A Quote by Alvin Leung

Change is always good. You can't keep tradition all the time. Yes, Grandma cooked on a wood stove but she would have used electricity if she could. — © Alvin Leung
Change is always good. You can't keep tradition all the time. Yes, Grandma cooked on a wood stove but she would have used electricity if she could.
The tradition of Italian cooking is that of the matriarch. This is the cooking of grandma. She didn't waste time thinking too much about the celery. She got the best celery she could and then she dealt with it.
I used to get on a stove wood pile at 5-6 years old and I would have a piece of stove wood and kindling bark as a pick, and I was a star.
Sometimes, when you briefly glance in Hollywood, there's a tendency to play it in a very "Yes, she's exhausted, and yes, she's working, and yes, she's taking care of her kids full time, and yes, she's a mom, but she's also in a great mood all the time."
I have a black Grandma and white Grandma. My white Grandma lives in Fort Lauderdale, paints, and teaches bridge. She's wonderful. My black Grandma, equally wonderful, is my neighbor across the street, Bobbie, who's always insisted that I call her Grandma, and honestly, over the years she's become a real Grandma to me.
She was a keen observer, a precise user of language, sharp-tongued and funny. She could stir your emotions. Yes, really, that's what she was so good at - stirring people's emotions, moving you. And she knew she had this power...I only realized later. At the time, I had no idea what she was doing to me.
Usually I wear my grandma's old aprons, or others I have collected in my travels. When I was young, I would sit and watch my grandma prepare stuff. She wasn't Italian, but she did really good Italian food.
I'd always ask my grandma, who was so, so smart, why she didn't work, and she would explain that her parents didn't approve of her working after she had children. She didn't feel like she had choices.
The baddest woman in my book... my mother. I get scared of her now. She used to hit me with anything, skillets, stove wood.
My mother would never say anything I cooked for her was great. She was always a 'Yeah, but' person. When she tasted my food, I used to say to her 'Don't tell me too straight, lie to me!' She couldn't even understand why I was on television.
A few years ago, when I was writing songs for my first album, I was staying with Michael Feinstein as I often did. I was working on a pilot. My grandma was very sick at the time. She died of complications from alcoholism. She always used to say [in his grandma's voice], "Red wine is good for my heart. That's what my doctor said." And we'd say, "Yeah, but not for breakfast." Unfortunately, it was the thing that killed her. I felt inspired to write a song about her and what that meant for her life and for all of us. I was writing it in Michael's house.
She was absolutely my hero. She would do without if she could help somebody else. My mom showed the courage of the lion to keep her kids alive, and the sacrifices she made were incredible. I don't know if I would have been man enough to do what she did.
I am extremely close to my grandma. Growing up, she would always do my hair; she was always the one who would make me chocolate milk or rice when I came home.
As a child, my mother would read to me late into the night. I didn't enjoy it at the time but she always used to say that the inheritance she was going to leave us was a good education.
She was alive, and they were dead. She had to try to make her life big. As big as she could. She promised Bailey she would keep playing.
She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so...I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her.
When I was little, my grandma used to get romance novels, and she would get hundreds of these, and she'd read a dozen a month.
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