Вы искали: no matter what i will always love you (Испанский - Английский)

no matter what i feel for you,
no matter what i feel for you,

no matter what.
apparently not.

no matter what i do, girl you know it’s true
no matter what i do, girl you know it’s true

i will always come back.
i will always come back.

i miss you so much and i will always think of you
i will always think of you

no matter what you do with children, plan for positive closure.
no matter what you do with children, plan for positive closure.

» uphold standards no matter what (barbados advocate)
» uphold standards no matter what (barbados advocate)

i love you baby ... i will take care of you
i love you baby ... i will take care of you

mientras asistía a un campamento de la iglesia, a la edad de 13 años, simpson cantó "i will always love you" de whitney houston.
while attending a church camp, at the age of 13, simpson sang whitney houston's "i will always love you" and an arrangement of "amazing grace".

i love you i will never leave you , you my wholeheart literally 🖤🤞🏾
i miss you more

desde dubai, eau, official herv comparte en youtube este vídeo, que muestra la fuente de dubai sincronizada al ritmo de la canción i will always love you!.
from dubai, uae, official herv on youtube shares this video showing the dubai fountains synchronised with houston's i will always love you!.

ahí, interpretó los éxitos de whitney houston "i will always love you" y "i have nothing" en compañía de david foster en el piano.
there, she performed the whitney houston rendition of "i will always love you," and "i have nothing" accompanied by david foster on the piano.

i can't say, 'this is my team and i'm going to root for them no matter what they do.
i can't say, 'this is my team and i'm going to root for them no matter what they do.

en marzo, jacoby dijo que estaba grabando para las canciones "nemesis" y "no matter what".
in march, jacoby said he was recording vocals for songs called "nemesis" and "no matter what".

el día antes de la ceremonia whitney houston falleció en los Ángeles, y los productores del evento rápidamente organizaron un tributo con jennifer hudson cantando la canción de houston "i will always love you".
the day before the ceremony, whitney houston died in los angeles, and the show's producers quickly planned a tribute in the form of jennifer hudson singing houston's "i will always love you".

la primera nombrada que comparte récord con la canción de brandy norwood y monica «the boy is mine» y la última canción comparte su récord con el sencillo de whitney houston «i will always love you».
the former song shares this record with brandy and monica's "the boy is mine", and the latter song shared its record with whitney houston's "i will always love you".

el álbum incluía un dueto con stephen gately en la canción «no matter what», gately habiendo cantado principalmente en la versión de la canción con su banda boyzone.
the album included a duet with stephen gately on the song "no matter what", gately having sung the lead on the original version of the song with his band boyzone.

originalmente escrito para el andrew lloyd webber escena musical" whistle down the ", viento "no matter what" fue el grupo de los mejores de la historia única de venta y fue votado como canción del año de 1998.
originally written for the andrew lloyd webber stage musical "whistle down the wind", "no matter what" was the group's best ever selling single selling over 4 million copies worldwide and it is the biggest selling record for a boyband, it was also voted song of the year, 1998.

en éste material discográfico graba por primera vez siete nuevas canciones de su autoría y actualiza tres clásicos de su repertorio: "jolene", "the seeker" y "i will always love you", éste último a dúo con vince gill.
in addition to the seven new parton compositions, she updated three classics from her repertoire: "jolene", "the seeker", and "i will always love you", the latter of which was performed as a duet with vince gill.

“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. %e2%80%9cjane%20eyre%e2%80%9d%20by%20charlotte%20bront%c3%ab
“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. “jane eyre” by charlotte brontë