A Quote by Rabih Alameddine

In the summer of 1988, my father took me up to look at the remains of our home, the dream house that he'd built. It was my first time since our family left four years earlier. Political and obscene graffiti covered the half-torn walls. There was no ceiling and surprisingly no floor: the parquet, the stone, the marble, all looted.
If I never sang on a record again I can still look at my walls. They are covered floor to ceiling with gold and platinum records from all over the world.
It was a coach called Adailton Ladeira who first asked me to play as left-back in 1988. I was a left-winger, but our left-back was injured at Uniao Sao Joao, my first club, and he asked me to fill in. I said 'no problem,' and I've played there ever since.
House Democrats have tried to increase port security funding on this House floor four times over the last 4 years, and House Republicans have defeated our efforts every single time.
It is more than twenty years since we left the city. This is a serious chunk of time, longer than the years we spent living there. Yet we still think of Jerusalem as our home. Not home in the sense of the place that you conduct your daily life or constantly return to. In fact, Jerusalem is our home almost against our wills. It is our home because it defines us, whether we like it or not.
We spend about 20 percent of our total sleep time in a dream state. For most of us, this means we dream one and a half hours each night or, on the average, spend four years of our lifetime in a dream state.
A house is built of logs and stone, of tiles and posts and piers; a home is built of loving deeds that stand a thousand years.
Since the death of my father four years ago, our lives have become difficult, and I must help my family.
I was raised in an Italian catholic family in Baltimore, Maryland. Our faith is very important to us, our patriotism, love of faith, love of family, love of country. I took pride in our Italian American heritage and to be the first woman speaker of the House and the first Italian American speaker of the House, it's quite thrilling for me.
I come from a really big family, my father was a businessman and what he always instilled in us was to be your own boss. My father built up his business, and he was by no means a rich man, but he figured out how to work four-and-a-half days a week.
I must have been six or seven years old at the time. My family lived on the bottom floor of a two-story house on Cruger Avenue in the Bronx, and every night at 9:30, I sat by my little radio in our kitchen and listened to a half hour of Bing's records regularly spilling out over WNEW.
We've been back since July, but I spent some time with the family in the south of France over the summer. We rented a house with another couple and took it easy.
At Halicarnassus, the house of that most potent king Mausolus, though decorated throughout with Proconnesian marble, has walls built of brick which are to this day of extraordinary strength, and are covered with stucco so highly polished that they seem to be as glistening as glass. That king did not use brick from poverty; for he was choke-full of revenues, being ruler of all Caria.
My grandad, when he came home from the war, the only thing he came home with was four massive tins of honey and ever since honey has been part of our family life - on our cereal and in our tea.
There's hope left in these dusty chords. There's a song left in our rusty hearts. We are torn and frayed but love remains.
I had given myself a sort of early retirement when I left the scene in 1985. All of the people in my family worked until they dropped, including my father. I decided to take a little time to enjoy life. I traveled, built my dream house, rescued a few dogs. My return to music, and acting, was deliberate, part of my musical arc.
The first thing I hear when I wake up is the sea, which is so close to our house that its reflections from the sun dapple our bedroom ceiling.
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