A Quote by Robin Lopez

Brook's always had a knack for putting the ball in the bucket, and I would have to go out there and try to stop him. That would be my thing. — © Robin Lopez
Brook's always had a knack for putting the ball in the bucket, and I would have to go out there and try to stop him. That would be my thing.
I have always been an animal lover and I had pet dogs at home. On the day of Diwali, they would be so disturbed and scared that they would hide in a corner and would not come out. I had decided then that I would stop buying crackers on Diwali.
Unfortunately, once I did learn to smoke, I couldn't stop. I escalated to two packs a day very quickly, and stayed that way for about ten years. When I decided to stop, I adopted the method that my father had used when he quit. He would carry a cigarette in his shirt pocket, and every time he felt like smoking, he would pull out the cigarette and confront it: "Who stronger? You? Me?" Always the answer was the same: "I stronger." Back the cigarette would go, until the next craving. It worked for him, and it worked for me.
My teams in Serbia always had really good point guards. But I have always loved to dribble the ball. Even when I was outside, just walking by myself, I would always love to dribble and imagine my defender there in front of me - what I would try to do.
Yes. The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference. That is why few people find God. They go to church and talk about him and that sort of thing. They may even go out and evangelize and try to win converts. But in their hearts, if they are honest with themselves, they are indifferent to him because they cannot see him. God is too abstract for people. God is a word without meaning. If Jesus came back today, nothing he said would make any sense to those who wait for him. They would be the first ones to kill him again.
I don't know what I would have done had I not become a footballer. I've always wanted to do that, even when my family would try to stop me playing football so that I went to school.
We are a feelingless people. If we could really feel, the pain would be so great that we would stop all the suffering. If we could feel that one person every six seconds dies of starvation ... we would stop it. ... If we could really feel it in the bowels, the groin, in the throat, in the breast, we would go into the streets and stop the war, stop slavery, stop the prisons, stop the killing, stop destruction.
Scholesy is one of my favourite players of all time. He was a great professional who had everything and I used to love playing with him. You could give him the ball in any position, he would take one touch and you would know exactly what the next move would be. [ . . . ] He was magical, pure class.
The confidence level that Steph is playing with now, obviously, you won't totally stop him. If I'm playing against him right now, I think I'd try to pick him up full court, get the ball out of his hands, try to be a little physical.
The Captains of Industry have always counseled the rest of us "to be realistic." Let us, therefore, be realistic. Is it realistic to assume that the present economy would be just fine if only it would stop poisoning the air and water, or if only it would stop soil erosion, or if only it would stop degrading watersheds and forest ecosystems, or if only it would stop seducing children, or if only it would stop buying politicians, or if only it would give women and favored minorities an equitable share of the loot?
Madness is not what it seems. Time stops. All my life I've been obsessed with time, its motion and velocity, the way it works you over, the way it rushes you onward, a pebble turning in a brook. I've always been obsessed with where I'd go, and what I'd do, and how I would live. I've always harbored a desperate hope that I would make something of myself. Not then. Time stopped seeming so much like the thing that would transform me into something worthwhile and began to be inseparable from death. I spent my time merely waiting.
I would stay away from him and leave him to go his own road where there would be other women, countless other women, who would probably give him as much physical pleasure as he had had with me. I wouldn’t care, or at least I told myself that I wouldn’t care, because none of them would ever own him—own any larger piece of him than I now did.
If I had to write a rough draft, all the way through and then go back and start over, I probably would just stop writing. I wouldn't find that interesting. I would feel that I had committed so many things to the paper that I couldn't easily undo because one thing leads to the next, the interconnectedness, the sequences would make it very hard to change something that simply didn't work.
I was always the kid dribbling the ball on the sidelines, hoping someone would pick me. I'd go with my older brother to the gym or park, and when I went out there, I'd pass the ball so I could get picked again.
In my day I think the toughest was Derek Harper. The old-school Derek Harper. He was tough. He had the most toughest, nastiest game ever. I hated playing against him because he would always try to rip you, and try to talk to you. People just didn't really know that about Derek Harper. I used to hate bringing the ball up against him, really.
Sylvia had given him a scalding lecture, the gist of it being that whatever a woman enjoyed wearing was feminine and anything she didn't enjoy wearing wasn't, and if he was too stubborn and old fashioned to understand that, he could go and soak his head in a bucket of cold water. He hadn't quite forgiven her yet for saying they would have to look hard to find a bucket big enough to fit his head in to, but he admired the sass behind the remark.
When I was in college, I would go out, and I would go to these open mic nights at Stitches and Nick's Comedy Stop, so I was going to classes during the day, and then at night, I would be signing up on the lists.
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