Everywhere you hang your hat is home. Home is the bright cave under the hat.
When the thunder rumbles,Now the age of gold is dead.When the dreams we've clung toTrying to stay young,Have left us parched and old instead.When my courage crumbles,When I feel confused and frail,When my spirit falters on decaying altarsAnd my illusions fail --I go on right then.I go on again.I go on to say I will celebrate another day.I go on.If tomorrow tumblesAnd everything I love is gone,I will face regret all my days, and yetI will still go on.
Sem indivÃduos, vemos apenas nÃºmeros: mil mortos, cem mil mortos, Â«as mortes podem chegar a um milhÃ£oÂ». Com as histÃ³rias individuais, as estatÃsticas transformam-se em pessoas - mas atÃ© isso Ã© mentira, pois as pessoas continuam a sofrer em nÃºmeros que sÃ£o, em si mesmos, entorpecedores e desprovidos de significado.
PISTOL-Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French What is his name.Boy-Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?French Soldier-Monsieur le Fer.Boy- He says his name is Master Fer.PISTOL-Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him: discuss the same in French unto him.Boy-I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.
I had never done anything with blue screen before, or prosthetics, or anything like that. Lord of the Rings was like stepping into a videogame for me. It was another world completely. But, to be honest, I basically did it so that I could have the ears. I thought they would really work with my bare head.Working with Martin Scorsese was an absolute minute-by-minute education without him ever being grandiose about it.
They met me in the day of success: and I havelearned by the perfectest report, they have more inthem than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desireto question them further, they made themselves air,into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt inthe wonder of it, came missives from the king, whoall-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referredme to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king thatshalt be!' This have I thought good to deliverthee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thoumightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by beingignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay itto thy heart, and farewell.
The historian should be fearless and incorruptible; a man of independence, loving frankness and truth; one who, as the poet says, calls a fig a fig and a spade a spade. He should yield to neither hatred nor affection, but should be unsparing and unpitying. He should be neither shy nor deprecating, but an impartial judge, giving each side all it deserves but no more. He should know in his writings no country and no city; he should bow to no authority and acknowledge no king. He should never consider what this or that man will think, but should state the facts as they really occurred.