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My two great heroes are W. B. Yeats and Fernando Garcia Lorca.
I grew up half in South Central and half in the San Fernando valley.
I get heartbroken flying into L.A. It's just this feeling of unspecific loss. Can you imagine what the San Fernando Valley was when it was all wheat fields? Can you imagine what John Steinbeck saw?
I was making films about American society, and it is true that I never felt at home there, except perhaps when my wife and I lived on a farm in the San Fernando Valley.
Father Fernando did every thing in his power to assist the sick; and although he arrived much reduced in flesh, he did not become ill, and is now well.
My grandmother lives with my mother in a gorgeous house in the San Fernando Valley. I am afforded these luxuries, and I'm very young.
I live in the social purgatory of the San Fernando Valley, while my eldest daughter is bused to a charter school in the fantasy land of Bel Air.
Marriage to Fernando offered shelter and security, but the shackle was the price I'd pay.
Once I married Fernando, I became invisible.
North Hollywood isn't actually Hollywood, it's in the San Fernando Valley... it's not the most glamorous part of L.A.
I had no idea where these kids at a small private college in the San Fernando Valley were coming from, why they were coming to hear me, or what they needed to know.
Mike Matheny, Fernando Vina, Edgar Renteria, Mark McGwire and Darryl Kile... before he died. Those guys took me under their wing and taught me the way to play the game the right way.
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