Texas is a country in its own. It's made up of half Mexico/half United States but completed mixed. I don't mean to draw a generalization but it is a place, a territory, that's really made up of all these encounters, you know?
I've always found diversity more interesting than specialisation. I like mixing it up across years, within days, within weeks - that's what stimulates me, gives me energy.
We're designed for persistence hunting, which is a mix of running and walking. What's built into that kind of running is a sense of pleasure. You are designed and built and perfect for this activity, and it should be enjoyable and fun.
I came up with a 'forecasting cell,' which is basically a mixed intention cell or chord that is a complete hybrid of a consonance and a dissonance, and what that does when you are improvising is lead you to where you are supposed to go.
I think there's a lot of naivete and hubris within our mix of personalities. That's probably our worst crime. I keep wondering what a 'mature' record means.
Having small children and being an investigative reporter would seem like a difficult mix, but it worked well for me. I was often working on my own enterprise stories, which were not as deadline sensitive.
You can verify that in news meetings I sometimes say, 'This is skewed too far to the left,' or 'The mix of stories seems overweeningly appealing to a reader with a certain set of sensibilities, and it shouldn't.'
Philosophy is at its most engaged when it is impure. What is being recovered from the Ancient Greek model is not some lost idea of philosophy's pure essence, but the idea that philosophy is mixed up with everything else.
There's this accent that I think everybody has when they grow up going to an international school. It's a mix of not quite English, not quite American. When I moved to L.A., it just went completely American.
I'm not really frightened by experimenting - that's the main thing. I really like mixing very old beautiful pieces that are from thrift shops or that have some historical value with quite new futuristic things.
Forget the fake syrupy stuff. Melt down a bar of chocolate, mix it into some warmed up whipping cream, and put it on top of ice cream. Add some sprinkles, and you've got a delicious treat.
The weapon of suicide bombing is so desperate that you aren't even left with the possibility of taking revenge or punishing anyone; the terrorist is killed along with his victims, his blood mixing with theirs.
I always felt I was living in two worlds. One was the Mexican world, because nearly everybody I knew, relatives and cousins and kids in the neighbourhood, were Mexican. Then school was a different world. It was ethnically mixed.
To cause the face to appear in a mass of flame make use of the following: mix together thoroughly petroleum, lard, mutton tallow and quick lime. Distill this over a charcoal fire, and the liquid which results can be burned on the face without harm.
Breakfast is Special K cereal. If I'm having a big meal, it's lunch instead of dinner. Some kind of wrap, like chicken for protein. For dinner, mainly vegetables. I mix it up if I go out to eat.
The growth of a company like ours tends to be a relatively steady because, like some of the other successful mixed signal companies, we have a wide range of products servicing a wide range of end applications.
I used to help my granddaddy make sausage. He would mix it up in a cleaned-out washtub with his hands, no gloves. Man, if we did anything like that today, they would jack the jail up and throw us under it.
I grew up in a racially mixed neighborhood. So going over to friends' houses for dinner, their parents listened to Al Green and Luther Ingram. It was something that hit me early on, the feeling that came across.
I do a chimichurri sauce with garlic, parsley, olive oil, and red and black pepper. You just mince the garlic and the parsley and mix it all together. Brush a little of that on a steak and it kicks it up, like, 10 notches.
Takes birth in me, also, dies in debris. I am a Potpourri. A mix of dead petals, effusing divine fragrance. Walking on the journey, of controversy. I am a Potpourri.
Pi Patel: [writing on the lifeboat] Words are all I have left to hang on to. Everything's all mixed up, fragmented, can't tell daydreams, nightdreams from reality anymore.
