When a miner looks at the rope that is to lower him into the deep mine, he may coolly say, "I have faith in that rope as well made and strong." But when he lays hold of it, and swings down by it into the tremendous chasm, then he is believing on the rope. Then he is trusting himself to the rope. It is not a mere opinion--it is an act. The miner lets go of every thing else, and bears his whole weight on those well braided strands of hemp. Now that is faith.
Theodore L. Cuyler
Sentient beings, self and others, enemies and dear ones-all are made by thoughts. It is like seeing a rope and mistaking it for a snake. When we think that the rope is a snake, we are scared, but once we see that we are looking at a rope, our fear dissipates. We have been deluded by our thoughts. Likewise, mentally fabricating self and others, we generate attachment and aversion.
Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche
Prayer pulls the rope below and the great bell rings above in the ears of God. Some scarcely stir the bell, for they pray so languidly. Others give but an occasional pluck at the rope. But he who wins with heaven is the man who grasps the rope boldly and pulls continuously, with all his might.
You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth of falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it?
Forgiveness to letting go of a bell rope. If you have ever seen a country church with a bell in the steeple, you will remember that to get the bell ringing you have to tug awhile. Once it has begun to ring, you merely maintain the momentum. As long as you keep pulling, the bell keeps ringing. Forgiveness is letting go of the rope. It is just that simple. But when you do so, the bell keeps ringing. Momentum is still at work. However, if you keep your hands off the rope, the bell will begin to slow and eventually stop.
Corrie Ten Boom
neither poems nor prose just a length of rope just the wet earth -- that's the way home. neither vodka nor bread just bursts of rage just more new graves -- that's youth and that's love. neither sleep nor waking neither joy nor laughter just tears in the night -- so the rope, paper, knife.
I was 3 and a half, and there was an open call for a Coca-Cola commercial. We were living around Dallas, and my mom took me. I think they were calling for 16-year-olds that could ride horses and swing a rope, and for whatever reason, my mom took me up there when I was 3. But I always had a rope, and I was a little cowboy at that age.
They shall be humiliated wherever they are encountered, except through a rope from Allah, and a rope from the people; and they incurred wrath from Allah, and were stricken with misery. That is because they rejected Allah's revelations, and killed the prophets unjustly. That is because they rebelled and committed aggression.
Ali 'Imran 112
I'm not trying to turn you into cowboys, I'm just trying to get you better coordinated, get your horse used to things, get your horse comfortable. Heck, on the first ride you should be swinging a rope off a horse. You should be doing this not so you can rope a cow, but just to get him (your horse) gentle. You can't think of everything in life your horse might encounter that might make him afraid so you'd better prepare em for it in other ways.
As the skipping rope hit the pavement, so did the ball. As the rope curved over the head of the jumping child, the child with the ball caught the ball. Down came the ropes. Down came the balls. Over and over again. Up. Down. All in rhythm. All identical. Like the houses. Like the paths. Like the flowers
For years, I worked seven-day weeks, through birthdays and most public holidays, Christmases and New Year's Eves included. I worked mornings and afternoons, resuming work after dinner. I remember feeling as if life were a protracted exercise in pulling myself out of a well by a rope, and that rope was work.
To be a true comic, you have to have a signature move. You ever watch wrestling? And your favorite wrestler has the one move that he always does to finish his opponent off, right? Like when he climbs on the rope, and he always jumps off the top rope and finishes off his opponent - that's what a comic has.
J. B. Smoove
Consider the social proof of a line of people standing behind a velvet rope, waiting to get into a club. The line makes most people walking by want to find out what's worth the wait. The digital equivalent of the velvet rope helped build viral growth for initially invite-only launches like Gmail, Gilt Groupe, Spotify, and Turntable.fm.
There is no ideal length, but you develop a little interior gauge that tells you whether or not you're supporting the house or detracting from it. When a piece gets too long, the tension goes out of it. That word —tension —has an animal insistence for me. A piece of writing rises and falls with tension. The writer holds one end of the rope and the reader holds the other end —is the rope slack, or is it tight? Does it matter to the reader what the next sentence is going to be?
John Jeremiah Sullivan
YOU CAN REACH ME BY RAILWAY YOU CAN REACH ME BY TRAILWAY YOU CAN REACH ME ON AN AIRPLANE YOU CAN REACH ME WITH YOUR MIND YOU CAN REACH ME BY CARAVAN CROSS THE DESERT LIKE AN ARAM MAN I DON'T CARE HOW YOU GET HERE JUST - GET HERE IF YOU CAN - YOU CAN REACH ME BY SAIL BOAT CLIMB A TREE AND SWING ROPE TO ROPE TAKE A SLED AND SLIDE DOWN THE-SLOPE INTO THESE ARMS OF MINE YOU CAN JUMP ON A SPEEDY COLT CROSS THE BORDER IN A BLAZE OF HOPE I DON'T CARE HOW YOU GET HERE JUST GET HERE IF YOU CAN THERE ARE HILLS AND MOUNTAINS BETWEEN US ALWAYS SOMETHING TO GET OVER IF I HAD MY WAY, SURELY YOU WOULD BE CLOSER I NEED YOU CLOSE
All beings so far have created something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and even go back to the beasts rather than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassment... (...) Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman-a rope over an abyss... What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under...
You rarely see one punch kill anybody. I mean, Davey Moore died, the first fight I ever worked for the title, my guy fought and was getting killed, and he hit Davey Moore. Davey Moore went down. There was no bottom rope to it. I then put bottom rope to it, when I got in power. Hit his head. One blow, hit his head and died.
The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole... " Max, at that moment, knew that only a child could have given him a weather report like that. On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with a dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy cloud, he drew two figures-a thin girl and a withering Jew-and they were walking, arms balanced, toward that dripping sun.
CREONTA: Rope! My rope! Hang those two thieves by the neck until they are dead. THE ROPE: Alack, but vile and ill-natured female! Upon wherein did thine affections tarry when I didst but lie here and rot for many a year? Nay, but those fellows tooketh care to remove the wetness that didst plagueth me of late and hath laid me upon the cool ground to revel in a state of dryness. Nay, I wouldst not delay them in their noble course for all thine base and bestial howling. CREONTA: Then, you, dearest donkey, precious beast of burden, tear those two apart and eat their flesh! DONKEY: Nay, but alas for many a season didst you but keep the food of the tummy from me and my mouth when it was that I required it of you. These fine gentlemen of fortune didst but give me carrots of which to partake which I did most verily and forthsoothe with merriment. I havest decided that thou dost suck most verily and no longer will I layth the smackth down in thine name but will rather let such gentlemen as these go free of themselves. TRUFFALDINO: [To the audience.] Well, what do you know? Fakespeare!
Jeffrey woke up, tied to the high-backed chair in his bedroom, nude. He could hear his wife giggling in the hallway, the hardwood floors creaking with her footsteps with what must have been someone else too. He was gagged, a tight cloth wrapped around his mouth, hurting his jaw when he tried to call for help. He looked down at his body, seeing that he was tied with an intricate rope pattern - a pentagram - on his chest, the hemp fibers tight. He could breathe fine, and he recognized his wife's rigging skills instantly. They'd practiced Kinbaku, a rope bondage before, on multiple occasions, but this rigging was different. It seemed to be tighter than normal, and he knew that something new was being introduced tonight.
THE KNOWING DIRGE IN THE SHADOW OF WHAT'S REAL YOU DIG A HOLE DOWN IN THE SAND. WHERE YOU KNOW YOU LEFT IT ALL, THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND. AND GUIDE YOUR HAND. THEN YOU TURN WITH WATTERING EYE, TO THE SKY IN YOUR SURPRISE. AND THE SAND IS YOUR BLOOD AND THE HOLE IS SO BIG AND YOU SHAKE AND YOU PRAY AND YOU BEG. YOU KNOW WHY. WITH YOUR WATERING EYE, YOU'VE GOT A HOLE INSIDE, SUCH A WRETCHED LIFE, DON'T LOOK SO SURPRISED. YOU KNOW WHY. YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF AGAIN. GUNNING FOR A BLUER SKY. SWALLOWED THE DOSE, CUT YOUR OWN ROPE, JUST TO KNOW IT ALL. DO YOU KNOW IT ALL? TOOK DOWN THE DOSE, CUT YOUR ROPE, WANTED TO SHOW YOURSELF EVERYTHING. YOU RAN THROUGH THE WIRES, TASTED THE FIRES. YOU CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING AT ALL. SHOCKED BY THE VOICE AGAIN.