Circus Ringmaster Quotes

I am a collection of oddities, a circus of neurons and electrons: my heart is the ringmaster, my soul is the trapeze artist, and the world is my audience. It sounds strange because it is, and it is, because I am strange.

A company commander,’ said Dicky Umfraville, when we met later that year, ‘needs the qualifications of a ringmaster in a first-class circus, and a nanny in a large family.

Three things are forever consistent: the passing of time, the rotation of the Earth, and the ringmaster of Vagabond Circus.

Swayam thought to himself that this marriage was turning out to be a circus with multiple ringmasters.

Vagabond Circus was about change. It moved from place to place, and reconfigured based on available performers. The ringmaster loved that about the circus. “Without change, we are dead,” he often said.

THERE IS NO RINGMASTER OUTSIDE THE CIRCUS Stop looking at the ringmaster and be free of the circus. And a world exists outside the circus. If you are feeling stressed inside the circus, you can join back the jungle. If you are fed up of learning new tricks, join back the jungle. Unfortunately the lion thinks, the real challenge is the circus.

The Vagabond Circus was different than all the rest in many ways and the first was it had no clowns. Not a single red, round nose in the whole troupe. Maybe that was the reason that Dave had decided he’d be the silliest ringmaster in all of history. His job was to lead and move the events of the show along but he was less a Master of Ceremony and more a buffer between the jaw dropping acts.

Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we’re lost. Is that food I smell?” “Oh, my dears,” the woman said. “You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area.” We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to me, “Circus caravan?” “Always have a strategy, right?” “Your head is full of kelp.

On your left you can see the Stationary Circus in all its splendor! Not far nor wide will you find dancing bears more nimble than ours, ringmasters more masterful, Lunaphants more buoyant!” September looked down and leftward as best she could. She could see the dancing bears, the ringmaster blowing peonies out of her mouth like fire, an elephant floating in the air, her trunk raised, her feet in mid-foxtrot—and all of them paper. The skin of the bears was all folded envelopes; they stared out of sealing-wax eyes. The ringmaster wore a suit of birthday invitations dazzling with balloons and cakes and purple-foil presents; her face was a telegram. Even the elephant seemed to be made up of cast-off letterheads from some far-off office, thick and creamy and stamped with sure, bold letters. A long, sweeping trapeze swung out before them. Two acrobats held on, one made of grocery lists, the other of legal opinions. September could see Latin on the one and lemons, ice, bread (not rye!), and lamb chops on the other in a cursive hand. When they let go of the trapeze-bar, they turned identical flips in the air and folded out into paper airplanes, gliding in circles all the way back down to the peony-littered ring. September gasped and clapped her hands—but the acrobats were already long behind them, bowing and catching paper roses in their paper teeth.

My love,” she said softly. “The woman who built me a circus so I could fly. And I have the honor”—she drew in nearer, their dancing forgotten—“of seeing you shine, Ringmaster.

lifeisposi 03/20/2024 PublicSpeaking the ultimate battle between your brain and your vocal cords. It's like your mind turns into a circus ringmaster, juggling sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and a brain that's suddenly gone AWOL. But hey, don’t let those jitters steal the spotlight! With a pinch of humor and a sprinkle of confidence, you can turn that stage fright into a standing ovation. So, take the mic, crack a joke (or two), and show that audience who’s boss.

Public speaking is the ultimate battle between your brain and your vocal cords. It's like your mind turns into a circus ringmaster, juggling sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and a brain that's suddenly gone AWOL. But hey, don’t let those jitters steal the spotlight! With a pinch of humor and a sprinkle of confidence, you can turn that stage fright into a standing ovation. So, take the mic, crack a joke (or two), and show that audience who’s boss.

The ringmaster’s presence was the sun to Vagabond Circus. His round happy face started each day for most. And his presence marked hope and growth and light.

The ringmaster wasn’t the sneaking type. He bounded out into open spaces welcoming a new experience and all the magic that a new day brought. When he entered a space, people knew it. Felt it. Things shifted. Usually people’s demeanors shifted too.

we read a little farther in James, we find that the tongue cannot be tamed (James 3:7 – 8). Every creature, reptile, bird, or animal can be tamed, but not the tongue. Imagine a colossal circus full of every kind of creature: dancing bears, prancing horses — even a ferocious looking feline or two performing tricks or jumping through hoops when their trainers give the signal. But way off in one corner stands a booth with a closed curtain and a sign that reads: “The Utterly Untamable.” Then, at a very strategic time during the spectacular show the ringmaster hushes the audience in order to display this beast that will not bend. When he throws open the concealing curtain, sitting behind it is a woman

He paced like a caged tiger in the circus, pretending he was still a predator and the ringmaster hadn’t had his teeth pulled and his claws clipped.

They call it 'learned helplessness' finally a phrase after years of study to explain why we stay in hopelessness with men who leave our faces bloody; why we 'let' the cruel fists of a man determined to turn out bodies into a purple storm that began and ended with fingers that disembody our self respect, our courage in that moment, we forget we are somebody. There is a hierarchy to his chaos that one learns to simply accept. There is a beginning to his madness that one knows will eventually end. So like those caged animals they outlawed in circuses, you let the ringmaster be tyrannical even as your own soul winces. Years from now, they will ask you 'Why didn't you leave him?' Because, you will say quietly, he had convinced me I was no longer human.

As soon as Jeremiah saw me, he sprang up. “Ladies and Gentlemen-men-men,” he began dramatically, bowing like a circus ringmaster. “I do believe it is time… for our first belly flop of the summer.” I inched away from them uneasily. Too fast a movement, and it would be all over—they’d chase me then. “No way,” I said. Then Conrad and Steven stood up, circling me. “You can’t fight tradition,” Steven said. Conrad just grinned evilly. “I’m too old for this,” I said desperately. I walked backward, and that’s when they grabbed me. Steven and Jeremiah each took a wrist. “Come on, guys,” I said, trying to wriggle out of their grasp. I dragged my feet, but they pulled me along. I knew it was futile to resist, but I always tried, even though the bottoms of my feet got burned along the pavement in the process. “Ready?” Jeremiah said, lifting me up under my armpits. Conrad grabbed my feet, and then Steven took my right arm while Jeremiah hung on to my left. They swung me back and forth like I was a sack of flour. “I hate you guys,” I yelled over their laughter. “One,” Jeremiah began. “Two,” Steven said. “And three,” Conrad finished. Then they launched me into the pool, clothes and all. I hit the water with a loud smack. Underwater, I could hear them busting up. The Belly Flop was something they’d started about a million summers ago. Probably it had been Steven. I hated it. Even though it was one of the only times I was included in their fun, I hated being the brunt of it. It made me feel utterly powerless, and it was a reminder that I was an outsider, too weak to fight them, all because I was a girl. Somebody’s little sister.

Words can be as tricky as a sneaky magician pulling tricks out of their linguistic hats. But you, my witty friend, you've got the magic decoder ring for patterns! So, let those words try their verbal acrobatics while you're on the lookout for the real patterns that spill the secrets of truth. It's like watching a linguistic circus, and you're the ringmaster of wit!

We get the idea from books and television that the courthouse is a theater, the trial a play. The better analogy is a huge tent with a three-ring circus inside. The judge is the ringmaster, wielding his chair, cracking his whip, forcing the lions onto their haunches in mock-serious poses of respect. We rise when the judge enters and exits, and we beg for permission before we speak. The judge feeds us when we are good, chastises us when we are bad, and either way we bow our heads in meek gratitude.

Night-time, from the pig’s countless observations, serves a higher order of enthusiasm for the humans than daytime circus operations. Whether it's the tacky neon lights or hypnotic carnival music, the humans skip around as if they've discovered a festive utopia. When the arena is buzzing with a crowded house and the ringmaster can be heard romancing the masses, Walt becomes ill with anxiety.