Zucker Quotes

Good thing in this business is that you just have to make one big shot and that’s enough to make you forget 9 other shots that you missed.

Autism was, and would long remain, a diagnosis in the eye of the beholder.

a woman with young children is not a woman but a mammal, salve, croon, water carrier

It's easy to judge only on the superficial. It takes a lot more time and work to truly understand.

as I travel the city / hating poetry & my haircut & all the things I do not / want to do

I have no lover, not even my love. I have no other, not even I.

If indeed these various attacks in different States are linked, then we’re dealing with a set of highly complex ritual behaviors,” said Dr. Lawrence Zucker.

Ich fühle mich wie Zuckerwatte: Zucker und Luft. Einmal fest drücken, und ich werde mich in einen kleinen gräßlichen feuchten Klumpen von weinendem Rosarot verwandeln.

medicine I know. you tell me what a pulsar is and I'll tell you whatever you need to know about the organ of Zucker-kandl." Sulu made a polite scoffing noise and explained anyway,...

As David Zucker watched the casket of his late wife being lowered into the ground, he thought the worst must surely be over and it was time to start the slow healing process to begin life anew.

Even if a poem is beautiful and memorable, it’s not like an advertising jingle or propaganda, which attempt to convince and control. Poems seek to confuse, disabuse, enlarge understanding, and make people ask questions and think for themselves.

Quit now, you'll never make it. If you disregard this advice, you'll be halfway there.

Die Mehrzahl der Menschen reist Zwischendeck, fährt dritte Klasse, geht zu Fuss auf der Straße, die Mehrzahl der Menschen. Die Mehrzahl der Menschen arbeitet mit acht Jahren, mit zwanzig heiraten sie, mit vierzig sterben sie, die Mehrzahl der Menschen. Abgesehen von der Mehrzahl der Menschen reicht das Brot für alle, Reis auch, Zucker auch, Stoff auch, Butter auch, das reicht für alle, nur nicht für die Mehrzahl der Menschen. Kein Schatten ist auf der Erde der Mehrzahl der Menschen, kein Licht auf der Straße, keine Scheibe im Fenster, nur die Hoffnung ist der Mehrzahl der Menschen gegeben, ohne Hoffnung könnten sie nicht leben.

Anyway, if my lips were rose petals they’d taste too bitter. If my cheeks were apples they’d crawl with apple worms. If my eyes were stars they’d be dead by the time you saw them. If I moved you like the moon I’d disappear once a month. If my teeth were Chiclets you’d want to chew on them and spit them out. If my hands were birds you couldn’t hold them; they’d peck you bloody. Is my skin alabaster? Then it’s cold and hard and one day someone will skin me, make me into a cold hard box tinged with pink or yellow, to hold unguents, then how will you love me? If my vagina is a cool, dark forest you’ll certainly be lost, you have no sense of direction. If my vagina is a cave-watch out! It’s prone to seismic shifts and avalanche. If my vagina is a river of honey: orange, lavender, fine herbs, hazelnut, all too sweet. If my ears are shells I can’t hear you, only the ocean anyway. And if my voice is music, it is unintelligible. Don’t say anything. I am not a flower, but a body with rules and predictable, cellular qualities. My eyelashes and fingernails and skin and spit are organized by proteins designed to erode at a pre-encoded date and time, no matter what you do or do not do to me- I am remarkably like an animal. More like a heifer than a sunrise, I want to bite, stroke, swallow you so stop lying there trying to think of something to say and trying to understand me. I am the body next to but unlike yours. You already know me. You already know what I’m made of.

That a dream is not reason to evacuate.

As Nat and Danny took the kick-off, the ref blew for full time.

The online tarot reading says she already has everything she needs. So, she gets quiet. When the phone rings she doesn't answer it. She makes a list of the things she thinks she lacks but might require: the ability to draw, a career as a singer . . . The list or the making of the list is unendurable.

Letter [December to Persephone] Am I the only one to notice the soft layer of haze above snow? You say you see butterflies in the skeleton pelvis, well, what about the larger hand of the clock? Or a cauldron for boiling water? Did you, do you ever stop falling?"                                  I repeat your name                                        a word                                     it almost means                                         nothing Do you remember encyclopedias? I piled up the books so you could reach the table. Now the only way to recall you is the shape of your walking away.

To be against the confessional is to be against writing about women and women’s bodies, people of color and the bodies of people of color, queerness, trans bodies, differently abled bodies, individuality, oppression, perversity, diversity, class, the domestic, the non-normative, the personal, the political, the specific, the urgent, the spiritual, the banal, the direct, the relational, the screamed, the whispered. To be against the confessional is to be against coming out, against emphatically bringing the unwanted and repressed and hated and oppressed into the public view, into the poem. “Poetry,” wrote Audre Lorde, “is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought.

boyhoods spent outdoors, roaming the suburbs, the beach, the bush, from morning until their mothers called them in for tea. It was a way of life lost now—Steve Jobs and Bill Gates had seen to that. The butt end of the information revolution: fatbergs larded with Zucker-tucker.

The story of autism is actually many stores, set on different continents, and overlapping in time, and circling back on one another…Ideas cross-pollinate, major players make cameos in one another’s stories, and entire story lines unfold at different paces thousands of miles apart…And yet, as much as the story zigzags or circles back, there is an unmistakable forward movement. Over time, because of the efforts made by parents and activists…public attitudes toward people given the autism label have moved in what all would agree is the right direction. The cruelty and neglect that have marked the history of autism now seem antiquated. More and more, a new impulse has taken hold, the impulse to recognize the different among us as part of us, and to root for their full participation in the world. That project, of course, is still a work in progress. But it puts us all in the middle of the story, right now.

SUNLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH the thickly-bunched leaves of the towering kirstal trees, the clearing beneath them riddled with chaotic patches of brilliant light and gray shadow.

Then in March 1993, everything changed. My one-year-old son, Charlie, had his first seizure. There’s absolutely nothing funny about being the parent of a child with uncontrolled epilepsy. Nothing. After a year of daily seizures, drugs, and a brain surgery, I learned that the cure for Charlie’s epilepsy, the ketogenic diet—a high fat, no sugar, limited protein diet—had been hiding in plain sight for, by then, over seventy years. And despite the diet’s being well documented in medical texts, none of the half-dozen pediatric neurologists we had taken Charlie to see had mentioned a word about it. I found out on my own at a medical library. It was life altering—not just for Charlie and my family, but for tens of thousands like us. Turns out there are powerful forces at work within our health care system that don’t necessarily prioritize good health. For decades, physicians have barely been taught diet therapy or even nutrition in medical school. The pharmaceutical, medical device, and sugar industries make hundreds of billions every year on anti-epileptic drugs and processed foods—but not a nickel if we change what we eat. The cardiology community and American Heart Association demonize fat based on flawed science. Hospitals profit from tests and procedures, but again no money from diet therapy. There is a world epilepsy population of over sixty million people. Most of those people begin having their seizures as children, and only a minuscule percentage ever find out about ketogenic diet therapies. When I realized that 99 percent of what had happened to Charlie and my family was unnecessary, and that there were millions of families worldwide in the same situation, I needed to try to do something. Nancy and I began the Charlie Foundation (charliefoundation.org) in 1994 in order to facilitate research and get the word directly to those who would benefit. Among the high points were countless articles, a couple appearances of Charlie’s story on Dateline NBC, and a movie I produced and directed about another family whose child’s epilepsy had been cured by the ketogenic diet starring Meryl Streep titled First Do No Harm (1997). Today, of course, the diet permeates social media. When we started, there was one hospital in the world offering ketogenic diet therapy. Today, there are 250. Equally important, word about the efficacy of the ketogenic diet for epilepsy spread within the scientific community. In 1995, we hosted the first of many scientific global symposia focused on the diet. As research into its mechanisms and applications has spiked, incredibly the professional communities have found the same metabolic pathway that is triggered by the ketogenic diet to reduce seizures has also been found to benefit Alzheimer’s disease, ALS, severe psychiatric disorders, traumatic brain injury, and even some cancers. I

Suspended in sheer vulnerability—wanting something so badly but not having a semblance of control, nothing to ensure it will come to pass—is the place of humanity. These are the heart-opening moments we wish we could evade, but can’t.

It’s our patented Three Laws of Robotics. They’re a fundamental part of every robot we manufacture, and we do not continue building or programming until it has become an integral part of them.

Just resting my eyes.” Susan gave her grandmother’s favorite reply

Lied von denen, auf die alles zutrifft und die alles schon wissen. Dass etwas getan werden muss und zwar sofort das wissen wir schon dass es aber noch zu früh ist um etwas zu tun dass es aber zu spät ist um noch etwas zu tun das wissen wir schon und dass es uns gut geht und dass es so weiter geht und dass es keinen Zweck hat das wissen wir schon und dass wir schuld sind und dass wir nichts dafür können dass wir schuld sind und dass wir daran schuld sind dass wir nichts dafür können und dass es uns reicht das wissen wir schon und dass es vielleicht besser wäre die Fresse zu halten und dass wir die Fresse nicht halten werden das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon und dass wir niemand helfen können und dass uns niemand helfen kann das wissen wir schon und dass wir begabt sind und dass wir die Wahl haben zwischen nichts und wieder nichts und dass wir dieses Problem gründlich analysieren müssen und dass wir zwei Stück Zucker in den Tee tun das wissen wir schon und dass wir gegen die Unterdrückung sind und dass die Zigaretten teurer werden das wissen wir schon und dass wir es jedes Mal kommen sehen und dass wir jedes Mal recht behalten werden und dass daraus nichts folgt das wissen wir schon und dass das alles wahr ist das wissen wir schon und dass das alles gelogen ist das wissen wir schon und dass das alles ist das wissen wir schon und dass Überstehn nicht alles ist sondern gar nichts das wissen wir schon und dass wir es überstehn das wissen wir schon und dass das alles nicht neu ist und dass das Leben schön ist das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon und dass wir das schon wissen das wissen wir schon.

Lied von denen, auf die alles zutrifft und die alles schon wissen. Dass etwas getan werden muss und zwar sofort das wissen wir schon dass es aber noch zu früh ist um etwas zu tun dass es aber zu spät ist um noch etwas zu tun das wissen wir schon und dass es uns gut geht und dass es tan weiter geht und dass es keinen Zweck sombrero das wissen wir schon und dass wir schuld sind und dass wir nichts dafür können dass wir schuld sind und dass wir daran schuld sind dass wir nichts dafür können und dass es uns reicht das wissen wir schon und dass es vielleicht besser wäre die Fresse zu halten und dass wir die Fresse nicht halten werden das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon und dass wir niemand helfen können und dass uns niemand helfen kann das wissen wir schon und dass wir begabt sind und dass wir die Wahl haben zwischen nichts und wieder nichts und dass wir dieses Problem gründlich analysieren müssen und dass wir zwei Stück Zucker in den Tee tun das wissen wir schon und dass wir gegen die Unterdrückung sind und dass die Zigaretten teurer werden das wissen wir schon und dass wire es jedes Mal kommen sehen und dass wir jedes Mal recht behalten werden und dass daraus nichts folgt das wissen wir schon und dass das alles wahr ist das wissen wir schon und dass das alles gelogen ist das wissen wir schon und dass das alles ist das wissen wir schon und dass Überstehn nicht alles ist sondern gar nichts das wissen wir schon und dass wire es überstehn das wissen wir schon und dass das alles nicht neu ist und dass das Leben schön ist das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon das wissen wir schon und dass wir das schon wissen das wissen wir schon.

O. J. Simpson was wonderfully stiff in both Capricorn One and The Towering Inferno. David: I directed him in the Naked Gun movies. Although he actually improved with each film, his acting remained a lot like his murdering—he got away with it, but no one really believed him.

There was also a joke that we had filmed where the announcer says, “Air Poland, please clear the runway.” And then we cut into the cockpit, it’s Jose Feliciano, Ray Charles, and Stevie Wonder. Two of the guys were look-alikes, but we actually got Jose Feliciano. Jerry: I got a call from someone at the Jewish Anti-Defamation League.

Trauma seems to provoke this dichotomy, this corporeal confusion, as it were. It’s both: gratitude for what is and utter despair for what isn’t (and what could have been).

This is the post-traumatic experience—our past remains ever present. Encumbered by the weight of our traumas, we feel the sting of every terrifying possibility.

Jim: We got the idea of subtitling the Black dudes after we saw the 1975 Blaxploitation movie Shaft, starring Richard Roundtree. When we left the theater we thought it was pretty good, but we couldn’t understand a lot of the jive dialogue. The cast was 95 percent Black. So we thought wouldn’t it be fun to put a couple of those characters in Airplane! and subtitle them with idiotic white guy translations?

Within a matter of days, it was time to leave the house;

One of the most insufferable and surprising parts of grief is that one moment we can’t stand to feel our sadness for another second, and the next we are scared of ever losing the intensity of that feeling. That somehow the passage of time, and the eventual lessening of the sting, is an affront to the memory of the one we lost.

Anxiety has the capacity to temporarily steal joy. It can wrangle the mind—baiting it to singularly focus on negative possibilities, whether true or false. In so doing, anxiety surreptitiously stomps out a spectrum of other feelings that actually exist simultaneously.

We aren’t necessarily meant to “move on” from these life-altering moments in a linear way. It is in fact normative, natural, and okay—more than okay—to sit in our grief, even when it feels as sharp as the day it first touched us. We aren’t supposed to “move on,” “be positive,” or “push ahead” overnight.

Im Kino war es kühl. Der rote Teppich im Foyer hatte Löcher, an der Decke hing ein uralter Kronleuchter, an den Wänden Plakate von Filmklassikern und Autogrammkarten berühmter Schauspieler. Es roch nach Öl und Zucker und irgendwie nach zu Staub zerfallener Nostalgie.

The weight of our losses might feel heavy one day and markedly lighter the next, but the memory remains. If it does, it does. If it doesn't, it doesn't. Neither is indicative of being more or less "healed" or "healthy". Neither is right or wrong. There's not necessarily a linear path that leads us out of our discomfort and into an unaffected state. We might also compassionately absolve ourselves of the inclination to search for a silver lining. There might not actually be one, and that's okay. We need not feel pressured into finding bright spots when we just landed in the dark ones, and we mustn't succumb to this binary vision of adversity. Sometimes things don't "happen for a reason" and sometimes there isn't a cheerful way to look at a horrific or heartbreaking situation. Sometimes when we try to make sense of why bad things happen to good people, we find ourselves searching for meaning where there is none, getting caught in a manufactured duality. We can hold both. There is room and necessity for nuance, complexity, and gradation. We can be hurt and healing simultaneously. We can be grateful for what we have and angry about what we don't at the exact same time. We can dive deep into the pit of our pain and not forget the beauty our life maintains. We can hold both. We can grieve and laugh at precisely the same moment. We can make love and mourn in the same week. Be crestfallen and hopeful. We can hold both. And so it goes. We grievers might stumble upon these notions the hard way (I'm not so sure there's any other way to come face-to-face with them), but nevertheless, we work to integrate them and, in time, deftly tuck them in to our pockets as hard-won wisdom we might just get the chance to impart someday.

The furthest thing from my mind following this incomprehensible trauma was to feel ashamed of it, as if I had done something wrong or like I should keep it a secret. But I quickly found - both in my memory of so many of my patients' experiences, and prevalent in the research on women's feelings after pregnancy loss - that somehow shame is expected. It doesn't exactly make any sense: One in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage - and that's just of the pregnancies that are known.

Regardless of the reasons why I was able to sidestep this self-destructive line of thought, I never once considered that I did something to prompt this traumatic loss. But I also kept thinking, through the maze of grief and despair, how much worse it would be to also feel ashamed, guilty, or self-blaming. Amazing, the places our minds go. How much more agonizing it would be if I subscribed to the stigma, bought into society's expectations of women, and considered myself some kind of a defunct model solely because I couldn't carry this specific pregnancy to term. I shuddered to think how exponentially worse my suffering would be if I chose to stay silent

Someone didn't close the circle,” the werewolf Zucker had said, charmingly mixing his metaphors, "and a little bird flew the nest." Still sounded like garbage whichever way you played it, but I was suddenly certain that the little bird was Abbie Torrington. Whatever she'd run from, it had to be bad if even being dead didn't get you free.

It was at this point that Po reentered the conversation. "Let me eat one of his eyes," he suggested. Zucker ignored this suggestion. "You think it might be possible to squeeze some advantage out of the situation," he said. "Your sort always do. I can promise you, Castor, there's no profit here for anyone. Just death, and then after that the things that are worse than death." "You're going to kill me and then rape me?