Hobbled Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
real-limitations-can-be-reasonably-challenged-expanded-but-hobbled-mind-is-not-going-anywhere-bryant-mcgill
here-i-stand-hobbled-in-sack-doom-determined-to-tear-out-it-knowing-that-i-will-kate-simon
the-home-ownership-process-for-native-americans-has-been-hobbled-by-bureaucratic-delays-regulations
his-instincts-should-have-warned-him-sooner-than-they-had-but-thanks-to-his-agimortus-hed-been-hobbled-like-brood-mare-waiting-to-be-mounted-by-larissa-ione
langdon-turned-to-sophie-who-is-that-what-happened-teabing-hobbled-over-you-were-rescued-by-knight-brandishing-excalibur-made-by-acme-orthopedic-dan-brown
the-mormon-mission-to-africa-as-to-other-darkskinned-parts-world-was-for-long-time-hobbled-by-racism-movements-scripture-james-fenton
when-children-are-hungry-sleepy-from-night-spent-fighting-untreated-asthma-hobbled-by-symptoms-undiagnosed-illnesses-they-are-less-likely-to-do-irwin-redlener
only-he-with-hobbled-foot-fully-knows-beauty-running-only-he-with-severed-ear-can-apprehend-what-sweetest-music-must-sound-like-our-ailments-gregory-maguire
limitations-can-be-reasonably-expanded-we-are-constantly-challenging-our-limitations-but-hobbled-mind-is-not-going-anywhere-bryant-mcgill
nothing-in-my-view-is-more-reprehensible-than-those-habits-mind-in-intellectual-that-induce-avoidance-that-characteristic-turning-away-from-difficult-principled-position-which-yo
charlotte-was-used-to-all-marks-war-shabbiness-things-bad-food-shop-queues-posters-about-war-effort-people-with-worried-faces-people-dressed-in-black-she-was-used-to-seeing-wound
Nobody reads poetry, we are told at every inopportune moment. I read poetry. I am somebody. I am the people, too. It can be allowed that an industrious quantity of contemporary American poetry is consciously written for a hermetic constituency; the bulk is written for the bourgeoisie, leaving a lean cut for labor. Only the hermetically aimed has a snowball's chance in hell of reaching its intended ears. One proceeds from this realization. A staggering figure of vibrant, intelligent people can and do live without poetry, especially without the poetry of their time. This figure includes the unemployed, the rank and file, the union brass, banker, scientist, lawyer, doctor, architect, pilot, and priest. It also includes most academics, most of the faculty of the humanities, most allegedly literary editors and most allegedly literary critics. They do so-go forward in their lives, toward their great reward, in an engulfing absence of poetry-without being perceived or perceiving themselves as hobbled or deficient in any significant way. It is nearly true, though I am often reminded of a Transtromer broadside I saw in a crummy office building in San Francisco: We got dressed and showed the house You live well the visitor said The slum must be inside you. If I wanted to understand a culture, my own for instance, and if I thought such an understanding were the basis for a lifelong inquiry, I would turn to poetry first. For it is my confirmed bias that the poets remain the most 'stunned by existence, ' the most determined to redeem the world in words..

C.D. Wright
nobody-reads-poetry-we-are-told-at-every-inopportune-moment-i-read-poetry-i-am-somebody-i-am-people-too-it-can-be-allowed-that-industrious-quantity-contemporary-american-poetry-i
The game is a thread, microscopic in breadth, a hint of gossamer drawing unsuspecting souls together in simple competition to the exclusion of all else, from a mother and her infant playing peekaboo to two old men hunched over a chessboard and everything in between. The game unifies, joining father and son pitching baseballs at night after a long day at the office, pitches pounding the mitt or skipping past, one time even knocking the coffee cup handle clean off and the boy scampering off to retrieve a wild one as the dad sips and ponders. The game allows brothers to bond even when the age gap is too great for real competition, their mutual effort to fashion a bridge between disparate age and ability forming a bond of trust and respect. And finally, it is the game's presence and past and its memory that inspires each of us to forgive time and aging and their inevitable accompanying attrition because the gray and hobbled old man before me was once lean and powerful and magnificent and some of what became of him was due to the investment he made in me and after all the batting practice he threw and grounders he hit, his shoulder aches and his knees need replacement. Even though youth masks it so you don't realize it all when you're a kid, someday it happens to you and suddenly you realize you are him and you are left wishing you could go back and tell him what you now know and perhaps thank him for what he gave up. You imagine him back then receiving nothing in return except the knowledge that you would someday understand but he could not hasten that day or that revelation and he abided it all so graciously knowing that your realization might be too late for him. So you console yourself that in the absence of your gratitude he clung to hope and conviction and the future. Turn the page and you find yourself staring out at the new generation and you wince as his pitches bruise your palm and crack your thumb and realize that today the game is growth and achievement and tomorrow it will be love and memories. The game is a gift.

Drew Rogers
the-game-is-thread-microscopic-in-breadth-hint-gossamer-drawing-unsuspecting-souls-together-in-simple-competition-to-exclusion-all-else-from-mother-her-infant-playing-peekaboo-to
Weak and trembling from passion, Major Flint found that after a few tottering steps in the direction of Tilling he would be totally unable to get there unless fortified by some strong stimulant, and turned back to the club-house to obtain it. He always went dead-lame when beaten at golf, while Captain Puffin was lame in any circumstances, and the two, no longer on speaking terms, hobbled into the club-house, one after the other, each unconscious of the other's presence. Summoning his last remaining strength Major Flint roared for whisky, and was told that, according to regulation, he could not be served until six. There was lemonade and stone ginger-beer. You might as well have offered a man-eating tiger bread and milk. Even the threat that he would instantly resign his membership unless provided with drink produced no effect on a polite steward, and he sat down to recover as best he might with an old volume of Punch. This seemed to do him little good. His forced abstemiousness was rendered the more intolerable by the fact that Captain Puffin, hobbling in immediately afterwards, fetched from his locker a large flask of the required elixir, and proceeded to mix himself a long, strong tumblerful. After the Major's rudeness in the matter of the half-crown, it was impossible for any sailor of spirit to take the first step towards reconciliation. Thirst is a great leveller. By the time the refreshed Puffin had penetrated half-way down his glass, the Major found it impossible to be proud and proper any longer. He hated saying he was sorry (no man more) and he wouldn't have been sorry if he had been able to get a drink. He twirled his moustache a great many times and cleared his throat-it wanted more than that to clear it-and capitulated. "Upon my word, Puffin, I'm ashamed of myself for-ha!-for not taking my defeat better, " he said. "A man's no business to let a game ruffle him." Puffin gave his alto cackling laugh. "Oh, that's all right, Major, " he said. "I know it's awfully hard to lose like a gentleman." He let this sink in, then added: "Have a drink, old chap?" Major Flint flew to his feet. "Well, thank ye, thank ye, " he said. "Now where's that soda water you offered me just now?" he shouted to the steward. The speed and completeness of the reconciliation was in no way remarkable, for when two men quarrel whenever they meet, it follows that they make it up again with corresponding frequency, else there could be no fresh quarrels at all. This one had been a shade more acute than most, and the drop into amity again was a shade more precipitous.

E.F. Benson
weak-trembling-from-passion-major-flint-found-that-after-few-tottering-steps-in-direction-tilling-he-would-be-totally-unable-to-get-there-unless-fortified-by-some-strong-stimulan
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