Tiptoe 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
life-isnt-tiptoe-through-tulips-shannon-hoon
men-dont-have-to-tiptoe-around-me-you-can-say-anything-i-wont-get-offended
the-idealist-walks-on-tiptoe-materialist-on-his-heels
but-because-two-can-play-at-this-game-i-stand-on-tiptoe-kiss-his-cheek-right-on-his-bruise-suzanne-collins
if-you-tiptoe-into-cold-water-youre-missing-out-on-rush-plunging-in-headfirst-simone-elkeles
i-learned-it-was-better-to-tiptoe-through-life-arrive-at-deaths-door-safely-marquita-burkedejesus
real-elation-is-when-you-feel-you-could-touch-star-without-standing-on-tiptoe-doug-larson
learning-sleeps-and-snores-in-libraries-but-wisdom-is-everywhere-wide-awake-on-tiptoe
one-has-to-tiptoe-lightly-steal-up-to-ones-quarry-you-dont-swish-water-when-you-are-fishing-henri-cartierbresson
a-faith-weak-that-it-is-not-sufficient-unto-itself-but-requires-that-others-tiptoe-around-it-for-fear-hurting-it-knows-deep-down-that-it-is-lie-joe-blow
life-is-too-brief-too-rich-to-tiptoe-through-halfheartedly-rather-than-galloping-at-it-with-whooping-excitement-ambition-alastair-humphreys
yeah-we-could-fly-in-on-dragons-release-cloud-sugar-plum-fairies-to-tiptoe-in-get-watch-mora-early
ive-had-lot-therapists-ive-had-opportunity-to-approach-my-fear-in-many-different-ways-ive-faced-it-head-on-sideways-tried-to-tiptoe-up-behind-it-anna-white
if-even-dying-is-to-be-made-a-social-function-then-grant-me-the-favor-of-sneaking-out-on-tiptoe-without-disturbing-the-party
i-havent-had-to-do-too-many-many-explicit-ones-everybody-feels-weird-everybody-is-trying-to-tiptoe-around-make-you-think-theyre-not-there-the-last-time-i-did-love-scene-i-couldnt
meredith-interposed-celia-makes-one-his-women-emilia-in-england-say-that-poetry-is-like-talking-on-tiptoe-like-animals-in-cages-always-going-to-one-end-back-again-harold-frederic
when-you-live-in-an-alcoholic-family-or-an-abusive-family-you-tiptoe-you-dont-want-to-step-on-any-mines
we-come-this-way-but-once-we-can-either-tiptoe-through-life-hope-that-we-get-to-death-without-being-too-badly-bruised-we-can-live-full-complete-life-achieving-our-goals-realizing
donald-trump-gets-it-hes-genuine-article-hes-doer-in-game-usually-reserved-for-talkers-and-when-donald-trump-does-his-talking-he-doesnt-tiptoe-around-thousand-new-rules-political
Life is a great big beautiful three-ring circus. There are those on the floor making their lives among the heads of lions and hoops of fire, and those in the stands, complacent and wowed, their mouths stuffed with popcorn. I know less now than ever about life, but I do know its size. Life is enormous. Much grander than what we've taken for ourselves, so far. When the show is over and the tent is packed, the elephants, lions and dancing poodles are caged and mounted on trucks to caravan to the next town. The clown's makeup has worn, and his bright, red smile has been washed down a sink. All that is left is another performance, another tent and set of lights. We rest in the knowledge: the show must go on. Somewhere, behind our stage curtain, a still, small voice asks why we haven't yet taken up juggling. My seminars were like this. Only, instead of flipping shiny, black bowling balls or roaring chainsaws through the air, I juggled concepts. The world is intrinsically tied together. All things march through time at different intervals but move ahead in one fashion or another. Though we may never understand it, we are all part of something much larger than ourselves-something anchoring us to the spot we have mentally chosen. We sniff out the rules, through spiritual quests and the sciences. And with every new discovery, we grow more confused. Our inability to connect what seems illogical to unite and to defy logic in our understanding keeps us from enlightenment. The artists and insane tiptoe around such insights, but lack the compassion to hand-feed these concepts to a blind world. The interconnectedness of all things is not simply a pet phrase. It is a big 'T' truth that the wise spend their lives attempting to grasp.

Christopher Hawke
life-is-great-big-beautiful-threering-circus-there-are-those-on-floor-making-their-lives-among-heads-lions-hoops-fire-those-in-stands-complacent-wowed-their-mouths-stuffed-with-p
Four times during the first six days they were assembled and briefed and then sent back. Once, they took off and were flying in formation when the control tower summoned them down. The more it rained, the worse they suffered. The worse they suffered, the more they prayed that it would continue raining. All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars. All through the day, they looked at the bomb line on the big, wobbling easel map of Italy that blew over in the wind and was dragged in under the awning of the intelligence tent every time the rain began. The bomb line was a scarlet band of narrow satin ribbon that delineated the forward most position of the Allied ground forces in every sector of the Italian mainland. For hours they stared relentlessly at the scarlet ribbon on the map and hated it because it would not move up high enough to encompass the city. When night fell, they congregated in the darkness with flashlights, continuing their macabre vigil at the bomb line in brooding entreaty as though hoping to move the ribbon up by the collective weight of their sullen prayers. "I really can't believe it, " Clevinger exclaimed to Yossarian in a voice rising and falling in protest and wonder. "It's a complete reversion to primitive superstition. They're confusing cause and effect. It makes as much sense as knocking on wood or crossing your fingers. They really believe that we wouldn't have to fly that mission tomorrow if someone would only tiptoe up to the map in the middle of the night and move the bomb line over Bologna. Can you imagine? You and I must be the only rational ones left." In the middle of the night Yossarian knocked on wood, crossed his fingers, and tiptoed out of his tent to move the bomb line up over Bologna.

Joseph Heller
four-times-during-first-six-days-they-were-assembled-briefed-then-sent-back-once-they-took-off-were-flying-in-formation-when-control-tower-summoned-them-down-the-more-it-rained-w
When Rhiannon was small and had just learned to read, her mother brought her into the hall one day when her father was on campaign, and led her to the large table upon which a great map of their lands lay. She instructed Rhiannon to read the words of the landmarks: castle, road, mountain, forest, village. The young girl touched words inscribed over a place where trees met craggy peaks. 'What does that say, my love?' her mother prompted. 'Here be dragons, ' Rhiannon answered, glancing up at her mother. Her mother nodded, smiling. She knelt down in front of Rhiannon so they were at the same height. The lady's hazel eyes sparkled as she whispered, 'I have a secret to share. But I can only share it with a little girl with red and gold hair, ' she pulled playfully on Rhiannon's braid, ' who knows how to read.' Rhiannon giggled. 'Are you a little girl such as this?' Rhiannon nodded eagerly, and her mother laughed. She stood up and gestured at a tapestry on the wall. 'Come, child, the dragon guards our treasure.' Hand in hand they walked to the tapestry of the sleeping dragon. 'Your great-great grandmother wove this tapestry when she was an old woman. It took her a long time to complete, with her hands gnarled so, like the twisted oak by the drawbridge.' The dragon was curled up in front of a turret, with stone dolmens in a semi-circle behind it, interspersed with trees and a mountain peak in the background and bright blue sky above. The dragon's scales were crimson and woven through with glittering gold thread, and its curved horns and talons were gold. As they paused in front of the large tapestry, Rhiannon looked closely at the eyes of the dragon; she thought perhaps she could see a slit of gold, as if the dragon were only pretending to be asleep. Rhiannon's mother stood on tiptoe and moved part of the tapestry to the side, revealing a slit in the stone wall. With her free hand she reached in and drew out a large leather-bound tome. She motioned her daughter to come sit with her on one of the benches that lined the walls. 'Look and listen well, my daughter, ' she said, and ran her fingers along the smooth cover, 'this book is our special treasure, and it contains many secrets within its pages. I am going to teach you how to read them.' She opened the book as Rhiannon snuggled closer to her, her mother's loose red-gold hair falling over the girl's shoulder and brushing the crinkly parchment pages of the book which she turned until she came to the picture of a girl.

Lori J. Fitzgerald
when-rhiannon-was-small-had-just-learned-to-read-her-mother-brought-her-into-hall-one-day-when-her-father-was-on-campaign-led-her-to-large-table-upon-which-great-map-their-lands-
The last time I'd been unwell, suicidally depressed, whatever you want to call it, the reactions of my friends and family had fallen into several different camps: The Let's Laugh It Off merchants: Claire was the leading light. They hoped that joking about my state of mind would reduce it to a manageable size. Most likely to say, 'Feeling any mad urges to fling yourself into the sea?' The Depression Deniers: they were the ones who took the position that since there was no such thing as depression, nothing could be wrong with me. Once upon a time I'd have belonged in that category myself. A subset of the Deniers was The Tough Love people. Most likely to say, 'What have you got to be depressed about?' The It's All About Me bunch: they were the ones who wailed that I couldn't kill myself because they'd miss me so much. More often than not, I'd end up comforting them. My sister Anna and her boyfriend, Angelo, flew three thousand miles from New York just so I could dry their tears. Most likely to say, 'Have you any idea how many people love you?' The Runaways: lots and lots of people just stopped ringing me. Most of them I didn't care about, but one or two were important to me. Their absence was down to fear; they were terrified that whatever I had, it was catching. Most likely to say, 'I feel so helpless ... God, is that the time?' Bronagh - though it hurt me too much at the time to really acknowledge it - was the number one offender. The Woo-Woo crew: i.e. those purveying alternative cures. And actually there were hundreds of them - urging me to do reiki, yoga, homeopathy, bible study, sufi dance, cold showers, meditation, EFT, hypnotherapy, hydrotherapy, silent retreats, sweat lodges, felting, fasting, angel channelling or eating only blue food. Everyone had a story about something that had cured their auntie/boss/boyfriend/next-door neighbour. But my sister Rachel was the worst - she had me plagued. Not a day passed that she didn't send me a link to some swizzer. Followed by a phone call ten minutes later to make sure I'd made an appointment. (And I was so desperate that I even gave plenty of them a go.) Most likely to say, 'This man's a miracle worker.' Followed by: 'That's why he's so expensive. Miracles don't come cheap.' There was often cross-pollination between the different groupings. Sometimes the Let's Laugh It Off merchants teamed up with the Tough Love people to tell me that recovering from depression is 'simply mind over matter'. You just decide you're better. (The way you would if you had emphysema.) Or an All About Me would ring a member of the Woo-Woo crew and sob and sob about how selfish I was being and the Woo-Woo crew person would agree because I had refused to cough up two grand for a sweat lodge in Wicklow. Or one of the Runaways would tiptoe back for a sneaky look at me, then commandeer a Denier into launching a two-pronged attack, telling me how well I seemed. And actually that was the worst thing anyone could have done to me, because you can only sound like a self-pitying malingerer if you protest, 'But I don't feel well. I feel wretched beyond description.' Not one person who loved me understood how I'd felt. They hadn't a clue and I didn't blame them, because, until it had happened to me, I hadn't a clue either.

Marian Keyes
the-last-time-id-been-unwell-suicidally-depressed-whatever-you-want-to-call-it-reactions-my-friends-family-had-fallen-into-several-different-camps-the-lets-laugh-it-off-merchants
I saw thee once - only once - years ago: I must not say how many - but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared stir, unless on tiptoe - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in the parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell upon the upturn'd faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturn'd - alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight - Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow, ) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footsteps stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! - oh, G! How my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused - I looked - And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind the garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out: The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All - all expired save thee - save less than thou: Save only divine light in thine eyes - Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them - they were the world to me. I saw but them - saw only them for hours - Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition! yet how deep - How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go - they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me - they lead me through the years. They are my ministers - yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindle - My duty, to be saved by their bright fire, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope, ) And are far up in Heaven - the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still - two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

Edgar Allan Poe
i-saw-thee-once-only-once-years-ago-i-must-not-say-how-many-but-not-many-it-was-july-midnight-from-out-a-fullorbed-moon-that-like-thine-own-soul-soaring-sought-precipitate-pathwa
To Helen I saw thee once-once only-years ago; I must not say how many-but not many. It was a july midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light Thier odorous souls in an ecstatic death- Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted by thee, by the poetry of thy prescence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses And on thine own, upturn'd-alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate that, on this july midnight- Was it not Fate (whose name is also sorrow) That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred; the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh Heaven- oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two worlds!) Save only thee and me. I paused- I looked- And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out; The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All- all expired save thee- save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes- Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them- they were the world to me. I saw but them- saw only them for hours- Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a woe! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition!yet how deep- How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go- they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me- they lead me through the years. They are my ministers- yet I thier slave Thier office is to illumine and enkindle- My duty, to be saved by thier bright light, And purified in thier electric fire, And sanctified in thier Elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), And are far up in heaven- the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still- two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

Edgar Allan Poe
to-helen-i-saw-thee-onceonce-onlyyears-ago-i-must-not-say-how-manybut-not-many-it-was-july-midnight-from-out-a-fullorbed-moon-that-like-thine-own-soul-soaring-sought-precipitate-
?Earn cash when you save a quote by clicking
EARNED Load...
LEVEL : Load...