Yo Yo Ma Quotes

Outside has everything. Whenever I think of a thing now like skis or fireworks or islands or elevators or yo-yos, I have to remember they're real, they're actually happening in Outside all together. It makes my head tired. And people too, firefighters teachers burglars babies saints soccer players and all sorts, they're all really in Outside. I'm not there, though, me and Ma, we're the only ones not there. Are we still real?

To YoYo Ma: "You playing is the best argument I've ever heard for the existence of God, because I don't really believe a human alone can do this.

Passion is one great force that unleashes creativity, because if you're passionate about something then you're more willing to take risks.

Sí, soy fuerte... Soy una roca... Estas cosas las entiendo. Yo, que me pongo en la piel de todos, en la mía no, la mía la dejo en el armario, entre el polvo. Pero a veces estaba demasiado cansada de ponerme en esas pieles usadas, que pertenecían a otros, que no eran de mi talla.

Our seats were in the balcony. Nosebleeds. But you don't go to Yo-Yo Ma for the view, and the sound was incredible. That man has a way of making the cello sound like a crying woman one minute, a laughing child the next. . Listening to him, I'm always reminded of why I started playing cell in the first place --- that there is something so human and expressive about it.

start each day with that i don't understand

If you are only worried about not making a mistake then you will communicate nothing

Dear Kiran, I AM SorRy mY faMILy siTUAtion haS Been sO HarD on You. WHAT Can I DO to MaKe It BetTer? YoU Are The GUY, so CleArLY You KnOw BeST.

We're not born creative or destructive. Each one of us has the ability to create or destroy, to leave the world better than we found it, or worse.

Thank yuh, ma’am, but don’t say you’se ole. You’se uh lil girl baby all de time. God made it so you spent yo’ ole age first wid somebody else, and saved up yo’ young girl days to spend wid me.

I learn something not because I have to, but because I really want to. That's the same view I have for performing. I'm performing because I really want to, not because I have to bring bread back home.

Things can fall apart, or threaten to, for many reasons, and then there’s got to be a leap of faith. Ultimately, when you’re at the edge, you have to go forward or backward; if you go forward, you have to jump together. —Yo-Yo Ma

Scarface don’t have shit on me. I should have been in Lion King, huh?! Maybe I could have been an extra. I heard ALL OF THE FUCKING JOKES, BRO! I HEARD THEM ALL! NOTHING YOU CAN SAY TO ME THAT I HAVEN’T HEARD BEFORE SO EVERYONE GET YO SHIT OUT NOW BECAUSE THE NEXT TIME A BITCH SAY SOMETHING, I’MA POP YOU IN YO SHIT!

In a little wind-lull, Tea Cake touched Janie and said, ‘Ah reckon you wish now you had of stayed in yo’ big house ’way from such as dis, don’t yuh?’ ‘Naw.’ ‘Naw?’ ‘Yeah, naw. People don't die till dey time come nohow, don't keer where you at. Ah’m wid mah husband in uh storm, dat’s all.’ ‘Thanky, Ma’am. But ’sposing you wuz tuh die, now. You wouldn’t git mad at me for draggin’ yuh heah?’ ‘Naw. We been tuhgether round two years. If you kin see de light at daybreak, you don’t keer if you die at dusk. It’s so many people never seen de light at all. Ah wuz fumblin’ round and God opened de door.’ He dropped to the floor and put his head in her lap. ‘Well then, Janie, you meant whut you didn’t say, ’cause Ah never knowed you wuz so satisfied wid me lak dat, Ah kinda thought—’ The wind came back with triple fury, and put out the light for the last time. They sat in company with the others in other shanties, their eyes straining against crude walls and their souls asking if He meant to measure their puny might against His. They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.

The only people she ever spoke to were Pa now and then and, even less often, the cash-register lady at the Piggly Wiggly, Mrs. Singletary, who had recently taken to teaching Kya the difference between quarters, nickels, and dimes—she already knew about pennies. But Mrs. Singletary could also get nosey. “Dahlin’, what’s yo’ name, anyhow? And why don’t yo’ ma come in anymore? Haven’t seen ’er since the turnips put out.” “Ma’s got lots of chores, so she sends me to the store.” “Yeah, dear, but ya never buy nears enough for yo’ family.” “Ya know, ma’am, I gotta go. Ma needs these grits right away.

Y sin embargo, cuando llego aquí, por primera vez después de un año, lo único que suena por la radio es More More More, How Do you Like It How Do you Like It, y yo pienso: este pincha es una mierda. ¡Cambio de emisora y suena «Ma Baker» de Boney M! ¡Cambio a la FM y suena «Fly Robin Fly» de Silver Convention! Le pregunto a un ayudante de camarero del hotel: ¿dónde puedo escuchar a los Mighty Diamonds o a Dillinger? Y él se me queda mirando como si le acabara de pedir que me dejara chuparle la polla y me dice: señor, no todos los jamaicanos vendemos hierba. Hasta Abba suena más que el reggae por aquí. He oído «Dancing Queen»tantas veces que creo que me estoy volviendo maricón.

Well, we better hide way out there where the crawdads sing. I pity any foster parents who take you on.” Tate’s whole face smiled. “What d’ya mean, where the crawdads sing? Ma used to say that.” Kya remembered Ma always encouraging her to explore the marsh: “Go as far as you can—way out yonder where the crawdads sing.” “Just means far in the bush where critters are wild, still behaving like critters. Now, you got any ideas where we can meet?” “There’s a place I found one time, an old fallin’-down cabin. Once you know the turnoff, ya can get there by boat; I can walk there from here.” “Okay then, get in. Show me this time; next time we’ll meet there.” “If I’m out there I’ll leave a little pile of rocks right here by the tyin’-up log.” Kya pointed to a spot on the lagoon beach. “Otherwise, I’m ’round here somewhere and will come out when I hear yo’ motor.” They puttered slowly through the marsh, then planed off south through open sea, away from town. She bounced along in the bow, wind

Suddenly his ringing cell phone brought him out of his deep thoughts. Los already knew who it was from the ringtone. He reached over snatching the phone up quickly to avoid waking Lucky. “Nice what’s good?” “What’s good is I just came from Mom Dukes crib and caught her and Aunt V scrapping on some WorldStar shit Bruh.” “What? Yo is you serious?” Los said rising from his back trying to ease from under Lucky without waking her. “Los listen that shit was crazy, Mom was beaten the breaks off V man. I broke that mess up and Mom was still tryna get at her. V wig ended up all cocked to the side like it was on its gangsta lean, Momz went savage on V had her leakin and everything.” “What?!” Los asked getting hyped and jumping out of bed when he heard blood was drawn. He knew his brother had the tendency to hype shit up in order to make things more entertaining but Nice sounded dead ass. “Where you at right now?” Los asked. “On my way back out to Momz crib.” “Man I’ma meet you out there, I’m on my way to check on her and find out what’s goin on.” “Say no more Bruh I’ll see you out there,” Nice responded before hanging up.

Even if there is no connection between diversity and international influence, some people would argue that immigration brings cultural enrichment. This may seem to be an attractive argument, but the culture of Americans remains almost completely untouched by millions of Hispanic and Asian immigrants. They may have heard of Cinco de Mayo or Chinese New Year, but unless they have lived abroad or have studied foreign affairs, the white inhabitants of Los Angeles are likely to have only the most superficial knowledge of Mexico or China despite the presence of many foreigners. Nor is it immigrants who introduce us to Cervantes, Puccini, Alexander Dumas, or Octavio Paz. Real high culture crosses borders by itself, not in the back pockets of tomato pickers, refugees, or even the most accomplished immigrants. What has Yo-Yo Ma taught Americans about China? What have we learned from Seiji Ozawa or Ichiro about Japan? Immigration and the transmission of culture are hardly the same thing. Nearly every good-sized American city has an opera company, but that does not require Italian immigrants. Miami is now nearly 70 percent Hispanic, but what, in the way of authentic culture enrichment, has this brought the city? Are the art galleries, concerts, museums, and literature of Los Angeles improved by diversity? Has the culture of Detroit benefited from a majority-black population? If immigration and diversity bring cultural enrichment, why do whites move out of those very parts of the country that are being “enriched”? It is true that Latin American immigration has inspired more American school children to study Spanish, but fewer now study French, German, or Latin. If anything, Hispanic immigration reduces what little linguistic diversity is to be found among native-born Americans. [...] [M]any people study Spanish, not because they love Hispanic culture or Spanish literature but for fear they may not be able to work in America unless they speak the language of Mexico. Another argument in favor of diversity is that it is good for people—especially young people —to come into contact with people unlike themselves because they will come to understand and appreciate each other. Stereotyped and uncomplimentary views about other races or cultures are supposed to crumble upon contact. This, of course, is just another version of the “contact theory” that was supposed to justify school integration. Do ex-cons and the graduates—and numerous dropouts—of Los Angeles high schools come away with a deep appreciation of people of other races? More than half a century ago, George Orwell noted that: 'During the war of 1914-18 the English working class were in contact with foreigners to an extent that is rarely possible. The sole result was that they brought back a hatred of all Europeans, except the Germans, whose courage they admired.

So this is what a black pepper pork bun really tastes like!" The bun is flaky, and crispy, like a piecrust! The juicy pork filling is seasoned with just enough black pepper to give it a good bite! All the minced green onion mixed in with it makes it even better! The whole thing is overflowing with the mellow and meaty umami goodness of ground pork! "IT'S SOOO GOOD!" "Look! There it is! That's Soma Yukihira's booth!" "Really? Interesting! Wasn't he one of the finalists in this year's Classic?" "Hmm. This meat filling is way too weak as is. Juiciness, richness, umami... it's way short on all of those. The bun itself is probably good enough. Maybe I should up the ratio of rib meat..." "Yo. How're the test recipes going? There are a whole lot of other exclusively Chinese seasonings you can try, y'know. Oyster sauce, Xo spicy seafood sauce and a whole mountain of spices. I did a Dongpo Pork Bowl for the Classic, so I know all too well how deep that particular subject gets." "Oh, right! Now I see it. Chinese "Ma-La" flavor is just another combination of spices! Everything I learned about spices from my curry dish for the Prelims... ... I should be able to use in this too! Thanks, Nikumi!" "H-hey! Don't grab my hand like that!" How about this? Fresh-ground black pepper... ... and some mellow, fragrant sesame oil! When you're making anything Chinese, you can't forget the five-spice powder. I'll also knead in some star anise to enhance the flavor of the pork! Then add sliced green onions and finish by wrapping the mixture in the dough

On the weekend I thought about how cool it would be if I changed my name to “Yo-Mama”. I made a list of all the different ways it would sound awesome. When Ma calls the dentist: “Hello? Yes, this is Mrs McDonald. I’d like to make an appointment for Yo-Mama.” Being called for our turn at the Doctor: “Yo-Mama?” Then not answering so they have to call again. “Yo-Mama? Is Yo-Mama here? At the park: “Yo-Mama! Come down from the climbing frame, it’s time to eat your snacks.” At home: “Who ate all the chocolate chip cookies?” “Yo-Mama!” Or “Hurry up in the bathroom!

Cuando Javi fue creciendo yo empecé a pensar de ma­­nera recurrente dos cosas, como cuando lo conocí en el hospital. La primera en interrogativo: en qué se convierten los hermanos cuando crecen, cuando dejan de ser niños. La segunda en desiderativo: ojalá Javi pudiera ser yo por un día para verse como lo ven mis ojos. Ojalá pudiera ser yo por un día para comprobar, para saber lo orgullosa que me siento de él. A veces, cuando se viene a mi casa a dormir porque tiene exámenes de la universidad o porque le apetece, le sigo espiando cuando cierra los ojos, aunque ya no quepa en el Maxi-Cosi, y lo sigo haciendo para comprobar que existe, que es.

Quién sabe cuánto tiempo hace que he muerto, pero en vano sigue moviéndose, como una esfera, el movimiento de sus cigarrillos, como una carrera de coches hacia el abismo, como un coche en que un hombre al volante me apuntara con su cigarrillo. Y alguien decía en la sombra: —No te ma­ tes, y me apuntaba grotescamente con su cigarrillo: El ciga­ rrillo apuntaba a mi frente, a mi espalda, a mi pecho, y yo sabía que ante un cigarrillo no debe uno ni siquiera llorar, si­ no inyectarse excremento en las venas pa no llorar.

I’ma let you go. You got a wedding to plan and all,” Messiah said with a scoff as he caressed his lips, his lips that still tasted like her. “But yo, while you at it, plan a funeral too, shorty. You gon’ need a black dress that day, because the day I watch you walk down the aisle to that lame-ass nigga is the day he takes his last breath.” Messiah kissed the

-Cuando no sea más que polvo cósmico, me negaré a viajar libre por el espacio y me quedaré a tu lado, porque, aunque no puedas amarme… yo sí lo hago.

Brit: OH MY GOD. Tyler. It’s a woman, isn’t it? You’re dating someone! Who is she? What’s her name? When do we get to meet her? Are you bringing her home for Christmas? Is she a bunny, or is she someone else? Wait! Wait! Are you dating one of your teammates’ sisters? OH MY GOD. You’re dating the coach’s daughter and you’re trying to make a good impression, aren’t you? Tyler: *picture of a skinny white guy with big glasses* Haha! Psych. I stole this phone. This is me. I’m Bernard. You guys sound like fun. Will you adopt me? I’ll send you my real number. Dad: That’s a funny Grand Canyon of a vagina, Tyler, my favorite son, god of the sun and moon, he who bangs best. Dad: Grand Canyon of a vagina. Dad: WHO CHANGED MY PHONE TO INSULT YOUR YO-YO MA’S SEX TAPE? Dad: BEEEEEEEEEEEP. Keely: OMG, I’m wheezing. Allie: My favorite part of this is that Tyler’s going to get blamed for changing the autocorrect setting in Dad’s phone. Again. Brit: I can’t believe no one changed “joke” in his phone before now. Dad: I CAN STILL SEE YOUR MESSAGES.

Monsieur voundriez-vous de l’eau? (Sir would you like some water?)” the waiter asked Gabe. “Eeeewww la weee weee,” Gabe responded. “Excuse me sir, I don’t understand,” the waiter responded. Exactly my point, my nigga, I don’t understand yo ass and clearly you speak English! Speak English on this side of the table,” Gabe said, and the table erupted in laughter.

Bitch! They just here for the fucking show, Lai don't need a muthafuckin soul for you or this little pencil dick ass nigga you got for a son! Fuck you, yo puss bitch ass son, and the dead nigga you are going so hard for," Lai said to Gina and shot her in the leg.

Ahhh, hell nawl! Y'all some nasty old muthafuckas! Yo Ju! You got two old niggas fucking on your balcony! That's some shit that I just can't un fucking see. You two niggas, too old for that shit!" I heard Zelan yell out, and Meek was laughing uncontrollably.

When I got in the car, he pulled off so damn fast my head hit the headrest. “Damn, nigga! Do that shit again, and I swear I’ma shoot yo’ driving foot!” I looked over at his ass, as he maneuvered through traffic.

Hell nawl! Bitch, I wish thee fuck I would come and get you. You betta march yo’ ass wherever the fuck he is and climb on that big mufucka and have the time of yo’ life! Hoes have the best fun, I’m telling you ‘cause I’ma hoe! Go fuck and suck that nigga ‘til the cum dripping outcha fuckin’ nose! Bye!” She ended the call as I stood with my damn mouth open.

Luego, sin pensarlo, comenzó a añadir a la ola de sonido los nombres de Marte (...) Al-Qahira, Ares, Auqakuh, Bahram. Harmakhis, Hrad, Huo Hsing, Kasei. Ma’adim, Maja, Mamers, Mangala. Nirgal, Shalbatanu, Simud y Tiu. (...) Los otros bailarines se reían de él, pero sin mala intención, parecían complacidos. Se sentía ebrio, todo su cuerpo vibraba. Repitió y repitió la letanía, después pasó a repetir el nombre árabe, una y otra vez: Al-Qahira, Al-Qahira, Al-Qahira. Y luego, al recordar lo que le había dicho una de las voces traductoras, Ana el-Haqq, ana Al-Qahira, Ana el-Haqq, ana Al-Qahira. Yo soy Dios, Yo soy Marte, Yo soy Dios… (...) Voy a vivir mil años, pensó.

If you ever raise your voice at my pretty girl again, I’ma snatch out yo’ fuckin’ esophagus, nigga. She doesn’t have to do shit you tell her to no more. Karat is mine. The sooner you understand that the better things will be for you. Now, if you want to see your son, then reach out like a man instead of a little bitch!

Vera switched the station to classical, even though she didn’t know Yo-Yo Ma from Yo Gabba Gabba.

Casi todas las religiones observan la creencia de que cada persona tiene un Angel Guardián, o alguien que lo protege. Eso también es verdad, pero el Angel Guardián es uno mismo, el otro yo, el otro yo que está del otro lado de la vida. Pocas, poquísimas personas pueden ver este ángel, su guardián mientras permanecen sobre la tierra, pero los que han tenido esa suerte pueden describirlo en detalle. . "Este guardián (como debo denominarlo de alguna ma nera, permítaseme llamarlo guardián) no posee un cuerpo material como el nuestro de la tierra. Parece un fantasma; a veces el vidente lo verá como una centelleante figura azul de tamaño mayor al terrestre y unido al cuerpo por lo que se conoce como el Cordón de Plata; ese cordón que vibra y resplandece con la vida y actúa entre ambos como enlace. El guardián no posee un cuerpo similar al terrestre, pero puede hacer cosas pertinentes a este último y tiene además facultades que superan los alcances del cuerpo en la tierra. Por ejemplo, el guardián puede ir a cualquier parte del mundo en un minuto. Este es el guardián que puede hacer viajes astrales y volver al cuerpo por medio del Cordón de Plata que los mantiene juntos. "Cuando uno reza, ruega por sí mismo, por su otro yo, su yo mayor. Si aprendemos a orar en la forma adecuada, 1 podremos enviar esas plegarias por medio del Cordón de ' Plata, porque la forma en que lo hacemos habitualmente es un medio imperfecto de transmisión. Así que cuando reces, habla como si lo hicieras a través de una línea telefónica de larga distancia; habla con absoluta claridad y , concéntrate en lo que estás diciendo. Yo diría que la r imperfección nos es congénita; que no- es culpa de nuestro guardián. Reza con lenguaje simple y tendrás la seguridad de que lo que pidas no te será negado.

Miss Independent" Yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah [Verse 1] Ooh there's somethin about just somethin about the way she's move And I can't figure it out there's something about her. Said ooh it's somethin about kinda woman that want you but don't need you And I can't figure it out it's somethin about her Cause she walk like a boss talk like a boss Manicured nailed to set the pedicure off She's fly effortlessly Cause she move like a boss do what a boss Do she got me thinkin about gettin involved That's the kinda girl I need [Chorus] She got her own thing that's why I love her Miss Independent Won't you come and spend a little time She got her own thing that's why I love her Miss Independent ooh the way you shine Miss Independent yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah [Verse 2] Ooh there's somethin about kinda woman that can do for herself I look at her and it makes me proud There's something about her Somethin oh so sexy about kinda woman that don't even need my help She said she got it she got it No doubt, it's somethin about her Cause she work like a boss play like a boss Car and a crib she bouta pay em both off And the bills are paid on time yeah She made for a boss only a boss Anything less she telling them to get lost That's the girl that's on my mind [Chorus] [Bridge] Her favorite thing to say Don't worry I got it And everything she got best believe she bought it She gonna steal ma heart ain't no doubt about it You're everything I need, said you're everything I need yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah [Chorus] Miss Independent That's why I love her

Segovia, Yusef Lateef, Yo-Yo Ma. But no singers. Music without words let him fill his head with images of his own making or no images at all.

Nah, you ain’t gotta go through shit. No means no; like they say on them rape campaigns. Yo ass ain’t about to be raping me outta money because you know we got a kid together. I ain’t no fucking goofy, Ma,” I stated and she rolled her eyes.

Cultural Diplomacy—and an Accolade Among Piazzolla’s tasks during his first summer at the Chalet El Casco was the composition of “Le Grand Tango,” a ten-minute piece for cello and piano commissioned by Efraín Paesky, Director of the OAS Division of Arts, and dedicated to Mstislav Rostropovich, to whom Piazzolla sent the score. Rostropovich had not heard of Piazzolla at the time and did not look seriously at the music for several years.7 Written in ternary form, the work bears all Piazzolla’s hallmarks: tight construction, strong accents, harmonic tensions, rhythmic complexity and melodic inspiration, all apparent from the fierce cello scrapes at the beginning. Piazzolla uses intervals not frequently visited on the cello fingerboard. Its largely tender mood, notably on display in the cello’s snaking melodic line in the reflective middle section, becomes more profoundly complex in its emotional range toward the end. With its intricate juxtapositions of driving rhythms and heart-rending tags of tune, it is just about the most exciting music Piazzolla ever wrote, a masterpiece. Piazzolla was eager for Rostropovich to play it, but the chance did not come for eight years. Rostropovich, having looked at the music, and “astounded by the great talent of Astor,” decided he would include it in a concert. He made some changes in the cello part and wanted Piazzolla to hear them before he played the piece. Accordingly, in April 1990, he rehearsed it with Argentine pianist Susana Mendelievich in a room at the Teatro Colón, and Piazzolla gently coached the maestro in tango style—”Yes, tan-go, tan-go, tan-go.” The two men took an instant liking to one another.8 It was, says Mendelievich, “as if Rostropovich had played tangos all his life.” “Le Grand Tango” had its world premiere in New Orleans on April 24, 1990. Sarah Wolfensohn was the pianist. Three days later, they both played this piece again at the Gusman Cultural Center in Miami. [NOTE C] Rostropovich performed “Le Grand Tango” at the Teatro Colón, Buenos Aires, in July 1994; the pianist was Lambert Orkis. More recently, cellist Yo-Yo Ma has described “Le Grand Tango” as one of his “favorite pieces of music,” praising its “inextricable rhythmic sense...total freedom, passion, ecstasy.

Have/ has yǒu [yo] e.g. Yǒu gōng bǎo jī dīng ma? –Do you have Kung Pao chicken?

From kindergarten through senior year of high school, Evan attended Crossroads, an elite, coed private school in Santa Monica known for its progressive attitudes. Tuition at Crossroads runs north of $ 22,000 a year, and seemingly rises annually. Students address teachers by their first names, and classrooms are named after important historical figures, like Albert Einstein and George Mead, rather than numbered. The school devotes as significant a chunk of time to math and history as to Human Development, a curriculum meant to teach students maturity, tolerance, and confidence. Crossroads emphasizes creativity, personal communication, well-being, mental health, and the liberal arts. The school focuses on the arts much more than athletics; some of the school’s varsity games have fewer than a dozen spectators. 2 In 2005, when Evan was a high school freshman, Vanity Fair ran an exhaustive feature about the school titled “School for Cool.” 3 The school, named for Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken,” unsurprisingly attracts a large contingent of Hollywood types, counting among its alumni Emily and Zooey Deschanel, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jack Black, Kate Hudson, Jonah Hill, Michael Bay, Maya Rudolph, and Spencer Pratt. And that’s just the alumni—the parents of students fill out another page or two of who’s who A-listers. Actor Denzel Washington once served as the assistant eighth grade basketball coach, screenwriter Robert Towne spoke in a film class, and cellist Yo-Yo Ma talked shop with the school’s chamber orchestra.

After Jimena left, Serena sat in a chair and set her cello on the end pin between her knees. She loved the way she had to hug the cello when she played. She dreamed of meeting her idols some day in a master class or onstage, someone like Yo-Yo Ma or Han-Na Chang. She picked up her bow and began to play. The music flowed around her, sad and filled with longing.

a u t y a n d fa sh io n w o rld fo r h e r st u n n in g lin e o f h a ir a c c e sso rie s. Yo u ’ ve se e n th e m in pra c t ic a lly e ve ry ma g a zin e an d on c o u n t e ss c e le b rit ie s. Wh a t yo u p ro b a b ly d

Shid, the moment yo ass held that knife to my shit you was got, boss. Even with this shit going too fast, at the end of the day it ain’t gon’ matter whether it’s two weeks, a month, or a year, I’ma still have yo ass.

Peaches, yo ass no what you doing, right? This ain’t what I want for you, but I’ma I fall back and leave you be. Don’t play no games, Peach,” he said, not whispering at all.

Fred-may-have-considered-silence-his-most-important legacy. When acclaimed musician Yo-Yo Ma visited the Neighborhood and played Fred's composition 'Tree, Tree, Tree' on his cello, Fred took some time afterward to reflect. Let's take some quiet time to remember, he invited his television neighbor, to sit and think about what we've heard. And so he did. It wasn't dead air to him; it was thanking the God who inspires and informs all that is nourishing and good.

Fred may have considered silence his most important legacy. When acclaimed musician Yo-Yo Ma visited the Neighborhood and played Fred's composition 'Tree, Tree, Tree' on his cello, Fred took some time afterward to reflect. Let's take some quiet time to remember, he invited his television neighbor, to sit and think about what we've heard. And so he did. It wasn't dead air to him; it was thanking the God who inspires and informs all that is nourishing and good.

Te miraré sonreir sin motivo, cuando hayas hecho el amor por primera vez y pienses que puedes meterte el mundo en un bolsillo, porque es pequeño en comparación con lo que llevas dentro. Y yo ya me habré olvidado de lo que significa sonreir son motivo.

El otro simplemente refleja y representa aquello que es profundamente familiar al centro, pero proyectado para fuera de sí mismo. Por ello cuando los binarismos son identificados culturalmente, el primer término siempre ocupa como dice MaCannel (1989) la posición gramatical del “él”, pero nunca del “yo” o del “tu”, construyendo la modalidad enunciativa su posición de privilegio (2000, p. 191)

Revelation in Revision The literary critic should excavate a poet's poem pentimento, forensically parsing through the words painted over in regret, an image of a crow flying on a different line, an adverb ruefully deleted in favor of lambent demonstration, a synecdoche transposing a crows foot for a crow which in turn becomes a metaphor for an aging ballerina, another ardent adjective added to articulate the admirable alliteration and then the waffling back and forth removing an adding the overkill, like Yo-Yo Ma yo-yoing his cello during a performance of Naqoyqatsi. There's revelation in the inquest of revisions and regrets, for behind the poet's final version is his more divine process of creation.

Jon Rubinstein: It was a beautiful service. Clearly it had been stage-managed by Steve from beyond the grave. John Markoff: Yo-Yo Ma played first and wonderfully. Andy Hertzfeld: It was really deep, just heartbreakingly beautiful, one of the most emotional pieces of music I’ve ever heard. John Markoff: Afterward he briefly introduced the event and told a short, funny story about how Steve had wanted him to play at his funeral and how he had asked Steve to speak at his. As usual, he noted, “Steve had gotten his way.” Mike Slade: So then Laurene spoke and had written this beautiful speech about Steve that was surprisingly analytical. Ron Johnson: She’s just a very professional, poised, intelligent, articulate person who had a long time to prepare for this. She had a message to convey, and she delivered it very gracefully. Mike Slade: She was like, “Look, if you guys think he was a dick, it’s because he was in pursuit of beauty, and that sort of trumped everything, and most people didn’t really get that about him.” And so almost everything that was dickish—she didn’t use those words—was because he was in pursuit of beauty. I’ve been to lots of funerals where the grieving widow was the grieving widow, and that’s not what she did. So it was wonderful—really brilliant, and I actually learned a lot from it—but it was surprising, right?

A CD of Elgar’s cello concerto, performed by Yo-Yo Ma and the London Symphony Orchestra.

to de groun’ afore we could do a thing.” “Good heavens, man! Whose coffin?” “Your ma, boss. I s’pect she died fum de shock.” “What shock?” “Yo’ wife, boss. She done run away wid de butler.

When master actors act, their craft becomes invisible. Their art becomes artless. Not so in other disciplines. When we saw Baryshnikov leap or heard Joan Sutherland sing, we were forced to recognize the skill of the artist. You can’t listen to Yo-Yo Ma play the cello without recognizing brilliance. But real acting can never be pegged because it cannot be differentiated from real life.

Monroe, baby, when you do all that and when you’re healed, you better believe I’ma be there with open arms, waiting for you to choose a nigga. Not because I’m the only nigga that’s ever treated you like you deserve or because I be digging yo’ fucking guts out, but choose me because you know who the fuck Monroe is and how I fit into your life.

I usually let yo’ crazy ass say what the fuck you want to say. You angry, you don’t trust people, you been taking care of yourself, I get all that shit. You don’t need nobody, and you don’t want a family. But that’s too fuckin’ bad, nigga. You my brother, my blood, and I’ma continue to look out for yo’ psycho ass. You think I’ma hear about a nigga tryna take yo’ life and sit back? You got me and this life fucked up. Get yo’ crazy ass out my office, Demon!” he raged.

suggest you focus on what Smoke saying cuz you in the same boat as ya pussy ass son. I’m sparing yo’ life because of her. But if you ever put yo’ hands on her again, I’ma put mine on you,” Damien said calmly.

You won this round, Tempo, but I’ma have that man,” she advised in a smug tone with a coy grin. “First off, I hope that’s not a threat because you know I’m about that life just like you are. Secondly, if that was a threat, then wipe the chicken crumbs from around your mouth so I can at least take yo’ ass serious. Bye, birds.

I chuckled while struggling against the hold Champ had on me. His muthafuckin’ gorilla ass was strong! “Let me get somethin’ straight you fuck nigga. Just ‘cause you’re her fiancé, don’t mean a muthafuckin’ thing to me,” I growled. “‘ Cause trust me nigga, if I wanted Kaliyah, I could have her. Trust me on this, too, puss’ ass nigga. I want lil’ bébé bad as fuck. Nie keep talkin’ shit an’ I’ma black yo’ otha muthafuckin’ eye!

I’ma be yo first and yo last everything. Welcome to death row, love.

Look dawg, I’m tryna be really nice up in this bitch. But you look at my fuckin’ girl one mo’ time, and I’ma raise yo’ muthafuckin’ blood pressure.

Glaring down at me, he mugged me. "I'ma make sure you taste this nut in yo throat!" he growled as his head flew back on his shoulders.

Do that shit again, and I’ma have to punish you,” the intruder said, holding Kaavia close to his chest. There was something familiar about the rise and fall of his chest that felt familiar, something that felt too close to home to be harmful. Kaavia instantly reached up, and removed the mask from the intruder's face. “Kyree!” Kaavia exclaimed, mad as hell at him for playing with her like he had. He chuckled. “You think this shit is funny huh?” “Next time you need to hear my voice quicker than you did. Gotta be quick on yo’ feet, bae. You shoulda been ran to get that glizzy.

Hey Ma,” Romeo shakily greeted. “Shut yo nappy headed ass up. I sent yall over here to check on him, and you in here eating and laughing,” she snapped. “I was about to tell him to call you Mama,” Nova fibbed. “You can shut yo raccoon looking ass up. He beat yo ass and you sitting in here breaking bread. You told him to call, but why didn’t you call me when he walked in the door like I told you to?” Ada asked, rounding the couch.

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