Vida Show Quotes

Never apologize for showing your feelings. When you do, you are apologizing for the truth.

Truly, love is something a lot more than to sleep with someone else, more than just to talk with that person. It’s to think of that person, wanting them to be happy, to wish them well, to care about them, showing consideration, listening when they are happy or when they're sad, encouraging, it is to show your love, to make that someone feel special, it is always waiting to hear their voice, keeping them in your mind, in your thoughts, and in your heart.

The happily ever after thing. It's great when she marries the prince or whatever and they say that. But they just don't show the part where there's a revolution and they drag her to the guillotine.

No puedes amar a alguien si no estás consciente de sus defectos y estás dispuesto a tolerarlos.

FORBIDDEN Pain without learning is forbidden, waking up one day not knowing what to do, being afraid of your memories. It is forbidden not to smile at problems, not to fight for what you want, to abandon all because of fears, not to realize your dreams. It is forbidden not to show your love, to be ashamed of your tears, to not laugh with children, to make someone else pay your debts, bad humor. It is forbidden to forget your friends, to not try to understand why they live far away, to treat people as disposable, to call them only when you need them. It is forbidden to not be yourself in front of others, pretending around people you don’t care about, trying to be funny just so you'll be remembered, to forget about all the people who love you. It is forbidden not to do things for yourself, to be afraid of life and its commitments, to not to live each day as if it were your last. It forbidden to take someone out without having fun, to forget their eyes, their laugh, to not respect love even if it is past, just because your paths have stopped crossing, to forget your past and only live in the moment. It is forbidden not to try to understand people, to think that other’s lives are worth more than yours, to not know that each one of us has our own way and our own happiness. It is forbidden not create your own story, to have no time for people who need you, to not understand what life gives to you, and that it can also be taken away. It is forbidden not find your happiness, to not live your life with a positive attitude, to not think we can do better and be better, to feel that without you, this world would still be the same...

We often think that combining tasks will save us time, but scientific evidence shows that it has the opposite effect. Even those who claim to be good at multitasking are not very productive. In fact, they are some of the least productive people. Our brains can take million bits of information but can only actually process of few dozen per second. When we say we're multitasking, what we're really doing is switching back and forth between tasks very quickly. Unfortunately, we're not computers adept at parallel processing. We end up spending all our energy alternative between tasks, instead of focusing on doing one of them well. Concentrating on one thing at a time may be the single most important factor in achieving flow.

Control Mastery Theory in psychology says that sometimes life is like watching a difficult and tragic movie. We can become too caught up in the action and the pain to let our emotions show. But in the end, if it turns out happy, then our tears can flow. Because then, we know we are safe.

Infelizmente, este espectáculo também só existe porque existem espectadores. Conta a lenda urbana que a guilhotina caiu em desuso na França do Terror, porque era uma forma demasiado rápida e demasiado limpa de tirar vidas. As massas ávidas de sofrimento, morte lenta e dor desinteressavam-se. Mas, numa era de «reality shows», onde multidões passam horas a espiolhar as casas de banho de cobaias humanas amestradas, as execuções do EI fecham o círculo das prosas bárbaras e fazem sentido.

Like her [mother], I attempted to give the impression to Vida that I was a perfect person, had no complicated history and had never put a foot wrong in life. (What kind of a role model is that for a child?) Divorce made an honest woman of me. Vida was eight when my marriage began to disintegrate and I couldn't bear pretending to her or anyone else any more. I was sick of trying to appear normal. Vida didn't reject me for showing my true self – that's what I imagined would happen. Far from it, we grew even closer. She especially enjoyed my swearing. (I only swore in front of her when she was older. Everything has to be revealed at an appropriate time.) A child derives a sense of safety from knowing the person who looks after them is respectful enough to be honest. Vida has never rooted around in my cupboards and drawers or turned the house upside down searching for letters and scraps of evidence to help her piece her mother together like I did. On the contrary, she knows too much. She's not fascinated by secrets because I haven't hidden anything from her, not even the ugly stuff.

It is important to live authentically who you are, to show yourself to your date as the bond between you builds.

Choosing your flirtations consciously shows emotional maturity.

De difícil já basta a vida, para esse homem eu sou fácil fácil.

— O segundo segredo é: sempre tem alguém melhor do que você. Isso significa que, primeiro: não surta; não se compare com os outros; não comece a medir sua vida a partir da deles — digo com calma.

We love you," my dad says, and mother nods. My mother my shows her love in every way possible but has a hard time saying the word. My dad and I have had many conversations about why this might be; we think it's because she's lost so many people she's said the word "love" to. Half her family is dead.

Si algo angustia a los seres humanos hoy en día es el peligro de la desconexión. Es paradójica la simultaneidad de la hiperconexión y el aislamiento. El teléfono celular debe estar siempre a mano, conectado a todas las redes posibles; de lo contrario, el sentimiento es el de ser náufragos. Lo primero que hace la gente cuando aterriza un avión es encender el celular. Para algunos, incluso pocos minutos de desconexión pueden parecer una eternidad. La desconexión social hace que las personas se interesen por la vida de los demás como espectáculo de masas; se trata de los reality shows. En las sociedades actuales hay muchos náufragos que viven entre la multitud; el aislamiento social y la soledad se consideran condiciones de riesgo para la salud y se han convertido en uno de los grandes temas de la salud pública.

Cuando se quedaron solos los Delfines, Jacinta se despachó a su gusto con su marido, y tan cargada de razón estaba y tan firme y valerosa, que apenas pudo él contestarle, y sus triquiñuelas fueron armas impotentes y risibles contra la verdad que afluía de los labios de la ofendida consorte. Esta le hacía temblar con sus acerados juicios, y ya no era fácil que el habilidoso caballero triunfara de aquella alma tierna, cuya dialéctica solía debilitarse con la fuerza del cariño. Entonces se vio que la continuidad de los sufrimientos había destruido en Jacinta la estimación a su marido, y la ruina de la estimación arrastró consigo parte del amor, hallándose por fin este reducido a tan míseras proporciones, que casi no se le echaba de ver. La situación desairada en que esto le ponía, inflamaba más y más el orgullo de Santa Cruz, y ante el desdén no simulado, sino real y efectivo, que su mujer le mostraba, el pobre hombre padecía horriblemente, porque era para él muy triste, que a la víctima no le doliesen ya los golpes que recibía. No ser nadie en presencia de su mujer, no encontrar allí aquel refugio a que periódicamente estaba acostumbrado, le ponía de malísimo talante. Y era tal su confianza en la seguridad de aquel refugio, que al perderlo, experimentó por vez primera esa sensación tristísima de las irreparables pérdidas y del vacío de la vida, sensación que en plena juventud equivale al envejecer , en plena familia equivale al quedarse solo, y marca la hora en que lo mejor de la existencia se corre hacia atrás, quedando a la espalda los horizontes que antes estaban por delante. Claramente se lo dijo ella, con expresiva sinceridad en sus ojos, que nunca engañaban. When the Dauphins were left alone, Jacinta dealt with her husband in her own way; she was so right, so firm, and valiant that he could hardly retaliate, his petty tricks becoming mere laughable, impotent weapons against the truth that flowed from the lips of the wronged wife. She made him tremble with her steely judgements, and it was no longer easy for the clever gentleman to triumph over that tender soul whose dialectics had usually weakened under the force of his affection. Then it became evident that the continuity of Jacinta's suffering had destroyed her respect for her husband, and the ruins of that respect had destroyed some of her love, and then the greater part of it, until it was finally reduced to such miserable proportions that it was scarcely visible. The ungraceful position in which Santa Cruz found himself inflamed his pride all the more; and with this disdain – no longer disguised, but now real and effective – that his wife was showing him the poor man suffered horribly, because it was very sad for him that his blows could no longer hurt his victim. To be a nobody to his wife, not to find in her that periodic refuge to which he was accustomed, put him in a very bad frame of mind. And his confidence in the security of that refuge was such that, upon losing it, he experienced for the first time in his life that terrible sadness produced by irreparable losses and the emptiness of life; a sensation which in the prime of youth equals aging; when surrounded by one's family, equals loneliness; which convinces one that the best of life is behind, leaving one's back turned on the horizons that were once ahead. She told him so clearly, with expressive sincerity in her eyes, which never deceived.

Vida é o que existe entre o nascimento e a morte. O que acontece no meio é o que importa. No meio, a gente descobre que sexo sem amor também vale a pena, mas é ginástica, não tem transcendência nenhuma. Que tudo o que faz você voltar pra casa de mãos abanando (sem uma emoção, um conhecimento, uma surpresa, uma paz, uma ideia) foi perda de tempo. Que a primeira metade da vida é muito boa, mas da metade pro fim pode ser ainda melhor, se a gente aprendeu alguma coisa com os tropeços lá do início. Que o pensamento é uma aventura sem igual. Que é preciso abrir a nossa caixa preta de vez em quando, apesar do medo do que vamos encontrar lá dentro. Que maduro é aquele que mata no peito as vertigens e os espantos. No meio, a gente descobre que sofremos mais com as coisas que imaginamos que estejam acontecendo do que com as que acontecem de fato. Que amar é lapidação, e não destruição. Que certos riscos compensam – o difícil é saber previamente quais. Que subir na vida é algo para se fazer sem pressa. Que é preciso dar uma colher de chá para o acaso. Que tudo que é muito rápido pode ser bem frustrante. Que Veneza, Mykonos, Bali e Patagônia são lugares excitantes, mas que incrível mesmo é se sentir feliz dentro da própria casa. Que a vontade é quase sempre mais forte que a razão. Quase? Ora, é sempre mais forte. No meio, a gente descobre que reconhecer um problema é o primeiro passo para resolvê-lo. Que é muito narcisista ficar se consumindo consigo próprio. Que todas as escolhas geram dúvida, todas. Que depois de lutar pelo direito de ser diferente, chega a bendita hora de se permitir a indiferença. Que adultos se divertem muito mais do que os adolescentes. Que uma perda, qualquer perda, é um aperitivo da morte – mas não é a morte, que essa só acontece no fim, e ainda estamos falando do meio. No meio, a gente descobre que precisa guardar a senha não apenas do banco e da caixa postal, mas a senha que nos revela a nós mesmos. Que passar pela vida à toa é um desperdício imperdoável. Que as mesmas coisas que nos exibem também nos escondem (escrever, por exemplo). Que tocar na dor do outro exige delicadeza. Que ser feliz pode ser uma decisão, não apenas uma contingência. Que não é preciso se estressar tanto em busca do orgasmo, há outras coisas que também levam ao clímax: um poema, um gol, um show, um beijo. No meio, a gente descobre que fazer a coisa certa é sempre um ato revolucionário. Que é mais produtivo agir do que reagir. Que a vida não oferece opção: ou você segue, ou você segue. Que a pior maneira de avaliar a si mesmo é se comparando com os demais. Que a verdadeira paz é aquela que nasce da verdade. E que harmonizar o que pensamos, sentimos e fazemos é um desafio que leva uma vida toda, esse meio todo.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of his dreams, his dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of her dreams, her dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

Tal vez ese fuera el verdadero propósito de las costumbres, de las fiestas de los pueblos, de los días señalados del calendario. La vida sigue, pese a que ocurran desastres, muertes y guerras. Tal vez sea una enseñanza de nuestros ancestros: que el show debe continuar.

Oliver Quiteculo > My Quotes (showing 1-2 of 2) sort by Remove this quote from your collection “[…] Depois de algum tempo, de ter perguntado pelo Tô Manel a várias pessoas, lembrei-me de ir tentar a sorte no ponto de encontro. Meti-me na bicha e fui escutando os apelos que as pessoas iam fazendo em busca dos seus familiares: “me chamo Fololinda Gouveia, estou a precurar meu filho que desapareceu em oitenta e nove, nome dele mais conhecido é Joãozinho Gouveia, peço só nas pessoas que estão a me ouvir favor só de lhe falarem que mãe dele está lhe precurar, moro no Cazenga”; “Meu nome é André Sapanjo, estou a precurar minha mulher que fugiu com outro homem em noventa e dois, uma grande cabra!, perdão!, não era isso que queria dizer, faz só favor de cortar nesta parte, cabra era no antigamente, agora que estou com a palavra do Senhor no coração não lhe posso chamar nem de cabra nem de puta, ai! ai! ai!, corta, corta, corta só também nesta palavra de puta que é muito feia, já cortou?, hã, ok…, nome dela da minha santinha é Madalena, quero que ela volta, volta só mana Lena, minha fofinha, agora estou bem na vida, mijo forte, tenho carros nas lundas, aqui em Luanda tenho várias lojas e carros, vou te dar cama e mesa, vais ver só no amor que vou te dar, moro na Mabor!”; “Meu nome que me pusseram com ele no baptismo é Mana Maria Teresinha do Menino Jesus, diga?, juro mesmo é esse nome que me pusseram com ele!, me chamam também mana Teté, estou só a precurar no pai das crianças que ele me deixou quando quando foi na tropa em oitenta e nove, o nome dele?, o nome dele mesmo é Zeca, Zeca quê?, Zeca só!, o outro nome dele nunca lhe perguntei, mas está aqui foto dele, peço só para me falarem onde é que ele está, vivo ou morto!, Zeca vem só na casa, as crianças estão te chorar todos dias!, moro no Golfe perto da paragem dos autocarros.” Uma velha, de panos, falando umbundo, olhava atentamente para cãmera da TPA que fazia o registo dos apelos e gesticula como se estivesse a ver a imagem da pessoa que procurava reflectida no olhp da câmera: “ Onde é que andas meu Neto?, desde que foste na tropa não voltaste mais porquê?, te mataram nos bandidos ou quê?, fala só meu neto, fala, não faz mais sofrer na tua mãe e na tua avó, ouviste? Vem só na casa, estamos a morar na mesma casa aqui em Luanda, ele me ouviu né?, só logo a noite no Nação Coragem?, não faz mal, mas tenho certeza que está hora ele já me viu falar”. Quando chegou a minha vez exibi foto dele que dona Marília me tinha enviado com a carta, era uma foto muito antiga tirada nos anos sessenta que, talvez por isso, era capaz de não ajudar nada, o Tô hoje deve ter mais ou menos a minha idade, mas pronto, deixei a foto e a filiação dele, e acrescentei que ele devia de estar na província da Huíla, e a única forma de eu puder ser contactodo caso alguém soubesse do Tô era só memso na portária da Rádio. Pessoas que estvam por perto ainda se admiraram por um preto vir procurar paradeiro de um branco, por isso me olharam só dessas – as dúvidas. Sei que a foto dele passou várias vezes no Nação Coragem e depois, cerca de quarenta dias após minha ida no Ponto de Encontro, a Rádio pela mesma via mandou-me chamar: o Tô manel tinha morrido naufragado ao largo sudoeste da africano.[…]

Con los países pobres ocurre lo mismo que ocurre con los pobres de cada país: los medios masivos de comunicación sólo se dignan echarles una ojeada cuando ofrecen alguna desgracia espectacular que puede tener éxito en el mercado. ¿Cuántas personas deben ser destripadas por guerra o terremoto, o ahogadas por inundación, para que algunos países sean noticia y aparezcan por una vez en el mapa del mundo? ¿Cuántos espantos debe acumular un muerto de hambre para que las cámaras lo enfoquen por una vez en la vida? El mundo tiende a convertirse en el escenario de un gigantesco reality show. Los pobres, los desaparecidos de siempre, sólo aparecen en la tele como objeto de burla de la cámara oculta o como actores de sus propias truculencias. El desconocido necesita ser reconocido, el invisible quiere hacerse visible, busca raíz el desarraigado. Lo que no existe en la televisión, ¿existe en la realidad? Sueña el paria con la gloria de la pantalla chica, donde cualquier espantapájaros se transfigura en galán irresistible. Con tal de entrar en el olimpo donde los teledioses moran, algún infeliz ha sido capaz de pegarse un tiro ante las cámaras de un programa de entretenimientos. Últimamente, la llamada telebasura está teniendo, en unos cuantos países de América latina, tanto o más éxito que las telenovelas: la niña violada llora ante el periodista que la interroga como si la violara otra vez; este monstruo es el nuevo hombre elefante, miren, señoras y señores, no se pierdan este fenómeno increíble: la mujer barbuda busca novio; un señor gordo dice estar embarazado. Hace treinta y poco años, en Brasil, ya los concursos del horror convocaban multitudes de candidatos y ganaban enormes teleaudiencias: ¿Quién es el enano más bajito del país? ¿Quién es el narigón de nariz más larga, que la ducha no le moja los pies? ¿Quién es el desgraciado más desgraciado de todos? En los concursos de desgraciados, desfilaba por los estudios la corte de los milagros: la niña sin orejas, comidas por las ratas; el débil mental que había pasado treinta años encadenado a la pata de una cama; la mujer que era hija, cuñada, suegra y esposa del marido borracho que la había dejado inválida. Y cada desgraciado tenía su hinchada, que desde la platea gritaba, a coro: -¡Ya ganó! ¡Ya ganó!

Cuando el llamado Divo de Juárez estaba en uno de sus mejores momentos lo contrataron para una fiesta de Don Neto. Una muy especial. Eran los tiempos cuando en todas partes sonaba su canción “Querida”, una de las más populares en su historia discográfica. “Querida, cada momento de mi vida, yo pienso en ti más cada día, mira mi soledad…” La fiesta fue en el rancho La Herradura ubicado por la carretera que conduce al Aeropuerto Internacional de Guadalajara, en el pueblo de Atequiza. El invitado de honor de Don Neto era el tristemente célebre colombiano Pablo Escobar. Uno de los acompañantes de Escobar que tenía la confianza para jugarle bromas pesadas se acercó a Juan Gabriel y le ofreció un millón de dólares si le daba un beso al capo colombiano. —No, me va a matar —respondió temeroso el Divo. —No te mata. —No me vas a dar el dinero. —Sí te lo doy. El cantante, seguramente más por intimidación que por dinero, fue y sorpresivamente le plantó un beso en los labios a Escobar. Lira vio la escena con los ojos abiertos como plato, estupefacto. Instantáneamente Escobar sacó su pistola, Don Neto también. El compañero de Escobar se levantó de inmediato y le explicó que era una broma orquestada por él. Don Neto soltó la carcajada, a Escobar no le causó ninguna gracia, pero tuvo que aguantar y también rio para no sentirse más ridículo. Juan Gabriel ya no continuó el show y se esfumó antes de que Escobar cambiara de opinión.

Es como me estuvieras arrancando de la oscuridad que ha gobernado mi vida. Cuando cierro los ojos, te veo a ti. Enséñame el camino, Rynna. Enséñame la salida. Por favor, enséñame el camino.