#cling

A poet clings to his own tradition and avoids internationalism. ↗

— Salvatore Quasimodo

#clings #his #internationalism #own #poet

Men never cling to their dreams with such tenacity as at the moment when they are losing faith in them, and know it, but do not dare yet to confess it to themselves. ↗

— William Graham Sumner

#confess #dare #dreams #faith #know

But the nuclear powers still cling tenaciously to their weapons. ↗

— Joseph Rotblat

#nuclear #nuclear powers #powers #still #their

I've just been reading about cycling. Yeah, I'm not that great at it but I like the challenge of it. ↗

— Joey Santiago

#been #challenge #cycling #great #i

I'm more optimistic about cycling right now than I've ever been. ↗

— Greg LeMond

#been #cycling #ever #i #more

When you drive, you are doing several things at once. You are using your eyes, ears, hands, your mind. If you have meditated for many years and have reached a lofty height in your meditation, as I have, you can meditate while running and cycling and painting. ↗

— Sri Chinmoy

#doing #drive #ears #eyes #hands

I love it when the left and when the president say, 'Don't try to impose your values on us, you folks who hold your Bibles in your hand and cling to your guns.' They have values too. Our values are based on religion, based on life. Their values are based on a religion of self. ↗

— Rick Santorum

#cling #folks #guns #hand #hold

Everything about riding a bicycle compels you towards beauty. ↗

— BikeSnobNYC

#bicycling #beauty

Before the house you live in was built, there was an empty space, before the tree could provide shade to you, the tree was just a seed, before you were born, part of you existed within two separate people, and when you die, the house, the tree and your body will cease to exist as your mind perceives them today. Be free from the illusion of ownership over, this and that; Wake up, and embrace a reality of constant change, go with the flow, and enjoy the ride, be free today! ↗

— Martin Suarez

#change #clinging #contentment #control #change

It was Sunday, and Mumma had gone next door with Lena and the little ones. Under the pepper tree in the yard Pa was sorting, counting, the empty bottles he would sell back: the bottles going clink clink as Pa stuck them in the sack. The fowls were fluffing in the dust and sun: that crook-neck white pullet Mumma said she would hit on the head if only she had the courage to; but she hadn't. ↗

— Patrick White

#children #fathers #fowls #mothers #recycling