Sam Smith Quotes

When we got to the part where we had to improvise an argument in a poetic language, I got cold feet. "I can't do this," I said. "I don't know what to say." "Say anything," he said. "You can't make a mistake when you improvise." "What if I mess it up? What if I screw up the rhythm?" "You can't," he said. "It's like drumming. If you miss a beat, you create another." In this simple exchange, Sam taught me the secret of improvisation, one that I have accessed my whole life.

When you hit a wall – of your own imagined limitations – just kick it in.

This is what I know - Sam is dead. My brother is dead. My mother is dead. My father is dead. My husband is dead. My cat is dead. My dog, who was dead in 1957, is still dead. Yet still I keep thinking that something wonderful is about to happen. Maybe tomorrow.

Whatever you're thinking, it's a bad idea.

If someone called me fat, that affects me way more than someone calling me a f----t. I think just because I've accepted that, if someone calls me a f----t, it's like, I am gay and I'm proud to be gay so there's no issues there. If something calls you fat, that's something I want to change.

The Central Bank of The Bahamas and the Bahamian people are leading the world in the normalization of digital currency and Blockchain technology as ways to build speed, liquidity, access, efficiency and security into payments.

If you spend time wishing you had other players and scheming to get rid of them or not being loyal, either you end up hating them or they end up hating you, and that cannot be productive.

The Bahamas is becoming a leading nation in regards to Blockchain Technology and Cryptocurrency. I think The Bahamas will supercede the United States in these categories soon. And if Bahamians approach this right, we can pivot from the entrapment of tourism to the leverage of influencing global interactions with cryptocurrency, new forms of capital, and vital technologies.

Nothing can stop the man with the right attitude from achieving his goal,” Jackson wrote, “but nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong attitude.

The English word for summer comes from Old English sumor, from the proto-indo-european root sam, meaning both one and together

We didn’t have to talk then, and that is real friendship. Never uncomfortable with silence, which, in its welcome form, is yet an extension of conversation.

Walker covers the mouthpiece of the phone and holds it out for me. “John, uh, I have the president on the line for you.” I stare at her. “What? Seriously?” Walker nods. “He’s apparently . . . um, changed his opinion on fully supporting the Loric. He wants you in Washington right away to discuss strategy.” [...] I’m about to talk to the president. I shake my head, eyeing Walker. “This isn’t some kind of trick, is it?” “No,” Walker says, shaking the phone at me. “He’s for real. It sounds nuts but, apparently, his older daughter just experienced some kind of . . . vision? Where you gave a speech?” Sam can’t hold back the laughter. “Get out!

Sam wandered through the dark corridor, keeping a hand on the wall to maintain his balance. The stone floor was uneven, and he caught his toe on a couple of rocks that were sticking up in his path. He was about to give up and turn around when he heard something up ahead. He stopped in his tracks, thinking about Patrick Henry’s ghost. He listened carefully and heard a man’s voice coming from around the bend.

I finish every show with this song, because it means so much to my heart. It holds a lot of my soul within the lyrics, and always reminds me of a time when I once loved a boy… And for a few breaths, a few whispers, and a few moments, I think he loved me, too. Here’s Sam Smith’s ‘Life Support.

What is you, Sam?" I hesitated, trying to think about how I visualized myself. All I came up with was how other people visualized me. I was visualized as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a best friend by those people in my life, but I had no clue as to how I viewed myself as a person. I'd never bothered to carve out an identity for myself.

I guess congratulations are in order, Sam.

It’s hard playing on a team with Michael Jordan because you’re always the reason the team lost.

I've been in love and you'll never know

I'm never gonna let you close to me Even though you mean the most to me 'Cause everytime I open up, it hurts So I'm never gonna get too close to you Even when I mean the most to you In case you go and leave me in the dirt

Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier – Chapter three Elastic Heart by Sia – Chapter Nine Paralyzed by NF – Chapter Seventeen Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush – Chapter Twenty You Broke Me First by Tate McRae – Chapter Twenty-three Let Me Down by Jorja Smith and Stormzy – Chapter Twenty-four I Can’t Make You Love Me by Teddie Swims – Chapter Thirty Dancing with a Stranger by Sam Smith – Chapter Thirty-one Demons by Jacob Lee – Chapter Thirty-Three Halo by Beyonce – Chapter Thirty-six Play with

We fool ourselves about our worldview, our ideology, our religion, the evidence of our senses, and the interpretation of the world that we use to construct our beliefs. All the evidence we notice and remember confirms our views. Everything else is ignored or forgotten—or, better, dismissed based on flaws in the analysis. A reader of mine, Sam Thomsen, said it very well: The Universe is full of dots. Connect the right ones and you can draw anything. The important question is not whether the dots you picked are really there, but why you chose to ignore all the others.

In the 1989–90 season, he and New York’s Mark Jackson were fined for saying they had bet on which of them would make the winning shot in a close Knicks-76ers game. Barkley would be called in by the commissioner for a slap on the wrist and lecture, only to say, when asked if he were going to be fined, “Wanna bet?

I was once present at a lecture that Eugene Smith gave to some students at a school of photography. At the end, they protested because he had made no mention of photography, but had spoken the whole time about music. He calmed them by saying that what was valid for one was valid for another. —Henri Cartier-Bresson

I did not ask the sign how my husband fared in whatever space was allotted to him in the universe. I did not ask the fate of Sandy. Or Sam. Those things are forbidden, as entreating the angels with prayer. I know that very well, one cannot ask for a life, or two lives. One can only warrant the hope of an increasing potency in each man’s heart.

My goal was not simply to do well, or hold my own. It was to make a mark at St. Mark’s. I did it for Poetry. I did it for Rimbaud, and I did it for Gregory. I wanted to infuse the written word with the immediacy and frontal attack of rock and roll. Todd suggested that I be aggressive, and he gave me a pair of black snakeskin boots to wear. Sam suggested I add music. I thought about all the musicians who had come through the Chelsea, but then I remembered Lenny Kaye had said he played electric guitar. I went to see him. “You play guitar, right?” “Yeah, I like to play guitar.” “Well, could you play a car crash with an electric guitar?” “Yeah, I could do that,” he said without hesitation, and agreed to accompany me.

Dr. Smith suggested that we have Louie put down tomorrow,” he said gently. I expected my brothers to get angry, to yell that nobody would ever do that to Louie, but they all began to cry instead. David Michael cried noisily. Sam and Charlie tried to hide the fact that they were crying, but I know they were. Then a lump that had been filling up my throat all afternoon, dissolved, and I began to cry, too, which made Andrew and Karen burst into tears. It didn’t matter. Even Watson was crying.

I stared at the little white agates in my hand, delicate as moon drops. The mystery of God's love as I understand it is that God loves the man who was being mean to his dog just as much as he loves babies; God loves Susan Smith, who drowned her two sons, as much as he loves Desmond Tutu. And he loved her just as much when she was releasing the handbrake of her car that sent her boys into the river as he did when she first nursed them. So of course, he loves old ordinary me, even or especially at my most scared and petty and mean and obsessive. Loves me; chooses me. Remembering this helped, but here is what in fact saved me: Sam came over to see what I held in my palm, glared contemptuously at my small white pebbles, and then without missing a beat slapped the bottom of my hand so that the agates scattered. He ran off down the beach, laughing with glee. It surprised me so, this small meanness, that it made me catch my breath. Boy, I thought, is he going to be hard to place. When I was young I would have felt, What’s the point of trying to be good if the people who aren’t even trying get to be equally loved? Now I just picked up my pace and tried to catch up with that rotten Sam, because I don’t know much of anything for sure. Only that I am loved – as is

Of course, there can be clear indications that a teacher is not worth paying attention to. A history as a fabulist or a con artist should be considered fatal; thus, the spiritual opinions of Joseph Smith, Gurdjieff, and L. Ron Hubbard can be safely ignored. A fetish for numbers is also an ominous sign. Math is magical, but math approached like magic is just superstition—and numerology is where the intellect goes to die. Prophecy is also a very strong indication of chicanery or madness on the part of a teacher, and of stupidity among his students. One can extrapolate from scientific data or technological trends (climate models, Moore’s law), but most detailed predictions about the future lead to embarrassment right on schedule.

Outside the rooms, Sam pointed to a small opening in a wall beneath a set of stairs with CELLULE DES RECALCITRANTS written over the top of it. This is where they kept the slaves who resisted, Momar translated for me. It was too dark to tell what it looked like. I turned on my phone's flashlight, bent down, and scooted inside. The stone seemed to almost absorb the light, so it still felt dark inside the shallow cavern. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. They did not. I hugged my knees close to my chest as I sat inside. The joints in my knees and ankles cracked. Dirt fell from the wall where I touched it. It was impossible to feel as if the walls weren't closing in on me. I thought of people being held here, how they might barely have been able to see their hands in front of their faces. How they would have been able to taste the salt water that hung in the air without seeing any of the ocean. I thought of all the times I had heard, 'But why didn't they fight back?' when slavery was discussed in my classes. I thought of the bell at plantations like the Whitney, which had been rung to tell the enslaved people to gather round and watch one of their loved ones being lashed until the bled. I thought of the rooms at Angola's Red Hat cell block, how the smallness of those spaces had closed in on me. The cramped cavern might have been where the lessons on first resistance had taken place in a person's earliest days of enslavement. Where spirits and bodies had been broken.

The Lord saves not with sword and spear. For the battle is the Lord’s. (1 Sam. 17:47)

Disney archivist Dave Smith said, "Disneyland's true appeal, we admit now, is to adults. Children don't need it. Their imaginations are enough. For them, Disneyland is only another kind of reality, somewhat less marvelous than their own fantasies.

What I love about Michael is that he was not the best at anything. He was not the biggest, he was not the strongest, he was not the highest jumper. But he was incredibly, incredibly smart. And incredibly disciplined and focused and driven.

I’ve missed more than nine thousand shots in my career. I’ve lost almost three hundred games. Twenty-six times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.

There’s no ‘I’ in the word team,” Winter would say to Jordan. “There is in the word win,” Jordan would respond.

SAM OWEN always fished by night.

Sam Smith

You don't set out to build a wall. You don't say: 'I'm going to build the biggest, baddest, greatest wall that's ever been built.' You say, "I'm going to lay this brick as perfectly as a brick can be laid. You do that every single day. And soon you have the greatest wall that's ever been built." - Will Smith

book Research Design: Qualitative and Quantitative Approaches (J. W. Cresswell, 1994), or his work Designing and Conducting Mixed Methods Research co-authored with Ann Carroll Klassen, Vicki Plano Clark, and Katherine Clegg Smith (2007), or his short paper focusing on health research specifically (J. Cresswell, Klassen, Plano Clark, & Clegg Smith, 2011).

People need kindness as much as they need food to eat. Maybe more.

whatever you decide to believe is your own opinion and exactly that, an opinion. It doesn’t have any real weight except to yourself,” Sam said. “That is a very good reply, Constable Smith. Are you sure you are only an apprentice?

Unfolding according to the contemplative logic of their lyrical orbits, Astral Weeks’s songs unhooked themselves from pop’s dependence on verse/chorus structure, coasting on idling rhythms, raging and subsiding with the ebb and flow of Morrison’s soulful scat. The soundworld – a loose-limbed acoustic tapestry of guitar, double bass, flute, vibraphone and dampened percussion – was unmistakably attributable to the calibre of the musicians convened for the session: Richard Davis, whose formidable bass talents had shadowed Eric Dolphy on the mercurial Blue Note classic Out to Lunch; guitarist Jay Berliner had previous form with Charles Mingus; Connie Kay was drummer with The Modern Jazz Quartet; percussionist/vibesman Warren Smith’s sessionography included Miles Davis, Aretha Franklin, Nat King Cole, Sam Rivers and American folk mystics Pearls Before Swine. Morrison reputedly barely exchanged a word with the personnel, retreating to a sealed sound booth to record his parts and leaving it to their seasoned expertise to fill out the space. It is a music quite literally snatched out of the air.

I've never admitted this to Sam or to anyone else, but sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if Sam hadn't become one of the hottest pop stars in the world. Would we have stayed friends throughout college? Would we still have gotten together? I like to think we would have. Maybe we would be hanging out on a second-hand futon with our friends, binge-watching Netflix on a laptop, and wearing jeans and free t-shirts from Freshman Orientation. He'd casually drape his arm around my shoulders while we ate popcorn straight out of the bag and absolutely no one would care. He wouldn't be rich or famous or well-dressed, but he would still be Sam. The same Sam I've known and loved my entire life.

The city of Los Angeles lights up my window and I can feel Sam gently playing with the diamond necklace he gave me for Valentine's Day just days ago. As unbelievable and extraordinary as it may seem at times, this is still the world we live in. This bizarre, bright shining world of fame and fortune, glitz and glamour, where there is no such thing as privacy, only the crazed masses and blinding flash of the limelight.

If we were on Friends, who do you think 'd be?" I wonder aloud. "I think you'd be Phoebe because you're quirky and creative," Chloe tells me. "Really? I think I'd be Monica because I'm crazy and neurotic," I say. "Jo, who do you think I am? Phoebe or Monica?" "Neither," Joni answers. "You're Ross." "What?!" Call me dramatic, but I've never been more offended in my life. "How am I Ross?" "Because you've had the same pathetic crush on the same blond ditz your entire life. And you like dinosaurs." "Everyone likes dinosaurs," I argue. Then I realize what else she's insinuating. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that Sam is Rachel?" Joni shrugs. "If the designer shoe fits." Oh my God.

If we were on Friends, who do you think I'd be?" I wonder aloud. "I think you'd be Phoebe because you're quirky and creative," Chloe tells me. "Really? I think I'd be Monica because I'm crazy and neurotic," I say. "Jo, who do you think I am? Phoebe or Monica?" "Neither," Joni answers. "You're Ross." "What?!" Call me dramatic, but I've never been more offended in my life. "How am I Ross?" "Because you've had the same pathetic crush on the same blond ditz your entire life. And you like dinosaurs." "Everyone likes dinosaurs," I argue. Then I realize what else she's insinuating. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that Sam is Rachel?" Joni shrugs. "If the designer shoe fits." Oh my God.

Back on the floor, I fill another cup with cherries and settle in to people watch. We have the modern equivalent to a jukebox in the corner that can be fed off debit cards, and someone’s clearly coming off a bad break because a second loop of Demi Lovato’s “Sorry Not Sorry” has started. I skim the club for the culprit. My money’s on the black-haired beauty with Cover Girl’s Matte #5 stained on her one, two, three straws. “Get it, girl,” I mumble under my breath. Demi is a perfectly respectable breakup diva. See also: Sam Smith and Ray LaMontagne.

You’re officially twenty-one," Sam observes. "I won’t be twenty-one for another few months. That makes you older than me.” “Yes. Birthdays are tricky that way,” I reply, wondering where he’s going with this. “Melissa Parker, you’re a cougar!” Sam exclaims, sounding absolutely giddy. I can feel my jaw drop. “I am not!” “You’re an older woman dating a younger man. That is the definition of a cougar!” “No, it is not!” “It is. Look it up.

kind of gross, but at this point Sam was so hungry, he’d eat just about anything. Grrrowwllll his stomach cried out again. He glanced up the line at Caitlin Murphy to see if she noticed. She had a smirk on her face like she knew something, but that was how she always looked, so he couldn’t tell if it was because of him. “Is that organic broccoli?” Caitlin asked one of the lunch ladies through a cloud of steam

It was only when I started to be myself that the music started to flow and people started to listen.

Derek crouched down and studied the dirt again under the lantern light. “Something’s in there,” he whispered. “How do you know?” asked Nathan, hesitation filling his voice. “I can sense it,” answered Derek. Sam groaned, then did something surprising. Maybe he was sick of Derek always telling him what to do. Maybe it was because his feet hurt. Maybe he was tired of always getting scared for no reason. “This is stupid,” he yelled, grabbing the lantern. He pushed past Derek and Nathan. “There’s nothing out there. It’s just the shadows playing tricks on us. You probably didn’t even see the alligator come down here. We need to get the heck out of here before we get lost.” He stepped around the corner. “See!” he proclaimed, holding the lantern up high in front of him. Light streamed into an enormous, open room. It seemed to stretch on forever, like some hidden underground cavern. Water dripped from open cracks above them. Pillars of rock hung down from the ceiling. Derek’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh...” Sam’s arm turned to stone, the lantern dangling from his hand like a light post. He couldn’t move a muscle, except for his eyes, which darted around the deep room of shadows. A wide pool of water lay in the middle of the space as if it had been filled by a hundred years of rainwater working its way underground. Lying all around the pool were alligators. Dozens of them.

In a depressed era when most young adults grasped for any foothold they could find, the nineteen-year-old Smith had already given up a major university scholarship and challenged a prominent magazine’s editorial boundaries until he was fired. He wouldn’t follow his father’s burdened, suit-and-tie path to an early death; he might kill himself, but in a different way.

For the next seven decades the story of Smith attending these sixty-three consecutive shows has been repeated often, including by me. The trouble is, Mexicana was performed only thirty-five times.

could be an antidote to clinical depression. Smith fed off risk and nerves for the rest of his life, noticeable early with his cavalier photo work in combat zones in the Pacific theater of World War II, and he fell into deep depressions when the urgency wasn’t there.

these entries we can see Smith focusing on the human landscape and the tension he felt between isolation and the teeming churn of collectives, a tension he never reconciled, and many themes of home—creating or finding a home, leaving and returning home.

Today in our hemisphere, Mexican traffickers’ role in creating and spreading these drugs is just as undeniable and corrosive. Mexico’s response has more than just failed. On the contrary, a new book by historian Benjamin Smith, The Dope: The Real History of the Mexican Drug Trade, shows that elements of the Mexican government have often controlled, guided, exploited, and aided those traffickers since the 1950s as they morphed from illiterate rancheros to criminal capitalists, even as these government officials went through the motions of battling the drug trade. The relentless quantities of meth flowing into American towns are a measurement of Mexico’s inept criminal justice system. Mexico must stand up and deal with the corruption that cripples well-meaning people and the rule of law.

We were flying to Fort Smith in the spring of 1962, and Sam was piloting the plane over the Boston Mountains. It was that Tri-Pacer by then, not the original plane that we had made a lot of trips in. Sam pulled this card out of his pocket, on which he had written down three or four names, and he handed it to me and asked me which one I liked best. They all had three or four words in the title, and I said, ‘Well, you know, Scotch as I am, I’d just keep the Walton name and make it a place to shop.’ I scribbled ‘W-A-L-M-A-R-T’ on the bottom of the card and said, ‘To begin with, there’s not as many letters to buy.’ I had bought the letters that said ‘Ben Franklin,’ and I knew how much it cost to put them up and to light them and repair the neon, so I said, ‘This is just seven letters.’ He didn’t say anything, and I dropped the subject. A few days later I went by to see when we could start setting the fixtures in the building, and I saw that our sign maker, Rayburn Jacobs, already had the ‘W-A-L’ up there and was headed up the ladder with an ‘M.’ You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what the name was going to be. I just smiled and went on.” Something else about that sign that’s worth mentioning. On one side of it, I had Rayburn put “We Sell for Less,” and on the other, “Satisfaction Guaranteed,” two of the cornerstone philosophies that still guide the company.

In a paper evaluating the case for trophic cascades in the Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics, Peterson, Vucetich, and Douglas Smith, who trained on Isle Royale and now is a project leader for the Wolf Restoration Project at Yellowstone, argue that ecosystems are too complex to trace neat relationships, particularly in Yellowstone where grizzly bears, black bears, cougars, and wolves eat bison, deer, and elk. They also point out that, when you follow the threads of prey fluctuations, you often find at the source not wild-animal predators but human beings.

Vehb ibn Munebbih je rekao: 'Proučio sam preko sedamdeset različitih knjiga. Nakon što sam ih sve pročitao, došao sam do zaključka da je od prvog čovjeka do posljednjeg, inteligencija koja je data cijelom čovječanstvu u poređenju s inteligencijom poslanika Muhammeda, kao zrno pijeska u poređenju s pijeskom cijelog svijeta. On je, zaista, bio najinteligentniji čovjek.

I’ve said before that I’m pretty sure Joni knows I’m harboring a secret crush on one of the guys. In fact, she probably knows it’s Sam. She grew up with us, too. I'm sure she’s seen the way I act around him. Maybe she’s pretended not to notice in order to spare my feelings. But that would go against her God-given instincts to tell me what to do, which would probably be to forget Sam Morneau altogether.

So that’s when he leaned over to me [in the timeout] and said, ‘Stockton is probably going to double team, so be ready.’ [Stockton did double, leaving Kerr open]. At some point, for a lot of players, you do have to get over that hump and the only way to do it is to kind of say, ‘Screw it. I’m just gonna, repercussions be damned, whatever happens, happens. I’m just gonna trust myself.’ It’s easier said than done. But I do remember walking on the floor and saying, ‘Fuck it. If I touch the ball, I’m gonna shoot it.’ And so it all played out exactly as Michael planned.

You know, Phil, I don’t feel real comfortable in these situations. Maybe we ought to go in another direction.’ Then Scottie came in and said, ‘You know, Phil, Michael said in his commercial that he’s been asked to do this twenty-six times and he’s failed. Why don’t we go to Steve?’ So I thought to myself, ‘I guess I have to bail Michael out again. I’ve been carrying him all year, so what’s one more time?’ Anyway, the shot went in, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So that’s when he leaned over to me [in the timeout] and said, ‘Stockton is probably going to double team, so be ready.’ [Stockton did double, leaving Kerr open].

Seventy wins don’t mean a thing without the ring.’ So it became a topic of discussion.

Why do you say money​ when do you need someone to hold

July hit Virginia that summer like a furnace. The temperature rose higher and higher, eclipsing one hundred degrees. The ancient air conditioning system in the boys’ house groaned from constant use, and the grass around the yard was slowly turning a crispy brown. It was too hot to play outside, so Sam and Derek spent hours plotting out their search for the missing treasure.

Please pass the sugar cubes.” Sam rolled his eyes as he handed the crystal bowl of white and brown sugar cubes to Caitlin. He refused to look over at his mom at the next table. She was in a deep conversation with Anita, seemingly not concerned about subjecting him to a tea party. This was terrible. What was ‘high tea’ anyhow? He looked across at Caitlin. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She was really excited about being in this fancy old hotel. “Isn’t

Today’s Children, The Woman in White, and The Guiding Light crossed over and interchanged in respective storylines.) June 2, 1947–June 29, 1956, CBS. 15m weekdays at 1:45. Procter & Gamble’s Duz Detergent. CAST: 1937 to mid-1940s: Arthur Peterson as the Rev. John Ruthledge of Five Points, the serial’s first protagonist. Mercedes McCambridge as Mary Ruthledge, his daughter; Sarajane Wells later as Mary. Ed Prentiss as Ned Holden, who was abandoned by his mother as a child and taken in by the Ruthledges; Ned LeFevre and John Hodiak also as Ned. Ruth Bailey as Rose Kransky; Charlotte Manson also as Rose. Mignon Schrieber as Mrs. Kransky. Seymour Young as Jacob Kransky, Rose’s brother. Sam Wanamaker as Ellis Smith, the enigmatic “Nobody from Nowhere”; Phil Dakin and Raymond Edward Johnson also as Ellis. Henrietta Tedro as Ellen, the housekeeper. Margaret Fuller and Muriel Bremner as Fredrika Lang. Gladys Heen as Torchy Reynolds. Bill Bouchey as Charles Cunningham. Lesley Woods and Carolyn McKay as Celeste, his wife. Laurette Fillbrandt as Nancy Stewart. Frank Behrens as the Rev. Tom Bannion, Ruthledge’s assistant. The Greenman family, early characters: Eloise Kummer as Norma; Reese Taylor and Ken Griffin as Ed; Norma Jean Ross as Ronnie, their daughter. Transition from clergy to medical background, mid-1940s: John Barclay as Dr. Richard Gaylord. Jane Webb as Peggy Gaylord. Hugh Studebaker as Dr. Charles Matthews. Willard Waterman as Roger Barton (alias Ray Brandon). Betty Lou Gerson as Charlotte Wilson. Ned LeFevre as Ned Holden. Tom Holland as Eddie Bingham. Mary Lansing as Julie Collins. 1950s: Jone Allison as Meta Bauer. Lyle Sudrow as Bill Bauer. Charita Bauer as Bert, Bill’s wife, a role she would carry into television and play for three decades. Laurette Fillbrandt as Trudy Bauer. Glenn Walken as little Michael. Theo Goetz as Papa Bauer. James Lipton as Dr. Dick Grant. Lynn Rogers as Marie Wallace, the artist.

Theme Song: Your Man – Down With Webster Bling Bling – ALTÉGO Let It All Go – Birdy & RHODES I Think You’re the Devil – Ellee Duke Legendary – Welshly Arms Wonderland – Taylor Swift Skin – Rihanna MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT – Elley Duhé Blue – Madison Beer Devil I Know – Allie X MONEY ON THE DASH – Elley Duhé & Whethan Way Down We Go – KALEO How Do I Say Goodbye – Dean Lewis Do Me – Kim Petras Crying On The Dancefloor – Sam Feldt, Jonas Blue, Endless Summer & Violet Days Wicked – GRANT Love and War – Fleurie Silence – Marshmello (feat. Khalid) Fire on Fire – Sam Smith

I Think I’m In Love – Kat Dahlia That Part – Lauren Spencer Smith Always Been You – Jessie Murph Say You Won’t Let Go – James Arthur Just The Way You Are – Bruno Mars Rewrite The Stars – Maddi Jane Night Drive – Henry Lose You To Love Me – Selena Gomez Happier – Marshmellow, Bastille Drivers License – Olivia Rodrigo When We Were Young - Adele Hate U Love U – Olivia O’Brien If The World Was Ending – JP Saxe, Julia All Too Well (10 min) Taylor Swift Say Something – A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera You Broke Me First – Tate McRae Demons – Boyce Avenue, Jennel Garcia Figure You Out – Voila Boyfriend – Dove Cameron Too Good At Goodbyes – Sam Smith Mercy – Sawn Mendes Perfect – Ed Sheeran Can I Be Him – James Arthur Thinking Out Loud – Ed Sheeran