Santana Quotes

One day there will be no borders, no boundaries, no flags and no countries and the only passport will be the heart

Happiness is not a destination or an experience. It's a decision.

Peace has never come from dropping bombs. Real peace comes from enlightenment and educating people to behave more in a divine manner.

Most people are prisoners, thinking only about the future or living in the past. They are not in the present, and the present is where everything begins.

Live up to your convictions. You walk in grace or you walk in fear. You can't have it both ways.

Everything is a battlefield. If you fight with anger, you are part of the problem. If you fight with joy, you're part of the solution.

The most valuable possession you can own is an open heart. The most powerful weapon you can be is an instrument of peace.

People get stuck in their stories. My advice is to end your story and begin your life.

You call out Gods name one more time while im between your legs, even he wont be able to save you little lamb.

when you go through hell—your own darkest night of the soul—don’t take pictures to show to your friends.

There's never one sunrise the same or one sunset the same.

What is an ego except something that thinks it’s separate from God?

Jimmy Carter is the embodiment of dignity, grace, and the hope for a better world - Carlos Santana

Maybe in the end, that’s what love was. Forgiveness. Undeniable, unsolicited, and at times unrequited.

One day there will be no borders, no boundaries, no flags, and no countries and the only passport will be the heart.

He demanded honesty from everyone, and he gave it in return.

Those skirts are crunchy toast! Santana Lopez bent over in hers the other day, and I swear I could see her ovaries.

Let him grow up, Regan. Quit fighting the inevitable. For Christ's sake, Jeremy's nearly a man." "Haven't you heard? Twenty's the new twelve." "Only from overprotective, control-freak mothers.

Those who fail to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

It takes strength, man, to know when to let go of your kids, really, really let them go and trust them with the one who made them in the first place.

The only magic that existed was the kind you created on your own. The universe always answered yes, you just had to make sure you asked the right questions.

The truth can be a nasty thing to process.

You call out God’s name one more time while I’m between your legs, even he won’t be able to save you, little lamb.

I don’t understand it,” I said honestly. “But it’s beautiful.” “That is exactly how beautiful things should be. But be careful, because they are the ones that hurt the most.

Oh Romina, that’s where you’re wrong. A story can hurt you. A good story can wound, maim, and scar. A good story will leave you questioning what you believe to be right or wrong for the sake of pseudo-pleasure fulfilled by some neurons shooting off sparks in your brain. A good story will tear your soul out from your chest and keep you from moving on until you find another that can take its place.

Your mind is a magnet. You don’t attract what you need or what you want; you attract who you are. And I LOVE WHO I AM!

God I love you.” “Hold on to that thought for the next ninety years.

I want to know that you’re desperate for me,

Because sometimes when it hurts, it's best to cut it open to get rid of all the pain.

I want to get lost in someone's happiness.

Love scars. Love leaves you half the person you were before and twice as eager to take your life when it’s all over.

There is no water to put out the fire. Mi canto la esperanza. —Carlos Santana “Maria Maria

From somewhere across the third-floor landing, Señora Santana’s hellish Chihuahua gave an existential bark.

Gladly. And El Pico Duarte is in the other direction.” She pointed with her lips. “You could still be a good person, Santana. It isn’t too late. Even if you are a compulsive, manipulative liar.

love and distance can be compared to fire and air. If the fire is like that of a candle a simple puff of ordinary air will extinguish it: but if the fire is a raging wildfire, then the wind will only fuel it to grow stronger.

And as for what I’ve learned: be an instrument of peace. Be a gentleman at all costs. Enjoy yourself—have fun with your existence. Learn to listen to your inner voice and don’t overdose on yourself. Keep your darkness in check. Let music be a healing force. Be a real musician: once you start counting money before notes, you’re a full-time wannabe. Put your guitar down and go outside and take a long drink of light with your eyes. Go walk in the park and take off your shoes and socks and feel the grass under your feet and mud between your toes. Go see a baby smiling, go see a wino crawling, go see life. Feel life—all of it, as much as possible. Find a human melody, then write a song about it. Make it all come through your music.

Sebenarnya kita bisa melewati jembatan yang panjang itu, sayangnya kita kekurangan motivasi

Except for the part where I never told him that I was born a man.

life moves on so why stop it now!!!

The most valuable possession you can own is an open heart; the most powerful weapon you can be is an instrument of peace.

Oh my sweet little pet, make no mistake, I am that abomination,” he said, reaching out to caress my face. “And it is your soul I will devour.

We want to extend an invitation to healing... Turn off the news and turn on the light in your own heart.

Do you want to be safe or desired? You can’t have both with me.

don’t know, Pet. I’m not a monster. I’m a son of the Devil. I don’t ask for anything; it’s offered to me freely.

Page one, sentence one: "A Sister of Christian rehabilitation was soliciting funds at the bottom of the escalator. Our eyes met and I smiled first; therefore no donation necessary.

Mpelelezi wa Tume ya Dunia kutoka Israeli Daniel Yehuda Ben-Asher Ebenezer, Mhebrania aliyeishi Givat Ram, Jerusalem, na mke wake mrembo Hadara na mtoto wake mzuri Navah Ebenezer, alikuwa Ukanda wa Gaza siku alipopigiwa simu na Kiongozi wa Kanda ya Asia-Australia ya Tume ya Dunia U Nanda – kutoka Copenhagen kuhusiana na wito wa haraka wa kuonana na Rais wa Tume ya Dunia. Yehuda aliondoka usiku kwenda Yangon, Myama, ambapo alionana na U Nanda na kupewa maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata. Mbali na maelekezo yote ya kikazi aliyotakiwa kuyafuata, Nanda alimkabidhi Yehuda kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Dickson Santana (bila kujua kama Mandi ni kachero wa Kolonia Santita) ili amsindikize mpaka stendi ya mabasi ya Maubin, nje ya Yangon. Baada ya hapo Yehuda alisafiri mpaka Copenhagen ambapo yeye na wenzake walikabidhiwa Operation Devil Cross, ya kung’oa mizizi ya Kolonia Santita duniani kote. Yehuda alifanya kosa kubwa kuonana na kachero wa Kolonia Santita Mandi Santana! Kwa sababu hiyo, sauti na picha ya Yehuda vilichukuliwa, watu wengi walikufa katika miji ya Copenhagen na Mexico City.

Esa mirada que esta hablándote.. Gritándote... Tu siendo Ciego, sordo. Y no puedes observar lo que tu corazòn pinto en un lienzo de razón con su pincel de intuición... Firmando como la Perdición.

In 1983, after my son, Salvador, was born, I visited Cihuatlan, my dad's hometown in Mexico with my dad. I met a lady there who told me, "Carlos, I grew up with Don Jose'. (dad) We were from the same generation. I want you to know that you might be recognized around the world, but here Don Jose' is the Santana that counts." My dad just looked at me. I smiled and said, "Hey that's fine with me.

How long?” Jayce’s scalding breath singed the side of Wes’ neck as he spoke against his skin. “Does Scotto know about you and me? Does he know I’m the one who ruined you for him and all men?” Bastard was so full of himself. Wes remained quiet and ceased his struggles. He could breathe since Jayce’s hold wasn’t too tight. But his chest heaved and his groin throbbed like a mother. He hated how he responded to the slightest touch from Jayce.

The beautiful things did hurt. And maybe I was a sucker for pain, because I wasn't ready to find out what would happen if it were to stop hurting. If they went away. If they left me here. I think that would hurt the most, more than never having left the belltower at all.

Because they were the weapon, and I was built to pardon their pain. Maybe in the end, that's what love was. Forgiveness. Undeniable, unsolicited, and at times unrequited. It was the ability to look past the pain despite all the hurt it could cause you because in the end you knew it could do the same for you.

I’m fucking lost over you. I don’t know who I am when you’re not around, and I’m so addicted to you that you’re all I dream about. You’re all I fucking think about every second of the damn day. I fucking loathe your existence more than anything in this world because there’s nothing that scares me more than the idea of waking up and you not being there anymore. That this was all just some dream. And I’m supposed to just hope this is forever? Live off the faith that you won’t just wake up one morning and go back to the only thing you’ve ever known? Go back to that monster? That’s fucking terrifying, Romina. You’re all I fucking want. You’re all I have.

Mi cuerpo es la letra cuando mi mano tienta a estructurar cada sitio recorrido por mi saliva, cada silencio oculto por mi piel, cada roce estancado en toda mi agonía, en el luto material de la maldita enfermedad que no se quita, porque aquí es donde mi cuerpo es tiempo, y el tiempo es el simple recorrer de mis ojos al encuentro de esta espera, de este escribir irrompible y deshecho, de este cuerpo enfermo.

Daniel Levitin is one of the world’s leading experts on how music influences the brain. He would be appearing with the conductor Edwin Outwater and the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony Orchestra, which would play Beethoven. Levitin would explain how the music was affecting the audience’s collective brain. Levitin was no disinterested academic. He had had a serious career as a musician, performing with Sting, Mel Tormé, and Blue Öyster Cult, consulting with Stevie Wonder and Steely Dan, and having been recording engineer for Santana and the Grateful Dead. Then he—like Kahn—made a big switch and become a research psychologist, investigating how music interacts with the brain. He was now head of McGill University’s Laboratory for Musical Perception, Cognition and Expertise and author of This Is Your Brain on Music.

Translating how that latter fact came to life in the studio, engineer Chuck Zwicky explained from his own observations during the recording of the album that “the way that Prince’s music comes together has everything to do with how he views the individual instruments, and for example, when he’s sitting down at the drums, he’s derivatively thinking about Dave Gerbaldi, the drummer from Tower of Power, and that’s a real fascile and funky drummer; and when he plays keyboards, he’s thinking about James Brown’s horn player, on one aspect; and when he’s playing guitar, other elements creep in, because he loves Carlos Santana, and Jimi Hendrix, and this other guitar player named Bill Nelson, a rock guitar player from the 70s. And so these aspects all come together to make this unique sound that is Prince, and it’s not rock, it’s not funk, it’s not jazz, it’s not blues—it’s just his own kind of music. I remember there was one particular moment when he started playing this keyboard line, and I’m thinking ‘He can’t play that, that’s Gary Newman.’ And at that moment, he stops the tape, and turns and looks at me and asks ‘Do you like Gary Newman?’ And I said ‘You know, the album Replica never left my turntable in Jr. High School after my sister bought it for me. I listened to it until it wore out.’ And he said ‘There are people still trying to figure out what a genius he is.

Memahami orang lain itu tidaklah begitu sulit, yang sulit itu memahami diri sendiri.

The switchport rate-mode dedicated command is mandatory on oversubscribed modules or switches because ISLs must be configured on full-rate

Anne Harrington de Santana, has discerned that nuclear weapons have acquired the status of fetish objects; like the coin of the realm in relation to commodities, our glittering warheads have become markers of national power: “Just as access to wealth in the form of money determines an individual’s opportunities and place in a social hierarchy, access to power in the form of nuclear weapons determines a state’s opportunities and place in the international order.

I tried!” She screamed, her eyes filled with raw emotion. All Sarah could do is stand there, speechless at this outburst. Sunni whirled on her heels, pacing back and forth in the narrow confines of the bedroom. “I tried as hard as I fucking could!” She continued, her voice thick with tears and heavy with anger .”I did the best I could! I loved you, no matter what. I loved every part of you, and I accepted who you were! I didn't like some parts, but you know what? It's who you fucking are! That's what you do as a partner!” She turned on Sarah now, her finger pointed in her direction, tears spilling over as the emotion got the best of her. “I loved you through it all, and what did you do? You abandoned me. You made empty promises to me, ones that filled my heart with hope. Even in my darkest times, you made it about you. Is that who you are, Sarah?!” H Sunni's voice dropped now, a whisper of shattered glass. “You left me, you abandoned me. Even in my greatest need, I was still there for you. And yet, you couldn't do the same for me. Why? Am I not good enough for you?” Sarah moved to speak, her throat closing with raw emotion. Sunni shook her head, her hand up to halt Sarah. “No, don't speak. Don't lie to me. No more lies, no more bullshit. If I was enough, then why weren't you there?” She let out a laugh now, a sound that was reminiscence to raw sandpaper. “I needed you, time and time again. I was there for you, because it was my job. It was my fucking duty as your partner to help you, to lift you up. And all you saw me as was a burden, someone who didn't conform to your little box. You're just like your fucking step mom.” Sarah jerked at the insult, her blood going cold. She didn't freeze because she was insulted. She froze because she knew it was true. “Sunni....Please. I really am sorry. I want to fix this with you. I can be bet-” Sunni shook her head, cutting off Sarah. “You've promised that before. I've shattered my heart with you, I've dedicated myself to you. And you didn't even have the common decency to return the favor. We're done, Sarah.” Her heart felt like lead, now. But she knew what she had to do. “I'm leaving you, Sarah. I can't do this anymore. I can't let myself be lead on my false lies. I've been there for you, and you can't do the same. I'm sorry. I need to take care of myself.

Keila is actually a man.

The corridor was concrete-damp and shadow-dark. Even in the midst of the Texas summer heat, the halls of the prison could be chilled with trapped air that seemed years old, aching with stale sadness. It’s what Kit felt first – until the dank, wet cold lay heavily across his exposed neck and arms. It stank like men’s sweat from fear and unwashed garments. Kit was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of pending doom and violent grief. He heard the weeping behind him – turned and saw nothing, then vapor, then Chief Santana himself. It was like a water reflection or someone seen through fog. The footsteps then came; not as hard-soled shoes, but with the soft shuffling of old bare feet against cement floors. The vapor and cold dissipated as suddenly as they had come. And Kit suspected the ghost had come because of him – something to do with him. But exactly what eluded him.

Then the center of influence shifted to London, with the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, Cream, the Who, the Kinks, and all the bands that orbited them. San Francisco, with the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and Santana, had its moment in a psychedelic spotlight around the Summer of Love and the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, but as the 1960s gave way to the '70s, the center of the musical universe shifted unmistakably to Los Angeles. "It was incredibly vital," said Jonathan Taplin, who first came to LA as the tour manager for Bob Dylan and the Band and later relocated there to produce Martin Scorsese's breakthrough movie, Mean Streets. "The nexus of the music business had really moved from New York to Los Angeles. That had been a profound shift . . . It was very clear that something big had changed."'' For a breathtaking few years, the stars aligned to glittering effect in Los Angeles. The city attracted brilliant artists; skilled session musicians; soulful songwriters; shrewd managers, agents, and record executives; and buzz-building clubs. From this dense constellation of talent, a shimmering new sound emerged, a smooth blend of rock and folk with country influences. Talented young people from all over the country began descending on Los Angeles with their guitar cases or dreams of becoming the next Geffen. Irving Azoff, a hyper-ambitious young agent and manager who arrived in Los Angeles in 1972, remembered, "It was like the gold rush. You've never seen anything like it in the entertainment business. The place was exploding. I was here—right place, right time. I tell everybody, `If you're really good in this business, you only have to be right once,' so you kind of make your own luck, but it is luck, too. It was hard to be in LA in that time and have any talent whatsoever in the music business—whether you were a manager, an agent, an artist, a producer, or writer—[and] not to make it, because it was boom times. It was the gold rush, and it was fucking fun.

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I’m no one’s prize. I’m the curse that slowly drains the life of those who come too close,

When you were exposed to darkness so young, it just became something you had to embrace inside yourself. I knew now the only way to not hate myself was to love even the worst parts of myself. After all, they were the parts that had kept me alive.

Corvin wanted me to be a knife—relentless, sharp, and concise. But I wasn’t a knife, I was the sheathe, worn and weathered from the blade’s constant marring. And I would take it over and over again if it meant the knife would always return to me. Because they were the weapon, and I was built to pardon their pain.

Death is a business transaction,

She wasn’t just sunshine, she was the whole fucking Sun.

Asteria’s Ship’s Library Sailing Books Admiralty, NP 136, Ocean Passages of the World, 1973 (1895).  Admiralty, NP 303 / AP 3270, Rapid Sight Reduction Tables for Navigation Vol 1 & Vol 2 & Vol3. Admiralty, The Nautical Almanac 2018 & 2019. Errol Bruce: Deep Sea Sailing, 1954. K. Adlard Coles: Heavy Weather Sailing, 1967. Tom Cunliffe: Celestial Navigation, 1989. Andrew Evans: Single Handed Sailing, 2015. Rob James: Ocean Sailing, 1980. Robin Knox-Johnston: A World of my Own, 1969. Robin Knox-Johnston: On Seamanship & Seafaring, 2018. Bernard Moitessier: The Long Route, 1971. Hal Roth: Handling Storms at Sea, 2009. Spike Briggs & Campbell Mackenzie: Skipper's Medical Emergency Handbook, 2015 Essays Albert Camus: The Myth of Sisyphus & Other Essays, 1955. Biographies Pamela Eriksson: The Duchess, 1958. Olaf Harken: Fun Times in Boats, Blocks & Business, 2015. Martti Häikiö: VA Koskenniemi 1–2, 2009. Eino Koivistoinen: Gustaf Erikson – King of Sailing Ships, 1981. Erik Tawaststjerna: Jean Sibelius 1–5, 1989. Novels Ingmar Bergman: The Best Intentions, 1991. Bo Carpelan: Axel, 1986. Joseph Conrad: The End of the Tether, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Youth and Other Stories 1898–1910.  Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Lord Jim, 1900. James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922, (translation Pentti Saarikoski 1982). Volter Kilpi: In the Alastalo Hall I – II, 1933. Thomas Mann: Buddenbrooks, 1925. Harry Martinson: The Road, 1948. Hjalmar Nortamo: Collected Works, 1938. Marcel Proust: In Search of Lost Time 1–10, 1922. Poems Aaro Hellaakoski: Collected Poems. Homer: Odysseus, c. 700 BC (translation Otto Manninen). Harry Martinson: Aniara, 1956. Lauri Viita: Collected Poems. Music Classic Jean Sibelius Sergei Rachmaninov Sergei Prokofiev Gustav Mahler Franz Schubert Giuseppe Verdi Mozart Carl Orff Richard Strauss Edvard Grieg Max Bruch Jazz Ben Webster Thelonius Monk Oscar Peterson Miles Davis Keith Jarrett Errol Garner Dizzy Gillespie & Benny Dave Brubeck Stan Getz Charlie Parker Ella Fitzgerald John Coltrane Other Ibrahim Ferrer, Buena Vista Social Club Jobim & Gilberto, Eric Clapton Carlos Santana Bob Dylan John Lennon Beatles Sting Rolling Stones Dire Straits Mark Knopfler Moody Blues Pink Floyd Jim Morrison The Doors Procol Harum Leonard Cohen Led Zeppelin Kim Carnes Jacques Brel Yves Montand Edit Piaf

Sometimes we were so burdened by the ghosts of our pasts that we didn’t realize we might not be the only ones who were haunted.

It was filled with the ghosts of our love that guarded the crypt to our past, buried deep in its grave.

It didn't matter if there was a Heaven or Hell, because the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain was here on Earth, with them.

She looked at me with a gaze full of nothing but love. How she could see past the monster that was inside of all of us, how she could heal us as well as herself even though the reality was, she was the most damaged one of us all was beyond me.

We both needed this. He craved my surrender, my submission, and now that I was here with that rope around my neck, I knew I craved all of those things too. His possession, his control, his protection. They were one in the same.

I wasn’t the monster here. No, that was another man.

But they were enraptured by our presence. By human nature, they desired our attention. They needed to know what it meant to be close to the Devil because they were too afraid to find out for themselves.

When I looked at her, I saw everything I wasn’t, everything I couldn’t be.

I'll be the one who gets to decide when you die, Romina—not Frollo, not God, no one else. I’ll bear the burden of your fears, your hatred, your sorrow, not just your happiness. You’re safe with me because I’m the one who names that day, because it’ll be the day I choose to go too.

I don’t want Heaven if it’s without you.

The taste of blood was far better than the taste of my own lies.

I don’t understand it,” I said honestly. “But it’s beautiful.

That is exactly how beautiful things should be. But be careful, because they are the ones that hurt the most.

She was breathtaking. She was datura, blooming in the pitch black while her vines coiled around us, choking us with her invasion.

Maybe in the end, that’s what love was: forgiveness. Undeniable, unsolicited, and at times, unrequited. It was the ability to look past the pain despite all the hurt it could cause you, because in the end, you knew it could do the same for you. If that wasn’t love, maybe this was as good as it got for someone like me.

Corvin wanted me to be a knife—relentless, sharp, and concise—but I wasn’t a knife. I was the sheath, worn and weathered from the blade’s constant marring, and I would take it over and over again if it meant the knife would always return to me. Because they were the weapon, and I was built to pardon their pain.

In 1971, there was the concert of all concerts, the Soul to Soul Music Festival, which was staged on March 6 as a celebration of Ghana’s fourteenth anniversary of independence. It was held in Accra, at Black Star Square, which is now called Independence Square, and it was fourteen hours long, ending at dawn. A number of Americans came to perform, like Wilson Pickett, Ike and Tina Turner, the Staple Singers, Santana, and Roberta Flack. For months before and for months afterward, Soul to Soul was the talk of the nation. Every town attempted their own mini replica, inviting multiple bands, trying to pack the venues and keep the show going until the crowd was knackered.

light and shadow weren’t enemies, but symbiotic creatures who couldn’t exist without each other.

Vengeance is a meal best served screaming.

Because the very men I’d been led to believe would be my ruin were somehow becoming my salvation.

I would hate to think what they would do if they found you, Romina dear.

Oh my sweet little pet, make no mistake: I am that abomination,” he said, reaching out to caress my face. “And it is your soul I will devour.

By seventeen, I had written a book on how to kill someone and get away with it using only plants.

between your legs, and even he won’t be able to save you, little lamb,

You think Satan cares whether or not you believe in him? He’d rather you believe in yourself.

Sonny Santorini was terrifying.

Capitalism was the real disease, and the church knew just how to leverage people’s greed and desires to fuel their growth.

By lighting yourself on fire with enthusiasm, you can become a beacon of bliss amidst a bastion of boredom and banality. Your attitude carries with it your single most powerful tool to influence your classroom. Carlos Santana said, “There is nothing more contagious on this planet than enthusiasm. The songs become incidental, what people receive is your joy.” As a teacher, I would tweak this to the lessons become incidental, what people receive is your joy.

el miedo realmente no es a perder a nuestros hijos, sino a volvernos a equivocar.

Todo lleva un orden y en nuestra vida, lo recomendable es primero Dios, segundo Tú, tercero tu pareja (si la hay) cuarto tu familia y quinto tu trabajo, si alteramos el orden seguro tenemos problemas.

Hemos llegado al final del libro y transformar mi vida es una decisión personal, una decisión fuerte, que me llevara a estar consiente de quien soy y que debo hacer para ser feliz. Nuestro Reto Transformar nuestra vida siendo mejores seres humanos y mejores padres o madres y porque no mejores parejas. Que hacer con todo lo que hemos