Running Quotes

“On the other side of that line was freedom—the kind of freedom that can never be taken away from you. It was freedom from our self-imposed limitations. Although through our training we have grown to believe that running 52 consecutive miles was possible, none of us really believed in our heart of hearts that it was probable. As individuals, each of us struggled with their own fear and self-doubt. But the moment we cross that finish line, we have given ourselves the gift of freedom from our fears, our self-doubt, and our self-imposed limitations.”

“When people ask me why I am running as a woman, I always answer, 'What choice do I have?'”

“I feel blessed. All the great running backs that have come through Ohio State - Archie Griffin, Eddie George, Beanie Wells - I'm happy that I was able to carry on that lineage this season.”

“Running fills the cup that has to pour out for others. Running feeds the soul that has a responsibility to nourish. Running sets the anchor that limits the drift of the day. Running clears the mind that has a myriad of challenges to solve. Running tends to the self so that selfishness can subside.”

“Try not thinking of peeling an orange. Try not imagining the juice running down your fingers, the soft inner part of the peel. The smell. Try and you can't. The brain doesn't process negatives.”

“Zen masters say you cannot see your reflection in running water, only in still water.”

“Some players are bought by other clubs with an eye to them developing into something special in a few years' time. Whereas there's a bit more pressure on some of the other clubs to bring in players who are going to be hitting the ground running and top players verging on world class almost immediately.”

“I've been asked countless times, 'Why are you drawn to horror films? Why do you think women are drawn to horror films?' And it's because, in a way, it's one of the few genres that tells it like it is. A lot of times, women do feel like they're running for their lives somehow.”

“She remembers blood.A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss. Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms.”

“For people who are displaced, you can reconstruct the story of your life from the objects you have access to, but if you don't have the objects then there are holes in your life. This is why people in Bosnia - if anyone was running back into a burning house, it was to salvage photos.”

“He stared down at her for a moment, wanting to heal everycut on her soft skin. But he couldn’t, not yet. He needed to get her,and her car, far from this place so neither he nor Kate would beimplicated in any way with the gruesome murder site.It also meant he would have to drive.In all his years, he had never driven an automobile. The closest hehad come was watching various assistants through the years as theychauffeured him. He wasn’t sure he could even remember how tostart the car, but right now he had no choice.Grudgingly, he got into the driver’s seat, and finding the leverunderneath, he pushed it back so he sat comfortably behind thewheel. After trying three different keys, he found one that slipped intothe ignition.From what he had seen over the past hundred years, driving wasnot a complex operation, and he was an immortal with reflexes farmore keen than a human man.How difficult could it be?He turned the key and nearly jerked the wheel off the steeringcolumn when the car surprised him by lurching forward. The car wentsilent. The engine wasn’t running. What was he doing wrong?He stared at the gearshift, wondering if he should move it. Hisfrustration reared up, but his agitation would not make the car driveitself. He had to keep a cool head.Not knowing what else to try, he pushed one of the pedals at hisfeet to the floor and turned the key again. This time the car didn’tmove, and it roared to life. Grasping the gearshift, he jammed it intothe first position and glanced over at Kate.Why couldn’t she have owned a car with an automatictransmission?Shaking his head, he put some pressure on the gas pedal andslowly released the clutch. Thankfully the car rolled a few feet, butwithout warning it jumped forward. He pressed the clutch back to thefloor before the engine lost power again.Calisto slammed his hand against the wheel, muttering under hisbreath in Spanish. At this rate it would take him all night to drive herhome.The faded yellow convertible pitched forward again, threateningto stall as he continued out of the parking lot, thankful it was late. Thestreets were fairly empty. At least he wouldn’t get into an accidentwith another car. Her car staggered ahead, lurching each time hetried to release the clutch, bouncing and jostling them both until Katefinally stirred and woke up.§“Are we out of gas or something?”Calisto watched her with a tight smile. “Not exactly.”Kate winced in pain when she laughed. “You can’t drive a stickshift,can you?”“Does it show?” Calisto pulled over, finally allowing the engine tostall.She nodded her head slowly to avoid more pain. “Just a little.What happened?”“You don’t remember?”“I remember being mugged. And I remember seeing you, buteverything after that is blank.” She watched his eyes as Calistoreached over to brush her hair back from her face, and his touch sentshivers through her body. This wasn’t how she had hoped she wouldrun into him, but she learned a long time ago fate didn’t always workout the way you expected.”

“For JennAt 12 years old I started bleeding with the moonand beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts.I fought with my knuckles white as stars,and left bruises the shape of Salem.There are things we know by heart,and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke.I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos,but I could never make dying beautiful.The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myselfveins are kite strings you can only cut free.I suppose I love this life,in spite of my clenched fist.I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree,and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers,and I wonder if Beethoven held his breaththe first time his fingers touched the keysthe same way a soldier holds his breaththe first time his finger clicks the trigger.We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.But my lungs rememberthe day my mother took my hand and placed it on her bellyand told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat.And I knew life would tremblelike the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek,like a prayer on a dying man's lips,like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone…just take me just take meSometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much,the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood.We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways,but you still have to call it a birthday.You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recessand hope she knows you can hit a baseballfurther than any boy in the whole third gradeand I've been running for homethrough the windpipe of a man who singswhile his hands playing washboard with a spoonon a street corner in New Orleanswhere every boarded up window is still painted with the wordsWe're Coming Backlike a promise to the oceanthat we will always keep moving towards the music,the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain.Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open.The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks.Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert,then wake us washing the feet of pregnant womenwho climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun.I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun.I know the heartbeat of his mother.Don't cover your ears, Love.Don't cover your ears, Life.There is a boy writing poems in Central Parkand as he writes he movesand his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart,and there are men playing chess in the December coldwho can't tell if the breath rising from the boardis their opponents or their own,and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subwayswearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn,and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrunwith strip malls and traffic and vendorsand one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect.I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.But every ocean has a shorelineand every shoreline has a tidethat is constantly returningto wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones,to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave riverthat has to run through the center of our heartsto find its way home.”

“The bearing, rearing, feeding and educating of children; the running of a house with its thousand details; human relationships with their myriad pulls - women's normal occupations in general run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life.”

“I'm from Kansas, so there were a lot of vacant lots and open fields to tackle each other in so we could avoid tackling each other on the street. But running on the street and trying not to get taken down on the concrete, that will make you fast, that's for sure.”

“I've never experienced complete terror, knock on wood, or running for my life or any of that.”

“I'm running because it is past time that Tennessee's 4th Congressional District be represented by someone who is a true conservative and who represents who we are in the Volunteer State.”

“He removed his unvaluable valuables and dumped his shirt, pants, and skivvies into a letter slot.”

“I'm not limited to running or jumping or catching footballs.”

“There is something about seeing rhinos and lions running free that excites you. It's not that you feel afraid; it's more like you're liberated by seeing them.”

“You imagine running 120 miles a week, week in, week out, for the past four or five years. It takes a little bit out of you.”