Pogo Sticks Quotes

A local train ... moved gently off up the line with a very singular motion indeed, in which the leap of a frog, the bounce of a pogo-stick, and the canter of a very short fat pony all were brought to mind. ~ Honor Tracy

We must not let ourselves get driven off course, no matter what happens we must stick to our natural game. ~ Zinedine Zidane

Most studios in Memphis had a house set of drums; the drummers just brought their own sticks. ~ Steve Cropper

I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. ~ William Shakespeare

When I meet a cat, I say, "Poor Pussy!" and stop down and tickle the side of its head; and the cat sticks up its tail in a rigid, cast-iron manner, arches its back, and wipes its nose up against my trousers; and all is gentleness and peace. When Montmorency meets a cat, the whole street knows about it; and there is enough bad language wasted in ten seconds to last an ordinarily respectable man all his life, with care. ~ Jerome K. Jerome

Gradually work your way towards the hard stuff. That will help you avoid injury and you'll be most likely to stick with it. ~ Miesha Tate

We're in her bedroom,and she's helping me write an essay about my guniea pig for French class. She's wearing soccer shorts with a cashmere sweater, and even though it's silly-looking, it's endearingly Meredith-appropriate. She's also doing crunches. For fun.
"Good,but that's present tense," she says. "You aren't feeding Captain Jack carrot sticks right now."
"Oh. Right." I jot something down, but I'm not thinking about verbs. I'm trying to figure out how to casually bring up Etienne.
"Read it to me again. Ooo,and do your funny voice! That faux-French one your ordered cafe creme in the other day, at that new place with St. Clair."
My bad French accent wasn't on purpose, but I jump on the opening. "You know, there's something,um,I've been wondering." I'm conscious of the illuminated sign above my head, flashing the obvious-I! LOVE! ETIENNE!-but push ahead anyway. "Why are he and Ellie still together? I mean they hardly see each other anymore. Right?"
Mer pauses, mid-crunch,and...I'm caught. She knows I'm in love with him, too.
But then I see her struggling to reply, and I realize she's as trapped in the drama as I am. She didn't even notice my odd tone of voice. "Yeah." She lowers herself slwoly back to the floor. "But it's not that simple. They've been together forever. They're practically an old married couple. And besides,they're both really...cautious."
"Cautious?"
"Yeah.You know.St. Clair doesn't rock the boat. And Ellie's the same w ~ Stephanie Perkins

We just keep trying to beat every show with the funny stick until it's funny ~ Dan Povenmire

I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick. ~ J.K. Rowling

The fact that it has nothing else to contribute to human wisdom is no reason to hand religion a free licence to tell us what to do. Which religion, anyway? The one in which we happen to have been brought up? To which chapter, then, of which book of the Bible should we turn - for they are far from unanimous and some of them are odious by any reasonable standards. How many literalists have read enough of the Bible to know that the death penalty is prescribed for adultery, for gathering sticks on the sabbath and for cheeking your parents? If we reject Deuteronomy and Leviticus (as all enlightened moderns do), by what criteria do we then decide which of religion's moral values to accept? Or should we pick and choose among all the world's religions until we find one whose moral teaching suits us? If so, again we must ask, by what criterion do we choose? And if we have independent criteria for choosing among religious moralities, why not cut out the middle man and go straight for the moral choice without the religion? ~ Richard Dawkins

Love sticks, and it stays and it braves the bullshit. ~ Tarryn Fisher

I think the environmental movement has failed in that it's used the stick too much; it's used the apocalyptic tone too much; it hasn't sold the positive aspects of being environmentally concerned and trying to pull us out. ~ Edward Burtynsky

Stick around long enough, you'll get some grace. ~ Spike Lee

A woman being never at a loss ... the devil always sticks by them. ~ George Gordon Byron

I started writing everything down.I wrote for the same reason someone lost sticks a message in a bottle.
I'm here. Help. Please find me. ~ Heather Sellers

The worst memories stick with us, while the nice ones always seem to slip through our fingers. ~ Rachel Vincent

I'll be out having a good time and stick my gum on the side of my cup - I know, it's a horrible habit - and people will steal the cup. ~ Jenna Jameson

Midwestern people stick together. Gee willikers, they work hard. There's no glitz, no glamour. When I was a girl in Duluth, Minnesota, I used to get up early and milk cows, so I know what hard work is. ~ Gena Lee Nolin

You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive.
~ Merce Cunningham

Pick up a yardstick to measure your life against anyone else's, and you've just picked up a stick and beaten up your own soul. ~ Ann Voskamp

As anyone who has received or dispensed psychotherapy knows, it's a profession whose mainspring is love. Nearly everyone who visits a therapist has a love disorder of one sort or another, and each has a story to tell - of love lost or denied, love twisted or betrayed, love perverted or shackled to violence. Broken attachments litter the office floors like pick-up sticks. People appear with frayed seams and spilling pockets. ~ Diane Ackerman

Be like the turtle. If he didn't stick his neck out, he wouldn't get anywhere at all. ~ Harvey MacKay

Any seasoned deal maker will tell you that spontaneous negotiation's a bad strategy; the ad hoc approach will leave you ripped-off, busted, conned, stiffed, outsmarted and generally holding the shitty end of the stick. ~ Glen Duncan

Effective foreign policy has always involved the use of both sticks and carrots, and finding the right balance between the two is more art than science. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton

The moment we walk into the suite, Tommy descends on us. "The Queen's on the line. On Skype, Your Grace." Anxiety rings in his voice like the ping of a tapped crystal glass. "She's been waiting. She does'na like to be kept waiting."

I nod briskly. "Have David bring me a scotch."

"Oh, me too!" Henry pipes up.

"He'll have coffee," I tell Tommy.

And I think Henry sticks his tongue out at me behind my back.

I head into the library and he follows, seeming marginally closer to sober - at least he's walking straight and unassisted now. I sit behind the desk and open the laptop. On the screen, my grandmother looks back at me, wearing a pale pink robe, hair in rollers and a hairnet, gray eyes piercing, her expression as friendly as the grim reaper's.

This should be fun.

"Nicholas." She greets me without emotion.

"Grandmother," I return, just as flat.

"Granny!" Henry calls, like a child, coming around the desk into view. Then he proceeds to hug the computer and kiss the screen.

"Mwah! Mwah!"

"Henry, oh, Hen - " My grandmother swats the air with her hands, like he's actually there kissing her.

And I do my damnedest not to laugh at them.

"Mwah!"

"Henry! Remember yourself! My gracious!"

"Mmmmmwah!" He perches, grinning like a fool, on the arm of my chair, forcing me to shift over. "I'm sorry, Grandmother - it's just so good to ~ Emma Chase

У меня в Москве - купола горят!
У меня в Москве - колокола звонят!
И гробницы в ряд у меня стоят, -
В них царицы спят, и цари.

И не знаешь ты, что зарёй в Кремле
Легче дышится - чем на всей земле!
И не знаешь ты, что зарёй в Кремле
Я молюсь тебе - до зари!

И проходишь ты над своей Невой
О ту пору, как над рекой-Москвой
Я стою с опущенной головой,
И слипаются фонари.

Всей бессонницей я тебя люблю,
Всей бессонницей я тебе внемлю -
О ту пору, как по всему Кремлю
Просыпаются звонари…

Но моя река - да с твоей рекой,
Но моя рука - да с твоей рукой
Не сойдутся, Радость моя, доколь
Не догонит заря - зари.

7 мая 1916

At home in Moscow - where the domes are burning,
at home in Moscow - in the sound of bells,
where I live the tombs - in their rows are standing
and in them Tsaritsas - are asleep and tsars.

And you don't know how - at dawn the Kremlin is
the easiest place to - breathe in the whole wide earth
and you don't know when - dawn reaches the Kremlin
I pray to you until - the next day comes

and I go with you - by your river Neva
even while beside - the Moscow river
I am standing here - with my head lowered
and the line of street lights - sticks fast together.

With my insomnia - I love you wholly.
With my insomnia - I listen for you,
jus ~ Marina Tsvetaeva

It could snow
We don't take care. The end of November came without coldness, with haunting and limp rains, pretty much leaves still laying anywhere on the sidewalks. It comes a morning with another grey, compact, closed, air changes its texture. Under the pharmacy green cross the thermometer sticks, in red, two degrees. The number, a bit blurred thins down in the space. We didn't expect it, but it grows, far inside us, the little sentence. It comes to the lips like a forgotten song: "It could snow …" We should not dare to mention it in loud voice, it is still so much autumn, all could finish in a stupid freezing sudden shower, in a fog of boredom. But the idea of a possible snow came back, it's what matters. No downhill in a sledge-trash-bag, no snowman, no children shouting,no pictures of landscape metamorphosis. Largely best then all that, because the essential snow is inside the unformulated. Before. Something we didn't know we knew. Before snow, before love, the same lack, the same dimmed grey which days' triteness creates pretending to suffocate.
We shall cross somebody:
-This time it's almost winter!
-Yes we start to be crestfallen!
Workers hang pieces of tinsel. We didn't say too much. Especially do not frighten away the slight shade of the idea. The red thermometer went down, one degree. It could snow. ~ Philippe Delerm

We just sent some footage to ABC Primetime, who is doing a segment that alleges to tell our side of the story, and in that, a week before she became ill, there's Eliza Jane at her friend's birthday party, blowing, over and over again, a party horn - the one with the long, curly thing that sticks out when you blow it and retracts when you breathe in - over and over and over again ... this child that, a few weeks later, would be said to have died of fatal pneumonia. ~ Christine Maggiore

waiting for the bus
waiting for a bus
under shadeless tree,
blacks, hispanics, asians ~
the tired, the poor,
the great unwashed,
the huddled masses
yearning to breathe free ~
anchored with bags
waiting for their ride home
or to a wedding,
funeral, baptism,
maybe a second job

they glance
nervously, repeatedly
at wristwatches,
cell phones,
the time-table,
the axis of the sun,
the bus is late
as usual

finally it stops,
braking with an owl's screech,
opening its door
with a cobra's hiss

they reach for their wallets, purses
for coins and tokens to hand sharon martinez,
the ferrywoman of 14th Street,
to cross the broad way sticks

i'm not too proud
to draw my poetry
from the crowd ~
from the wretched refuse,
the tempest-tossed homeless
the common people
huddling under bus shelters ~
for the sacred, my friend, does not dwell
in churches, temples, mosques or synagogues ~
it dwells most profoundly
in the stink and sweat
of poverty ~ Beryl Dov

Along some northern coast at sundown a beaten gold light is waterborne, sweeping across lakes and tracing zigzag rivers to the sea, and we know we're in transit again, half numb to the secluded beauty down there, the slate land we're leaving behind, the peneplain, to cross these rainbands in deep night. This is time totally lost to us. We don't remember it. We take no sense impressions with us, no voices, none of the windy blast of the aircraft on the tarmac, or the white noise of flight, or the hours waiting. Nothing sticks to us but smoke in our hair and clothes. It is dead time. It never happened until it happens again. Then it never happened. ~ Don DeLillo

There was a time when our minds were always on a roll. We used boxes and sticks to become astronauts and artists. We created fantasy characters and outrageous worlds. We drew whimsical pictures and cooked up wild ideas. We were complete originals. ~ Tom Asacker

We must not touch our idols; the gilt sticks to our fingers. ~ Gustave Flaubert

I know what you are going to say: sticks, stones, and broken bones, but words can kick you in the gut. They wriggle underneath your skin and start to itch. They set their hooks into you and pull. Words accumulate like a cancer, and then they eat away at you until there is nothing left. And once they are let loose there really is no taking them back. ~ John David Anderson