Quotes About Movement

I sit on hard chairs — soft ones spread the hips. Unlike Oscar Levant, who said he never stood when he could sit and never sat when he could lie down, I stand and walk as much as I can. I don't think any of us walk enough, especially those of us who have desk work to do. When the work is done, the day is gone, and we take the shortest (sitting-down) route home. A walk before bedtime is the best cure for insomnia as well as a way of getting a little more exercise.

Men who are prejudiced against women in executive positions have usually had a bad experience with one who swaggered in with a chip on her manly shoulder believing that she had to fight her way up, and fight men to do it. A gal like that can make it tough for the rest of us. Many in the women's liberation movement have done that—but few of them are executives and few are very good to look at. They have nothing to lose but their uncombed hair.

the large black birds swirling and dispersing over

If possible, try to find a way to come downstairs that doesn't involve going bump, bump, bump, on the back of your head.

I am driven. Being driven is my energy source. It is my fun.…I believe that where there is action, there is movement, and those ripples will eventually produce something positive.

Habit has two parts, Toni [Packer] says. There is the habit itself (finger biting, smoking, drinking, whatever), and there is the observer who wants to stop, who is also a habit. And there is the conflict, the battle between the desire to indulge, which is an escape from what is, and the desire to stop, which is also a movement away from what is.

The sea was a landscape of longing, she thought, a landscape of ceaseless change.

One can't step into the river twice

The days are like deer leaping into the forest...they go so fast.

we are called to be disciples of a Rabbi who is always on the move, one who wants us to go with him, making disciples to the ends of the earth. We need to learn how to recognize his voice, to go where he wants us to go, and to serve and imitate him so that we can share his good news with the world.

At night I dream of swimming, my arms move smoothly through the water it is so easy, so calm.

A dove's call echoed like a bell as her feet drummed on the road.

This landscape is animate: it moves, transposes, builds, proceeds, shifts, always going on, never coming back, and one can only retain it in vignettes, impressions caught in a flash, flipped through in succession, leaving a richness of images imprinted on a sunburned retina.

I sit watching until dusk, hypnotized. I think of the sea as continually sloshing back and forth, repetitive, but my psyche goes with the river- always loping downhill, purposeful, listening only to gravity.

The men you meet can't do you any harm: ghosts from a life in which wind and sun existed—these good things they no longer remember. They creep or climb or stagger: that is their way of moving. They speak very little; they are no longer Neapolitans, or anything else.

The only excuse for dancing is grace and beauty of movement.

Collective action means that when someone does something small or personal, their actions can change history too.

Directional ornaments not only follow and enhance bodily movements but also dynamically represent what today we would call prosthetic possibilities by expanding the bodily periphery with inanimate objects.

Arendt's "totalitarian personality," the "completely isolated human being who, without any other social ties to family, friends, comrades, or even mere acquaintances, derives his sense of having a place in the world only from his belonging to a movement, his membership in the party.

The moon waxes and wanes. The tides ebb and flow. The seasons turn, each in their own time. Ever changing, never changing. Of course you'll change. The dance of life spirals, remember? Even when you return to a point, you're not in the same place. The dance would have changed you, whether you'd come here or stayed home.

some hours later they were down at the railroad tracks standing close together by the switch lights. The huge night moved overhead scattering drops of itself.

A cold ship moves out of harbor somewhere way inside the wife and slides off toward the flat gray horizon, not a bird not a breath in sight.

Why not keep moving it's true every epitaph calls out to the passerby but the marks are a trap the mourning is irrelevant I knew a man who dreamed his backside was made of glass and dared not sit down for 7 months

I must console him for the distance we have moved from the place where he stopped.