A Quote by Tupac Shakur

Now the baby's in the trash heap balling. — © Tupac Shakur
Now the baby's in the trash heap balling.
Baby, I ain't trash. Trash is something you throw away. My people keep me.
A conglomerate heap of trash, that's what I am. But it burns with a high flame.
Do we hate paradise so much we need to make sure it becomes a trash heap?
Balling is balling; it is all just basketball for me and I'm used to playing both games, so it really does not matter if it is international style, American style; it does not matter at all for me.
Toy Story 1, 2, and 3, to us, are some of the greatest films ever made, and each is better than the one before it. But if you go to Toy Story 6, they all end up decomposing in a trash heap somewhere.
I love my family but my family - they're the type of people that never let you forget anything you ever did... I was in the first grade Christmas play - I'm playing Mary. Now, during the course of the play, I dropped the baby Jesus... They still talk about this. I go to my family reunion, and one of my cousins just had a baby. So I'm like, 'Oh, that's a cute little baby. Let me hold the baby...' And my aunt runs over, 'Don't you give her that baby! You know she dropped the baby Jesus!'
No company can afford not to move forward. It may be at the top of the heap today but at the bottom of the heap tomorrow, if it doesn't
No company can afford not to move forward. It may be at the top of the heap today but at the bottom of the heap tomorrow, if it doesn't.
Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished. Grain upon grain, one by one, and one day, suddenly, there's a heap, a little heap, the impossible heap. I can't be punished any more. I'll go now to my kitchen, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, and wait for him to whistle me. Nice dimensions, nice proportions, I'll lean on the table, and look at the wall, and wait for him to whistle me.
I've had soccer moms come up and tell me they can relate when I say that I want to throw my baby in the trash.
When we lack etiquette, we trash things. We trash each other. We trash the environment. We lose sight of the value of things. We suffer alienation when our spirit is disconnected from our physical awareness.
I think of the chimp, the one with the talking hands. In the course of the experiment, that chimp had a baby. Imagine how her trainers must have thrilled when the mother, without prompting, began to sign her newborn. Baby, drink milk. Baby, play ball. And when the baby died, the mother stood over the body, her wrinkled hands moving with animal grace, forming again and again the words: Baby, come hug, Baby come hug, fluent now in the language of grief.
My name is Frances Louise McDormand, formerly known as Cynthia Ann Smith. I was born in Gibson City, Ill., in 1957. I identify as gender-normative, heterosexual, and white-trash American. My parents were not white trash. My birth mother was white trash.
The time to talk about it [genetic engineering to improve a baby's genes] in schools and churches and magazines and debate societies is now. If you wait, five years from now the gene doctor will be hanging out the MAKE A SMARTER BABY sign down the street.
I'm not the king in my own house. I have to wash the dishes and take out the trash and say, 'Yes, baby.' I'm 6-foot-5, but I kind of walk around hunched over.
You must have been a beautiful baby, 'Cos baby just look at you now.
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