Rogers Lee Quotes

The door opened. "We're here," said Mrs. Rogers. Aunt Myra came in. "Now!" said Amelia Bedelia. "Greetings, greetings, greetings," said the three children. "What's that about?" said Mrs. Rogers. "You said to greet Aunt Myra with Carols," said Amelia Bedelia. "Here's Carol Lee, Carol Green, and Carol Lake." "What lovely Carols," said Aunt Myra. "Thank you.

Roger, listening intently, couldn't keep from asking a question at this point. Is it true Colonel Stark said 'Don't fire till you see the whites of their eyes?' Lee coughed discreetly. Well sir. I couldn't say for sure as no one said that, but I didn't hear it myself. Mind, I DID hear one colonel call out, 'Any whoreson fool wastes his powder afore the bastards are close enough to kill is gonna get his musket shoved up his arse butt-first!

Maybe we only move when the thoughts have already told the future of our actions and it's like clockwork giving the illusion we have control over anything.

True freedom and individuality only exists in the lack of society and structured order in itself to keep our animalistic passions and tremblings in check.

Life is full of surprises. When your day is wonderful, cherish it. When it becomes difficult, stay strong. There are no guarantees on how many days you have left, so be grateful for each and every one of them.

I feel so alone because it's like I just don't know what I'm doing really. I have a sense of what I want to do, something great, something important, but I never get anywhere and I never do anything. I'm just existing. Existing without a purpose or meaning,

Our nostalgic snow tundra oceanic mind and endlessly consistent state of imagination feeds our autumn driven ambition for a place other than this world we live and die in every day. We will be the cult and the cause to disassemble this structure bound to us like vein bridges keeping us moving in our stoic states of stasis.

Is there something I can do for you?” he said. “Good morning.” I straightened myself. “I’m Soo-Lin Lee-Segal, the new admin.” “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. “We’ve actually met. I have a son, Lincoln, at Galer Street, in Bee’s class.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course.” The Dev lead, Pablo, popped his head in. “It’s a beautiful day, neighbor.” (Everyone on the team teases Elgin with Mr. Rogers references. It’s a quirk of Elgin’s, apparently, that as soon as he gets inside, like Mr. Rogers, he removes his shoes. Even on his TEDTalk, which I just rewatched, Elgin is standing there in his socks. In front of Al Gore and Cameron Diaz!)

The loop approach to quantum gravity is now a thriving field of research. Many of the older ideas, such as supergravity and the study of quantum black holes, have been incorporated into it. Connections have been discovered to other approaches to quantum gravity, such as Alain Connes's non-commutative approach to geometry, Roger Penrose's twistor theory and string theory.

No one talks about life, no one cares anymore, or maybe they never did to begin with. People just go about their business like it doesn't matter, and I think maybe they sometimes talk or think about meaningful things, hell maybe even everyone does, but you'll never hear about it from them. Maybe they don't even know it themselves, everyone just wants to talk about stupid bullshit that doesn't matter, like celebrities or the past.

Life flashing before our eyes. You can see the preview while you're alive, see the random sparks of memories and moments flashing, some random and some meaningful. Just grabbing for it in a sea of colorful memories all traveling with schools of fish, some in the shallow and some in the dark. Until this scene crumbles and sinks to the waters below, it's just a blink of an eye away from the future that taunts us around every corner.

This is communication, not to say that that isn't communication, and communication has no rules, it has no structure and it has no concept. You can speak utter nonsense to a person and they might still understand you. There is no language in communication, there is only the attempt of communication and then within that is the information that is being passed, even the attempt of said information is information itself. This has no meaning. Life has no meaning.

A darkness comes from the bottom of our souls. It's like a fire that was burning before you were even born, like stars in space that are infinite compared to us, and so short compared to whatever thing we cannot explain that is beyond this universe. Sometimes it can burn so fast, and other times so slow. We are captivated by it, inspired by it and - it can bring tears to your eyes in those moments where you feel more than you should. When you have nothing to offer, nothing to say, nothing to think, it just sits there, this fire so deep that is burning you, keeping you alive.

In Downhill All the Way, Leonard remembers them returning from an evening spent with Vanessa in her studio in Fitzroy Street. (This was in 1930.)A drunk woman was being abused by two passers-by and was then accosted by a policeman who seemed to Leonard to be ‘deliberately trying to goad her into doing something which would justify an arrest’. He lost his temper, challenged the policeman in front of a small crowd, and made him let the woman go. What Leonard omitted to mention in his reminiscence was that he and Virginia had been to a fancy-dress party for Angelica’s eleventh birthday. Virginia was dressed as a (‘mad’) March Hare, with a pair of hare’s ears and paws. Roger Fry, at the party, had been a wonderfully characterful White Knight. And Leonard was ‘wearing a green baize apron and a pair of chisels as the Carpenter’. But as he tackled the policeman (‘Why dont you go for the men who began it? My name’s Woolf, and I can take my oath the woman’s not to blame’), ‘holding his apron and chisel in one hand’,114 he forgot all about his comical fancy-dress in his anger and his determination to see justice done.

We’ve heard them all talk about Dust, and they’re so afraid of it, and you know what? We believed them, even though we could see that what they were doing was wicked and evil and wrong....We thought Dust must be bad too, because they were grown up and they said so. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s—” She said breathlessly, “Yeah! What if it’s really good...” She looked at him and saw his green wildcat eyes ablaze with her own excitement. She felt dizzy, as if the whole world were turning beneath her. If Dust were a good thing...If it were to be sought and welcomed and cherished... “We could look for it too, Pan!” she said. That was what he wanted to hear. “We could get to it before he does,” he went on, “and....” The enormousness of the task silenced them. Lyra looked up at the blazing sky. She was aware of how small they were, she and her dæmon, in comparison with the majesty and vastness of the universe; and of how little they knew, in comparison with the profound mysteries above them. “We could,” Pantalaimon insisted. “We came all this way, didn’t we? We could do it.” “We got it wrong, though, Pan. We got it all wrong about Roger. We thought we were helping him....” She choked, and kissed Roger’s still face clumsily, several times. “We got it wrong,” she said. “Next time we’ll check everything and ask all the questions we can think of, then. We’ll do better next time.” “And we’d be alone. Iorek Byrnison couldn’t follow us and help. Nor could Farder Coram or Serafina Pekkala, or Lee Scoresby or no one.” “Just us, then. Don’t matter. We’re not alone, anyway; not like....” She knew he meant not like Tony Makarios; not like those poor lost dæmons at Bolvangar; we’re still one being; both of us are one. “And we’ve got the alethiometer,” she said. “Yeah. I reckon we’ve got to do it, Pan. We’ll go up there and we’ll search for Dust, and when we’ve found it we’ll know what to do.” Roger’s body lay still in her arms. She let him down gently. “And we’ll do it,” she said. She turned away. Behind them lay pain and death and fear; ahead of them lay doubt, and danger, and fathomless mysteries. But they weren’t alone. So Lyra and her dæmon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky.

Some years ago I saw a documentary on dying whose main theme was that people die as they lived. That was Jimmy. For five years, since he began undergoing operations for bladder cancer and even after his lung cancer was diagnosed, he continued the activities that he considered important, marching against crackhouses, campaigning against the demolition of the Ford Auditorium, organizing Detroit Summer, making speeches, and writing letters to the editor and articles for the SOSAD newsletter and Northwest Detroiter. In 1992 while he was undergoing the chemotherapy that cleared up his bladder cancer, he helped form the Coalition against Privatization and to Save Our City. The coalition was initiated by activist members of a few AFSCME locals who contacted Carl Edwards and Alice Jennings who in turn contacted us. Jimmy helped write the mission statement that gave the union activists a sense of themselves as not only city workers but citizens of the city and its communities. The coalition’s town meetings and demonstrations were instrumental in persuading the new mayor, Dennis Archer, to come out against privatization, using language from the coalition newsletter to explain his position. At the same time Jimmy was putting out the garbage, keeping our corner at Field and Goethe free of litter and rubbish, mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors, picking cranberries, and keeping up “his” path on Sutton. After he entered the hospice program, which usually means death within six months, and up to a few weeks before his death, Jimmy slowed down a bit, but he was still writing and speaking and organizing. He used to say that he wasn’t going to die until he got ready, and because he was so cheerful and so engaged it was easy to believe him. A few weeks after he went on oxygen we did three movement-building workshops at the SOSAD office for a group of Roger Barfield’s friends who were trying to form a community-action group following a protest demonstration at a neighborhood sandwich shop over the murder of one of their friends. With oxygen tubes in his nostrils and a portable oxygen tank by his side, Jimmy spoke for almost an hour on one of his favorite subjects, the need to “think dialectically, rather than biologically.” Recognizing that this was probably one of Jimmy’s last extended speeches, I had the session videotaped by Ron Scott. At the end of this workshop we asked participants to come to the next session prepared to grapple with three questions: What can we do to make our neighborhoods safe? How can we motivate people to transform? How can we create jobs?

You didn’t waltz into my life like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing on air. Quite the contrary, you made a crash landing in the center of my heart, blazing guns and glory.

Before we took our leave of Jamaica, I was presented with the Marcus Garvey Lifetime Achievement Award by the creator and organizer of the festival, Sheryl Lee Ralph, a very talented actress and singer.

At this late date, it’s hard for me to believe that anyone with intelligence or objectivity can continue to believe the Warren Commission’s ludicrous claim that President Kennedy was assassinated by a lone gunman named Lee Harvey Oswald, and that no conspiracy existed. We now know that Oswald was a US intelligence asset who had worked for both the CIA and FBI and that both agencies lied to the Warren Commission about their previous knowledge of him and his activities. Important to note are the systematic seizing of witnesses whose testimony bolstered the Commission’s conclusions while at the same time ignoring multiple witnesses who contradicted the Commission’s version of events. These witnesses provided evidence additional to the fingerprint evidence which tied Johnson’s gunman Wallace to the crime, i.e. multiple witnesses described a man who fit the description of Wallace, heavyset, and bespeckled, wearing a brown sports coat. It adds to the evidence that Lee Harvey Oswald was not the shooter from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository building; Malcolm Wallace, LBJ’s longtime hitman, was.

Cuando eres librero, por ejemplo, siempre lees antes que los demás. No deja de ser pretencioso eso de leer antes que los demás y decidir qué es importante y qué no. ¿Con qué derecho? ¿Quién te ha dado el poder de difundir unos textos en vez de otros? ¿De dónde has sacado esa legitimidad? ¡Es entonces cuando te inventas un papel que te autoriza a decir según tus gustos, tus entusiasmos y tus caprichos «Lee este libro» o «No lo leas»! Como más o menos vas conociendo a tus clientes, sabes a qué atenerte. Siempre tendrás grandes y pequeños lectores, adultos, niños, hombres, mujeres, curiosos, apresurados, mirones, y todos los que no acuden, porque no se atreven o simplemente porque no saben.

Bush’s campaign manager, former Nixon operative Lee Atwater, and media advisor Roger Ailes, who had promoted Nixon in 1968, produced the infamous Willie Horton ad, laying the groundwork for a new kind of right-wing television in which ideological propaganda would be filmed as if it were a news story, making it hard for viewers to tell the difference.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you this story, since it just rolled into my gourd while I was into that 1950 Lighthouse shot. I never told you about the Legend of the Gigantic Fart, did I?” “Put the beer in a paper bag. Let’s get it on the road.” “No, man, this story became a legend and is still told in the high schools around the county. You see, it was at the junior prom, a very big deal with hoop dresses and everybody drinking sloe gin and R.C. Cola outside in the cars. Now, this is strictly a class occasion if you live in a shitkicker town. Anyway, we’d been slopping down the beer all afternoon and eating pinto-bean salad and these greasy fried fish before we got to the dance. So it was the third number, and I took Betty Hoggenback out on the floor and was doing wonderful, tilting her back like Fred Astaire doing Ginger Rogers. Then I felt this wet fart start to grow inside me. It was like a brown rat trying to get outside. I tried to leak it off one shot at a time and keep dancing away from it, but I must have left a cloud behind that would take the varnish off the gym floor. Then one guy says, ‘Man, I don’t believe it!’ People were walking off the floor, holding their noses and saying, ‘Pew, who cut it?’ Then the saxophone player on the bandstand threw up into the piano. Later, guys were shaking my hand and buying me drinks, and a guy on the varsity came up and said that was the greatest fart he’d ever seen. It destroyed the whole prom. The saxophone player had urp all over his summer tux, and they must have had to burn the smell out of that piano with a blowtorch.” Buddy was laughing so hard at his own story that tears ran down his cheeks. He caught his breath, drank out of the beer glass, then started laughing again. The woman behind the bar was looking at him as though a lunatic had just walked into the normalcy of her life.

Solo se lee bien lo que se ama.

Cuando eres librero, por ejemplo, siempre lees antes que los demás. No deja de ser pretencioso eso de leer antes que los demás y decidir qué es importante y qué no. ¿Con qué derecho? ¿Quién te ha dado el poder de difundir unos textos en vez de otros? ¿De dónde has sacado esa legitimidad? ¡Es entonces cuando te inventas un papel que te autoriza a decir según tus gustos, tus entusiasmos y tus caprichos «Lee este libro» o «No lo leas»!

El libro es un camino que te lleva hasta el otro, y como no hay otro más cercano a ti que tú, lees para llegar a ti, aunque haciéndolo intentes huir de ti, como en una suerte de otredad autocentrada.

Roger was nothing like this. You forsook your family and your life for him, and even he did not give you such pleasure. But Roger had been her husband, even if only for a short time. Demon was… Demon was her master. She was his plaything, his bartered doxy.

Father had been negotiating her own marriage to an Earl much older than herself, before she’d met Roger. Now that he was gone and years had passed, she could admit that one of the reasons she’d married him was to thwart her father’s plans.

Don't let the fear of being wrong interfere with the joy of being right.

I haven’t done anything as rewarding as this since I passed the bar. It was the best, Roger. I totally know what you mean about feeling good when you help people. I would represent one person like Lee any day over the jackasses I’ve been working with for the last seven years!

Be strong when days are dark. Be brave when life gets tough. Be hopeful because anything can happen tomorrow.