new life. Sometimes you just have to step back and let the brittle bits ignite - but once those flames begin to dance their caustic dance, don’t you dare look the other way. Don’t close your eyes. Watch closely and let that image seer itself forever on your mind. Remember what it looked like in the midst of the soot, the smoke, and the haze. Remember, so you don’t repeat the same conditions that required such a blaze.

The sweetest sounds I'll ever hear are still inside my head.

For some the truth is too painful to hear. For others, it’s a healing balm. This is why I write - to heal.

Raw ingredients trump recipes every time; farmers and ranchers who coax the best from the earth can make any of us appear to be a great cook.

We share the same water in our veins, air in our lungs, the same dust in our bones. We are two petals on the same flower of life, my friend.

At times there will be fire; this we can't avoid. But it's up to us to decide whether it will consume or it will purify.

We all have a unique art, our personal passion that serves as a vessel through which our souls can speak. True happiness is found by filling it, and purpose is fulfilled by pouring it out.

Let's nurture our spirits until they shine; and then let's strip down to our naked souls and dance through life until we drop little bits of light behind us that glow like fireflies in the night.

Which would have advanced the most at the end of a month—the boy who had made his own jackknife from the ore which he had dug and smelted, reading as much as would be necessary for this—or the boy who had attended the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in the meanwhile, and had received a Rodgers' penknife from his father? Which would be most likely to cut his fingers?... To my astonishment I was informed on leaving college that I had studied navigation!—why, if I had taken one turn down the harbor I should have known more about it. Even the poor student studies and is taught only political economy, while that economy of living which is synonymous with philosophy is not even sincerely professed in our colleges. The consequence is, that while he is reading Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Say, he runs his father in debt irretrievably.

You've got to be taught To hate and fear, You've got to be taught From year to year, It's got to be drummed In your dear little ear You've got to be carefully taught.

Even if you're on the right track you'll get run over if you just sit there.

Nard and I thought it over and came up with some answers via 'band logic,' not to be confused with actual logic.

Dear God. Mommy is going through a really hard time. I see the way she's given up. I know you can change everything around for her. I just know it.

Just breathe! The story isn’t over yet. The maiden will be rescued. The hero will be brave. A new chapter will begin.

I already have Tangled Webs and Blood throughout the night out. look out for Night of the Beast all great reads.

You can't multiply wealth by dividing it

You can't make the poor rich, by making the rich poor

Whenever I feel afraid I hold my head erect and whistle a happy tune.

We are all gardeners, planting seeds of intention and watering them with attention in every moment of every day.

Be still my hand and let the words write themselves upon my heart. Be still my heart and let your pages be filled in silence.

The other day, lying in bed, I felt my heart beating for the first time in a long while. I realised how little I live in my body, how much in my mind.

Walk on, walk on With hope in your heart And you’ll never walk alone

We all looked at Shelton, who rolled his eyes. “Like my vote matters now.” Hi patted his back. “If it makes you feel better, your vote’s never mattered.” “Hilarious.” Shelton rubbed his face. “I hope my parole officer finds you as funny.” I sprang up and hurried for the exit, stopping Chance with a hand on his shoulder. “Give me a second alone with Ben. He’s still worked up, probably needs a few minutes to decompress.” Chance’s expression soured, but he held back. Hi fired a shooter my way. “Good idea. We need him mission focused. Rodger dodger.” Shelton covered his face with his hands. “Enough already.

God feels loved when: I pray I read my Bible I ask Him before I do something I say good things about Him I introduce Him to others I want to know more about Him I have faith in Him I make it all about Him

Rodgers and Hart, Gershwin, Bob Dylan, Ray Charles, Carole King, The Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder, Kyu Sakamoto’s “Sukiyaki Song,” “Blue Velvet,” “Green Fields.” Sometimes she would close her eyes and nod or hum to the melody.

Gina Rodgers raised her hand, triggering a class-wide bristle. Everyone wanted to impress Mr. Tipton, but it was Gina who always raised her hand first, like he was going to fall in love with her for her 4.3 GPA or something.

The universe is a deep, still body of water in which we all swim. Every move that we make creates a ripple that echoes across reality – and the deeper that we swim, the more force those waves carry and the farther they may span.

...which among you does not know and suffer under such benevolent despots? It is in vain you say to them, 'Dear madam, I took Podgers' specific at your orders last year, and believe in it. Why, why, am I to recant and accept the Rodger's articles now?' There is no help for it; the faithful proselytizer, if she cannot convice by argument, bursts into tears, and the recusant finds himself, at the end of the conteest, taking down the bolus, and saying, 'Well, well, Rodger's be it.

One of the foster carers kept a video library of musicals that we worked our way through en famille at weekends, and so, although I fervently wish that I wasn’t, I’m very familiar with the work of Lionel Bart, Rodgers and Hammerstein et al. Knowing I was here on the street where he lived was giving me a funny feeling, fluttery and edgy, verging on euphoric. I could almost understand why that frock-coated buffoon from My Fair Lady had felt the need to bellow about it outside Audrey Hepburn’s window.

I promise from now on to always make time for at least one more. One more chapter before I turn out the light and float off to sleep. One more kiss before I sink into this sea of words and search for meaning to bring back up with me. One more stretch and one more wiggle of my toes before I jump out of bed; and one more moment in meditation before I re-emerge. One more full, deep breath and one more look at the sunset. One more touch, one more smile, one more moment of stillness, of gratitude, of simplicity, of love. From now on, I’ll always make room for one more because you never know when one more is all you’ll ever have.

At the Rodgers that night, the president all but anointed Hamilton as the keeper of the flame. His "primary message," he said, was to remind people of the need to keep hoping and to work together, but "this performance undoubtedly described it better than I ever could." The most important affinity that Hamilton will carry into its future isn't a specific message, though, political or otherwise: It's an underlying belief in stories, and their power to change the world. Good community organizer that he is, the president knows that stories can be an engine for empathy, and a way to show people what they share. It's why he introduced himself, in that first big speech in 2004, by telling his own story. In the years to come, some of the many, many kids who are going to see and even perform Hamilton will be newly inspired to tell their stories too. Every time they do, the newly kaleidoscopic America will understand itself a little more. "I can do that," they'll say. And if they're like Alexander Hamilton, they'll add, "And I can do it better.

According to the Buddhist tradition,” he began, “there is no sort of conversion or missionary work. It is not good to ask someone to follow a different faith. Yet, because there are so many different mental dispositions, one religion simply cannot serve, cannot satisfy all people.

The fact is that most women accept whatever salary they are offered, without saying a peep. Sixty percent of women never negotiate for higher pay, never ever, not even once in their entire career.1 If you are serious about building wealth, you must stop leaving money on the table.

I'm just thinking about marriage," I admit. "How do you know when you've found the right person?" Lee looks up, as if thinking very seriously about my question. "I always felt that the right one will be an extension of you. What you like, they like. What you respect, they will respect. What you value, they will value. I always envisioned marriage to be a true partnership, where one lifts up the other so that everyone wins.

In my family, I was adopted. In this process, I was given a new name and a new way of living my life, having something I've never had before. That's the kind of identity God wants to give you; He wants to make you brand new. He wants to introduce you to the life only He can bring.

The songs he chose reflected that same withdrawn, private man, but this man had the gift of expressing his inner soulscape through the medium of some of the 20th century’s finest songwriters, from Rodgers and Hart to Antonio Carlos Jobim to Jimmy Webb, and as always, making those songs his own.

Libby, not all the gays have an encyclopedic knowledge of the American musical theater. It's not like they hand you a DVD box set of of the Rodgers and Hammerstein Collection in a Liza Minnelli souvenir tote bag when you come out.' 'Well, they should. I'd totally be gay for a Liza Minnelli tote bag.

To all you writers, artists, musicians, creative types who want to give up: It's okay to walk away for a bit. Get your second wind. But your writing, art, music will be there, lurking over your shoulder, and it will call to you, and you will answer. And come back even stronger.” ― Kathleen M. Rodgers

Another contraction came, and she dug her fingers into Knox’s arm. “Okay, Harper, time to push again,” Sharon declared. Harper pushed. There was a loud farting sound. Her mouth dropped open in mortification, but then Rodgers gave her a sheepish look and said, “Sorry about that. I had chicken korma before I came.

I love letting my soul soar on a summer breeze, or getting entranced by the rhythm of the sea. It carries you off on its currents until you’re completely lost and then drops you back on the shores of reality with salt on your cheeks and grains of dreams running through your fingers like sand. It’s almost an occasional necessity – I guess because when you get completely, fantastically, dizzyingly lost you’re temporarily suspended between what has been and what could be. In those first moments when you come back up for air, or when you float back down to the ground, you’re living in the land of possibility, where you understand that reality can stretch just as far as you’re willing to dream.

Elliot Rodger didn’t become a killer because he was a misogynist; he became a misogynist because he was a killer. Just like Eric Harris didn’t become a killer because he loved violent video games; he loved violent video games because he was a killer. Just like Adam Lanza didn’t become a killer because he loved guns; he loved guns because he was a killer.

A moan slipped out of Harper as she began to tremble. “It’s like my blood’s sizzling.” “Sizzling?” Rodgers echoed. “That doesn’t sound good.” She scratched at her skin, eyes wide. “Shit, I feel like my veins are going to explode.” “That’s not good either,” said Rodgers. Knox’s hand tightened around the phone. “We’re fucking well aware that it’s not good.

INTELLIGENCE 1ST!!!

There's no lie in his smile, no veil 'cross his eyes. He breathes fire too hot for a plastic disguise.

The marathon will humble you. But the truth is, sometimes it will do more than humble you. Sometimes it will break your heart.

Sometimes the purpose of the rose is simply to draw attention to the rose.

WHEN YOU DOUBLE YOUR PRICES, EVERYONE WINS

Sorry about your bad luck.

What sells a book sells a book, same in traditional or self-publishing. You gotta shake your tail feathers.

Even now I steal outdoors in the dead of night to sit on the tree swing and watch the shadows breathe in the moonlight.

The air has a voice and it whispers trouble, trouble.

Defiance may be the roughest path to beauty but, unfortunately, often it is the only path.

As he returned to the bed, he could see Vallant eyeing him warily, but he ignored this, sat on the opposite end and braced the pad on his knee. You think after all that, I will leave? What sort of monster do you take me for? You think I could be that callous? No better than the piece of filth who used you, nor the soulless fiend who sold you? He ripped off the page and handed it over, but he began a second note even before Vallant had taken the first from his hand. Is this bastard still alive? I assume not, that Rodger had him strangled? He had to pause, forcing his grip on the pencil to lighten before he went on. I want his name, if he isn't already dispatched. I'm not without resources or influence. And I'm very difficult to prosecute.

A sunset is God's way of saying He loves you. A good grade on a test is God's way of saying He loves you. Throughout any given day, God makes it so that you are comforted, secure and loved.

Because, in our society, to be obsessed with a vision about how to make a better automobile makes you a genius, but to be obsessed with a vision about the nature of reality makes you a nut.

We are all the authors of our own fates; but we have gotten so lost in the technicalities of forming letters and stringing words together that we've forgotten what it really means to write.

Oh, of course I stumble. There are times when I’m confidently skipping along and then I trip over my own poorly-placed steps and fall face first into the thickets. But I think there’s a sort of beauty in falling. Each time I fall, I’m reminded that I’m still human, that I’m still learning, that there will always be more lessons, growth, and discovery up ahead. So, although I have times when I’m weak, when I’m critical of myself, or I lose hope, I wouldn’t give them up for the world. I cherish them – because it’s the risk of falling that makes life a grand adventure rather than just a guided tour.

Satire is a good tool for highlighting flaws or short-comings, but it is also a way to goad individuals, groups and governments into improvement, by juxtaposing reality with absurdity and not having a giant chasm in between.

I have the cedar box safely tucked away in my bedroom closet, but its ghosts follow me about the house, distracting me from my work, interrupting my train of thought, pulling at my limbs and hair, whispering gossip in my ear.

Jim Rohn quote: “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.”4 Don’t believe me? Let me drop some science. Dr. David McClelland, renowned social psychologist, Harvard professor, and author, studied human motivation for more than thirty years. As discussed in chapter 3, he found that “95 percent of your success or failure in life is determined by the people with whom you habitually associate.” Ninety-five percent, my friend.

I decided a long time ago that I didn’t want to go into comedy to make money. I just want to perform on that stage. If I do make money, then... great! But if I don’t, that’s okay. I’m satisfied living out this calling any way I can.

I remember it taking place. They were dangerous back then. We were shut up, stopped in every way, detained by their power. They could just say one word and we had to leave! It was a horrible time for our kind." "What happened?" I ask, my strength slowly returning. "Well, when their leader left, years went by and a new normal set in, it became easier to get a hold on people. We came out of hiding. This, this right here is a great time for us. There are so many avenues and outlets for us to use!

She climbs a tree And scrapes her knee Her dress has got a tear. She waltzes on her way to mass And whistles on the stair. And underneath her wimple She has curlers in her hair! Maria's not an asset to the abbey. She's always late for chapel, But her penitence is real. She's always late for everything! Except for every meal. I hate to have to say it But I very firmly feel Maria's not an asset to the abbey! I'd like to say a word on her behalf. Maria makes me laugh. How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means Maria? A flibbertigibbet! A will o' the wisp! A clown! Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her, Many a thing she ought to understand. But how do you make her stay And listen to all you say, How do you keep a wave upon the sand? Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? When I'm with her I'm confused Out of focus and bemused, And I never know exactly where I am. Unpredictable as weather, She's as flighty as a feather, She's a darling, She's a demon, She's a lamb. She'd out-pester any pest, Drive a hornet from his nest, She can throw a whirling dervish out of whirl. She is gentle, She is wild, She's a riddle. She's a child. She's a headache! She's an angel! She's a girl. How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means Maria? A flibbertigibbet! A will o' the wisp! A clown! Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her, Many a thing she ought to understand. But how do you make her stay? And listen to all you say? How do you keep a wave upon the sand? Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? "Maria" from The Sound of Music

But what about the spot brokers themselves? A few drifted to banks where they became traders or, more commonly, salesmen. Some simply retired or found work outside finance. Anecdotally, a number of them became London black-cab drivers. In around 2003 I met one who had done just that. I struck up a conversation with him as he took me home from the office; his name was Mickey. ‘I used to be a spot broker,’ he told me after he found out where I worked, ‘it was great.’ We reminisced for a while about the way the FX market had been, then, as we approached my street, he said, a little sadly, ‘But it had to end, we couldn’t beat the computers – they ate us all alive.’ We arrived outside my house where I got out and paid him. As he began to drive off, he slowed down and shouted back at me, ‘They ate us alive – and they’ll do it to everyone!’ With that, he turned the corner and drove out of sight.