Crawl Inspiring Quotes

If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.

You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?

The truth is that the world is full of dragons, and none of us are as powerful or cool as we’d like to be. And that sucks. But when you’re confronted with that fact, you can either crawl into a hole and quit, or you can get out there, take off your shoes, and Bilbo it up.

If you can't run, you crawl. If you can't crawl-- you find someone to carry you.

Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.

I know how you feel because I’ve been there too. I’ve hated and I’ve loved. I’ve seen my demons root and crawl and my angels branch and soar. I've died within myself and lived a thousand different lives. I too fight the same war and I too am drowning in the puddles of self-consciousness this world created.

The less you associate with some people, the more your life will improve. Any time you tolerate mediocrity in others, it increases your mediocrity. An important attribute in successful people is their impatience with negative thinking and negative acting people. As you grow, your associates will change. Some of your friends will not want you to go on. They will want you to stay where they are. Friends that don't help you climb will want you to crawl. Your friends will stretch your vision or choke your dream. Those that don't increase you will eventually decrease you. Consider this: Never receive counsel from unproductive people. Never discuss your problems with someone incapable of contributing to the solution, because those who never succeed themselves are always first to tell you how. Not everyone has a right to speak into your life. You are certain to get the worst of the bargain when you exchange ideas with the wrong person. Don't follow anyone who's not going anywhere. With some people you spend an evening: with others you invest it. Be careful where you stop to inquire for directions along the road of life. Wise is the person who fortifies his life with the right friendships. If you run with wolves, you will learn how to howl. But, if you associate with eagles, you will learn how to soar to great heights. "A mirror reflects a man's face, but what he is really like is shown by the kind of friends he chooses." The simple but true fact of life is that you become like those with whom you closely associate - for the good and the bad. Note: Be not mistaken. This is applicable to family as well as friends. Yes...do love, appreciate and be thankful for your family, for they will always be your family no matter what. Just know that they are human first and though they are family to you, they may be a friend to someone else and will fit somewhere in the criteria above. "In Prosperity Our Friends Know Us. In Adversity We Know Our friends." "Never make someone a priority when you are only an option for them." "If you are going to achieve excellence in big things,you develop the habit in little matters. Excellence is not an exception, it is a prevailing attitude.."..

Swim, crawl, stagger, walk, bend, stagger and gone – that’s life in simple terms, and all that matters here is how well we fought.

You made them hate me." Said Ender "So? What will you do about it? Crawl in a corner? Start kissing their little backsides so they'll love you again? There's only one thing that will make them stop hating you. And that's being so good at what you do that they can't ignore you. I told them you were the best. Now you damn well better be." -Graff

No matter what, we have to keep moving forward, even if we have to crawl.

I want to live so that I am truly submitted to the Spirit's leading on a daily basis. Christ said its better for us that the Spirit came and I want to live like that is true. I don't want to keep crawling when I have the ability to fly.

I felt someone behind me. I stopped and looked back... There was Mom, crawling behind me, without saying anything... Her tears falling to the floor... All my suppressed emotions suddenly burst out and I started crying.

I used to underline passages in my English books, because certain lines crawled off the page, because those lines were magic and they meant something on a cosmic scale.

Some people come to the edge of the cliff and they look over, then run away in fear. They never realize it's possible to fly, to soar, to be free. They spend their lives crawling along cliff tops without finding the courage.

I could crawl inside the lyrics and know each note intimately. They would claw at my soul, until I could no longer fight the emotions that took me to a place I couldn't experience. But, it was the possibility that made every verse a heart filled prediction and every beat a direction to follow.

Really? If I could hate my trainer? That would be ideal. I'd prefer to despise this person with the fire of ten thousand suns. So when I walk - nay, crawl - out of here at the end of my workouts, I want to lull myself to sleep by picturing my very talented and inspirational trainer getting hit by a bus. A bus that I am driving.

Doubt crawls, expectation walks, hope runs, courage sprints, faith soars.

Your daddy is standing in a swimming pool out a little bit from the edge. You are, let’s say, three years old and standing on the edge of the pool. Daddy holds out his arms to you and says, “Jump, I’ll catch you. I promise.” Now, how do you make your daddy look good at that moment? Answer: trust him and jump. Have faith in him and jump. That makes him look strong and wise and loving. But if you won’t jump, if you shake your head and run away from the edge, you make your daddy look bad. It looks like you are saying, “he can’t catch me” or “he won’t catch me” or “it’s not a good idea to do what he tells me to do.” And all three of those make your dad look bad. But you don’t want to make God look bad. So you trust him. Then you make him look good–which he really is. And that is what we mean when we say, “Faith glorifies God” or “Faith gives God glory.” It makes him look as good as he really is. So trusting God is really important. And the harder it seems for him to fulfill his promise, the better he looks when you trust him. Suppose that you are at the deep end of a pool by the diving board. You are four years old and can’t swim, and your daddy is at the other end of the pool. Suddenly a big, mean dog crawls under the fence and shows his teeth and growls at you and starts coming toward you to bite you. You crawl up on the diving board and walk toward the end to get away from him. The dog puts his front paws up on the diving board. Just then, your daddy sees what’s happening and calls out, “Johnny, jump in the water. I’ll get you.” Now, you have never jumped from one meter high and you can’t swim and your daddy is not underneath you and this water is way over your head. How do you make your daddy look good in that moment? You jump. And almost as soon as you hit the water, you feel his hands under your arms and he treads water holding you safely while someone chases the dog away. Then he takes you to the side of the pool. We give glory to God when we trust him to do what he has promised to do–especially when all human possibilities are exhausted. Faith glorifies God. That is why God planned for faith to be the way we are justified.

...once you've crawled into what's commonly thought of as the sordid underbelly of life, you realize it's all just different versions of normal.

Some people are afraid of what they might find if they try to analyze themselves too much, but you have to crawl into your wounds to discover where your fears are. Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin.

Ever feel so happy that you want to crawl out of your own skin so you can see it for yourself?

A woman is always being taken advantage of in so many situations. To add insult to injury, people always try to belittle a woman—as if her opinion doesn’t matter—and people feel that they can manipulate a woman as if she’s naïve and clueless. Other people will steal a woman’s idea as if they came up with it on their own. It makes my skin crawl when a woman is told to step aside and keep quiet as if her voice doesn’t deserve to be heard, and we all know that women don’t receive as many opportunities as their male counterparts. However, opportunities are endless, and when a woman is given a chance, she makes it a personal mission to execute by always being the seeker and observer.

Ten Best Song to Strip 1. Any hip-swiveling R&B fuckjam. This category includes The Greatest Stripping Song of All Time: "Remix to Ignition" by R. Kelly. 2. "Purple Rain" by Prince, but you have to be really theatrical about it. Arch your back like Prince himself is daubing body glitter on your abdomen. Most effective in nearly empty, pathos-ridden juice bars. 3. "Honky Tonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones. Insta-attitude. Makes even the clumsiest troglodyte strut like Anita Pallenberg. (However, the Troggs will make you look like even more of a troglodyte, so avoid if possible.) 4. "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. The Lep's shouted choruses and relentless programmed drums prove ideal for chicks who can really stomp. (Coincidence: I once saw a stripper who, like Rick Allen, had only one arm.) 5. "Amber" by 311. This fluid stoner anthem is a favorite of midnight tokers at strip joints everywhere. Mellow enough that even the most shitfaced dancer can make it through the song and back to her Graffix bong without breaking a sweat. Pass the Fritos Scoops, dude. 6. "Miserable" by Lit, but mostly because Pamela Anderson is in the video, and she's like Jesus for strippers (blonde, plastic, capable of parlaying a broken nail into a domestic battery charge, damaged liver). Alos, you can't go wrong stripping to a song that opens with the line "You make me come." 7. "Back Door Man" by The Doors. Almost too easy. The mere implication that you like it in the ass will thrill the average strip-club patron. Just get on all fours and crawl your way toward the down payment on that condo in Cozumel. (Unless, like most strippers, you'd rather blow your nest egg on tacky pimped-out SUVs and Coach purses.) 8. Back in Black" by AC/DC. Producer Mutt Lange wants you to strip. He does. He told me. 9. "I Touch Myself" by the Devinyls. Strip to this, and that guy at the tip rail with the bitch tits and the shop teacher glasses will actually believe that he alone has inspired you to masturbate. Take his money, then go masturbate and think about someone else. 10. "Hash Pipe" by Weezer. Sure, it smells of nerd. But River Cuomo is obsessed with Asian chicks and nose candy, and that's just the spirit you want to evoke in a strip club. I recommend busting out your most crunk pole tricks during this one.

Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep

Let's feed out tears to the dragons of misery, but let's never crawl in their mouths.

When I became convinced that the Universe is natural – that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood, the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell, the dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts, and bars, and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world -- not even in infinite space. I was free -- free to think, to express my thoughts -- free to live to my own ideal -- free to live for myself and those I loved -- free to use all my faculties, all my senses -- free to spread imagination's wings -- free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope -- free to judge and determine for myself -- free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds, all the "inspired" books that savages have produced, and all the barbarous legends of the past -- free from popes and priests -- free from all the "called" and "set apart" -- free from sanctified mistakes and holy lies -- free from the fear of eternal pain -- free from the winged monsters of the night -- free from devils, ghosts and gods. For the first time I was free. There were no prohibited places in all the realms of thought -- no air, no space, where fancy could not spread her painted wings -- no chains for my limbs -- no lashes for my back -- no fires for my flesh -- no master's frown or threat – no following another's steps -- no need to bow, or cringe, or crawl, or utter lying words. I was free. I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously, faced all worlds. And then my heart was filled with gratitude, with thankfulness, and went out in love to all the heroes, the thinkers who gave their lives for the liberty of hand and brain -- for the freedom of labor and thought -- to those who fell on the fierce fields of war, to those who died in dungeons bound with chains -- to those who proudly mounted scaffold's stairs -- to those whose bones were crushed, whose flesh was scarred and torn -- to those by fire consumed -- to all the wise, the good, the brave of every land, whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom to the sons of men. And then I vowed to grasp the torch that they had held, and hold it high, that light might conquer darkness still.

We all hit rock bottom; sometimes, you bounce up fast, sometimes you crawl until you can straighten up and sometimes you have to lay there for a long time until you learn how to rise again.

Shadow crawled across the floor to the yellow foam-rubber pad and climbed onto it, pulling the thin blanket over himself, and closed his eyes, and he held onto nothing, and he held onto dreams.

She could almost feel him prodding her; urging her to go on. As the wails of pain and torment assulted her ears, she knew that's exactly what she would do until the war was over and she could crawl into a quiet, dark corner and mourn for the part of her that had died with him.

Let me tell you a secret: every time self-doubt crawls in to your skull, grab that mother by the throat and kick the ever-loving shit out of it. Trust me. You only succeed in this business when you know, absolutely know in your heart you will succeed. It’s like the guy says, if you think you’ll win or you think you’ll lose, you’re right." ~ Ross "Melon-Head" Mellon, to Ellie Bourke

At present, the successful office-seeker is a good deal like the center of the earth; he weighs nothing himself, but draws everything else to him. There are so many societies, so many churches, so many isms, that it is almost impossible for an independent man to succeed in a political career. Candidates are forced to pretend that they are catholics with protestant proclivities, or christians with liberal tendencies, or temperance men who now and then take a glass of wine, or, that although not members of any church their wives are, and that they subscribe liberally to all. The result of all this is that we reward hypocrisy and elect men entirely destitute of real principle; and this will never change until the people become grand enough to allow each other to do their own thinking. Our government should be entirely and purely secular. The religious views of a candidate should be kept entirely out of sight. He should not be compelled to give his opinion as to the inspiration of the bible, the propriety of infant baptism, or the immaculate conception. All these things are private and personal. The people ought to be wise enough to select as their officers men who know something of political affairs, who comprehend the present greatness, and clearly perceive the future grandeur of our country. If we were in a storm at sea, with deck wave-washed and masts strained and bent with storm, and it was necessary to reef the top sail, we certainly would not ask the brave sailor who volunteered to go aloft, what his opinion was on the five points of Calvinism. Our government has nothing to do with religion. It is neither christian nor pagan; it is secular. But as long as the people persist in voting for or against men on account of their religious views, just so long will hypocrisy hold place and power. Just so long will the candidates crawl in the dust—hide their opinions, flatter those with whom they differ, pretend to agree with those whom they despise; and just so long will honest men be trampled under foot.

Why crawl like a caterpillar when you have the wings to be a butterfly?

Time crawls when you are bored; walks when you are occupied; runs when you are busy; but flies when you are having fun.

Press on and keep pressing. If you can’t fly, run; if you can’t run, walk; if you can’t walk—CRAWL.

Victory should never be handed to you; it should be like crawling up on the beach after war.

Love gives you knees to crawl, feet to run, legs to sprint, and wings to soar.

In life, we must first learn to crawl, then stand, then walk, then run, and only then, fly. We cannot crawl into flying.

Sow the seeds of weakness and inferiority in the kids and they’ll grow up to be inferior, crawling, insignificant insects. Sow the seeds of courage and they’ll become brave-heart leaders who will one day change the course of human history.

The dusk had arrived on the wings of a night moth, silent and soft. The sky above me darkened to a deep, beautiful purple. Stars glowed high above, and below them, as if inspired by their light, tiny fireflies awoke and crawled from their shelter in the leaves.

A snake,” I replied, breath hitching. “I suppose . . . I’m a snake. A liar. A deceiver. Cursed to crawl on my belly and eat dust all the days of my life.” “Ah.” To my surprise, Claud’s face didn’t twist in disgust or revulsion. He nodded instead, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Yes, I would agree with that assessment.” Humiliation hung my head. “Right. Thanks.” “Louise.” A single finger lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. Those eyes, once warm, now blazed with intensity, with conviction. “What you are now is not what you’ve always been, nor is it what you always will be. You are a snake. Shed your skin if it no longer serves you. Transform into something different. Something better.

An eagle does not crawl because it was born to fly.

Better crawl than being stuck at same place

If you can't run then walk If you can't walk then crawl but whatever you do don't give up

If you can't fly, then run. If you can't run, then walk. If you can't, then crawl. But by all means, keep moving

Write your heart out, give it your all, and proceed to make emotions crawl over the place for the power that is your book.

Time plays no role in the life of one man—the subtle consciousness of it floating past me is more than enough. Years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds—what does it matter? Floating by, it rubs against my skin, face, and hair—wearing me down, yet polishing me all the while. Time is like fine grains of sand in a desert storm. At first, you don’t pay any attention to it, but the more it hits you in the face, the more aware of it you become, the more annoying it gets until, one day, you find yourself suffocating. The weight of it eventually bends your spine, until you are crawling on your hands and knees, unable to stand straight. Then comes the time to crawl back into the womb, crawl inside and wait for rebirth.

Don Quixote: I hope to add some measure of grace to the world. Aldonza: The world's a dungheap and we are maggots that crawl on it! Don Quixote: My lady knows better in her heart.

My unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: “Is this person in between me and what I want to do? If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you. If the answer is yes, you have a more difficult road ahead of you. I suggest you model your strategy after the old Sesame Street film piece, "Over! Under! Through!” (If you’re under forty, you might not remember this film. It taught the concepts of, “over,” and “under,” and “through” by filming toddlers crawling around an abandoned construction site. They don’t show it anymore because someone has since realized that’s nuts.) If your boss is a jerk, try to find someone above or around your boss who is not a jerk. If you’re lucky, your workplace will have a neutral proving ground- like the rifle range or a car sales total board of the SNL read-through. If so, focus on that. Again, don’t waste your energy trying to educate or change opinions. Go “Over! Under! Through!” and opinions will change organically when you’re the boss. Or they won’t. Who cares? Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly.” —Richard David Bach The caterpillar believes it is dying because it's being sealed in a tomb. The Master knows that the caterpillar is not dying, and is simply transitioning (to something more). This points out that things are never over, that change is carrying us, (so often kicking and screaming), to higher states of being. I find it interesting that the caterpillar spends it's caterpillar existence crawling, (on a lone weed in the midst of an endless beautiful forest), surviving on bitter, poisonous leaves. Yet resists the changes to come. After the caterpillars "death"... And upon the butterflie's rebirth... The butterfly lives out it's butterfly existence experiencing all of the forest's wonders, being carried by the wind, landing on beauty, and drinking sweet nectar, all the while, being shielded from harm by the caterpillar's bitter and poisonous experiences of eating the weeds. Without the struggles of the caterpillar, the butterfly could never be. It is Truly wonderful how something as simple as caterpillars and butterflies can be such amazing reminders sent to us by a Loving Eternal Creator.

(As to how the Gatekeeper came to life) Once a bookworm, always a bookworm. But inspiration starts once that lowly worm crawls up your brain; it would be too difficult to contain and all hell breaks loose, and that otherwise blank piece of paper becomes its battleground, teeming with chicken-scratch scribbles of what was going on in that nook that used to be your secret sanctuary. You have no choice but just to concede, and surrender to its call to breathe life into a name.

Why do I write? Because, I am able to create wonders with a click of my keyboard. I turn my computer on, and suddenly, I’m whisked into a world full of wonder and amazement. The universe bends to my will and defies physics. But when the afternoon arrives, I must return to my duties. I leave the comfort of my home and crawl through the elementary school carpool line. When I see the brightened faces of my children, my heart flutters, and I realize I can live with a few straggling toys … as long as I can escape into the shower later.

The entire universe has been harmoniously created and everything in it work in harmony.The sun has its rising and settling time. Seasonal changes have their own time for appearing and departing.Fruit bearing trees have their own time and timing. The child crawls and then walks.We take a step to make a journey. A simple deviation then from the normal is a simple deviation to the abnormal.

Of course change is hard. It has to be. It carries with it - every single time - the potential to elevate, even revolutionize your life in ways you can never truly realize until you're already transformed, safely on the other side of your resistance and fear. Change is hard, but rarely as difficult as not doing anything. Now is the time - really, right now - to start making those changes you know you need to make in your life. Dive into change, into the sea of possibility it creates, and trust that all the hard work will bring you some deeply wonderful things - like a greater sense of calm and happiness, and a truer taste of freedom. If you can’t dive in, that’s okay. Tip toe, baby step, crawl if you have to. Just keep moving forward, no matter what, into what is already becoming your new and beautiful reality.

Anyone who crawls up from the gutter and makes something of themselves, despite the odds and despite others who tried to keep them down, must always be very proud of their achievements. They must never forget the struggles they went through, because they are a living example to those who wander in darkness, a staunch reminder that light is within reach if they can find the strength and determination to keep going.

Hold this thought: Right when you are most defeated–suicidal, perhaps–exhausted, positive of perpetual failure: this is when the epiphany is likely to arrive. One needs to be beaten down to think, and to think so as to escape. To escape death or boredom or the second act that simply will not do as you wish. Or the marriage that is stalled. Whatever is bearing down on you is a great teacher. Calm down and listen and crawl from beneath it a better person.

The long nub end of afternoon spent at her keyboard, her hands moving so much slower than her racing mind, The frustrating lag between her thoughts and the hunt and peck; a hot flood of ideas where there had been months of trickling, uncertain sentences, and Sadie trying to keep up with herself, wishing she'd taken typing in high school, scared that this inspiration would grow restless, impatient with her, and slink back to whatever hole it crawled out of.

Questions are a child’s way of expressing love and trust. They are a child’s way of starting a conversation. So instead of simply insisting over and over again that the object of my son’s attention is, in fact, an elephant, I might tell him about how, in India, elephants are symbols of good luck, or about how some say elephants have the best memories of all the animals. I might tell him about the time I saw an elephant spin a basketball on the tip of his trunk, or about how once there was an elephant named Horton who heard a Who. I might tell him that once upon a time, there was an elephant and four blind men; each man felt a different part of the elephant’s body: the ears, the tail, the side, and the tusk . . . Sometimes, as I’m doing this, my son will crawl into my lap, put his head on my chest, and just listen to the story, his questions quieted, his body relaxed. And I realize this is all he wanted to begin with—to be near me, to hear the familiar cadence of my voice, to know he’s safe and not alone.

Men crawl in slime and wallow in the mud; The Realist groans: "All life is mud ans slime!" Men lie and steal and shed each other's blood; And Realism sees but blood and crime. Yet Right is just as real as Wrong, The mountain peak is real as the ooze, A curse is no more real than a song; Among realities we need but choose. The cynic sees the failure of To-day, The Prophet cries the triumph of To-morrow, Knowing the spirit in our clogging clay That masters doubt, disaster, loss and sorrow. Failure is but a passing weariness, There is no final answer but Success.

The most problematic depression episodes plunge me into a feeling of disconnection. I am no longer a part of the world. All the colours, meaning and richness become hidden or lost to me. There is a numbing absence of feeling that strips away any inspiration and creativity. I become dead to myself, a husk, a shell. The fall into this state can be violently fast, although the triggers have all been external. Life does not treat many of us kindly. Most of the time, I draw inspiration from the world around me. That sense of connection to all other living and perhaps-not-living things nourishes and sustains me. Being pushed out of that sense of belonging is brutal. I have self-esteem issues and, subjected as I was to barrages of abuse, bitter criticism, invasive scrutiny and some terrifying processes in my life, I’ve been crushed, repeatedly. I’ve come to places where I’ve felt so awful that the only imaginable way out, I thought, was to die. I’m still alive because of the love and dedication of my husband. I hold the hope that I won’t have to crawl through hell again anytime soon, that I can build internal reserves strong enough to resist external pressures.

Don’t ever sleep forever and don’t forever be at rest and leave the rest whilst you live though the journey of life can sometimes be so arduous! If you can’t run, crawl! If you do not want to crawl, walk! If you think walking will waste your time, gallop and if galloping is below your strength and true standard, dare to speed unrelentingly and dare to overcome all challenges! You shall always sleep or slumber only to wake up one day and realize the wide distance between you and they that crawled each second of time to the final destination of purposeful life and living unceasingly! Wake up each day and do something in the day!

Gabe watched, holding his breath as the figure slowly turned. The body moved in an almost unnatural way as it shifted and crawled slowly on all fours across the floor. When the candlelight at last fell on the figure, Gabe could make out the auburn hair of his beloved Sophie. Her hair was matted, greasy, and hung in her face. Gabe saw her shoulders were hollow looking and her skin was almost glowing white. Gabe caught sight of Sophie’s fingers, her knuckles were bloody, and her nails cracked and peeling. Instinctively, Gabe fell to his knees and crawled to Sophie. Without even giving it a thought, he grabbed her hands and pulled them closer to the light.

Butterflies by Maisie Aletha Smikle Colorfully colored butterflies Black yellow orange and green With their beautiful specks Align the garden decks Butterfly butterfly… Lovely flies that ain't got butter Their beauty makes one stutter And their heart go pitter patter And will soon melt like butter They won’t eat from a platter And one can only mutter Butterfly butterfly .... Radiant as the sunshine Beautiful as the colors of the rainbow Harmless as a deer Adorn for all to see First it was a caterpillar Crawling on its tiny legs It's entire body stretches out on a leaf In the twinkling of an eye The caterpillar transforms And are given wings to fly And fly it must…. It was not created to crawl Miraculous indeed Is the life of a butterfly Displayed for all to see Hope in the life of a radiant butterfly

My unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: “Is this person in between me and what I want to do? If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you. If the answer is yes, you have a more difficult road ahead of you. I suggest you model your strategy after the old Sesame Street film piece, "Over! Under! Through!” (If you’re under forty, you might not remember this film. It taught the concepts of, “over,” and “under,” and “through” by filming toddlers crawling around an abandoned construction site. They don’t show it anymore because someone has since realized that’s nuts.) If your boss is a jerk, try to find someone above or around your boss who is not a jerk. If you’re lucky, your workplace will have a neutral proving ground- like the rifle range or a car sales total board or the SNL read-through. If so, focus on that. Again, don’t waste your energy trying to educate or change opinions. Go “Over! Under! Through!” and opinions will change organically when you’re the boss. Or they won’t. Who cares? Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.

Delbert was the only Bumpus kid in my grade, but they infested Warren G. Harding like termites in an outhouse. There was Ima Jean, short and muscular, who was in the sixth grade, when she showed up, but spent most of her time hanging around the poolroom. There was a lanky, blue-jowled customer they called Jamie, who ran the still and was the only one who ever wore shoes. He and his brother Ace, who wore a brown fedora and blue work shirts, sat on the front steps at home on the Fourth of July, sucking at a jug and pretending to light sticks of dynamite with their cigars when little old ladies walked by. There were also several red-faced girls who spent most of their time dumping dishwater out of windows. Babies of various sizes and sexes crawled about the back yard, fraternizing indiscriminately with the livestock. They all wore limp, battleship-gray T-shirts and nothing else. They cried day and night. We thought that was all of them—until one day a truck stopped in front of the house and out stepped a girl who made Daisy Mae look like Little Orphan Annie. My father was sprinkling the lawn at the time; he wound up watering the windows. Ace and Emil came running out onto the porch, whooping and hollering. The girl carried a cardboard suitcase—in which she must have kept all her underwear, if she owned any—and wore her blonde hair piled high on her head; it gleamed in the midday sun. Her short muslin dress strained and bulged. The truck roared off. Ace rushed out to greet her, bellowing over his shoulder as he ran: “MAH GAWD! HEY, MAW, IT’S CASSIE! SHE’S HOME FROM THE REFORMATORY!” Emil

I'd rather die standing then to live forever crawling" - (G Swiss)

Don't crawl if you can fly !!

It is better to crawl to God than to sprint to the devil.

Life is not what you think it will be, you will have good times, sad times and bad times. At some point in your Life it will knock you to your knees just to test your resolve. Never give in and never give up there always is a light at the end of the tunnel you just have keep taking steps toward the light crawl if you have to, just keep going. You must know and experience all aspects of life in order to fully comprehend and understand life once you have experienced the good bad and ugly in life can you fully enjoy the gift of life

All the solitary hours a writer pours into a novel would avail little if not for the solitary hours poured into it by many unseen others. Anyway I assume those others also do their work in solitude; maybe they work in pairs or crews or tag teams, but I’d rather imagine them slaving over my words in a poorly lit and otherwise unoccupied room, just as I do. Maybe they will have a little music for company, but nothing too upbeat, something along the lines of Mozart’s Requiem, for example, because as everybody who has ever worked on a book knows, this work can be as grueling in its way as crawling on your knees through ten acres of ground-hugging plants to pick potato beetles off one at a time and flick them into a galvanized bucket filled with soapy water. But it can also be as transcendent as the Requiem—or as picking potato beetles when you are in the right frame of mind for it. Knowing other people are engaged in the same underappreciated labor and squeezing a perverse kind of joy out of it is what keeps me writing, especially if it’s my field of potatoes they are picking over. Sometimes I like to picture each of my collaborators working their way down a row, their backs aching, hands filthy with beetle juice, fingernails broken, eyes going cross-eyed in the faltering light. It’s inspirational. Thirty years ago, I would have written (and did) a dull-as-dirt acknowledgment to thank each of my collaborators. It would have had all the excitement of a divorce decree. Back then I had no idea how difficult and precarious a job it is to turn out a novel every couple of years. It gets more difficult and precarious every year. So does living. To me, they’re pretty much the same thing.

It doesn't matter if you have to kick, crawl, scratch, hop, limp, hobble, or be carried to the finish line. Just make sure you finish you race.

glass will cut you every day, and sometimes you will crawl through hell to feel the sun.

I realized that I get to report in the halls of Capitol Hill because of the work of disabled activists who literally crawled up the steps of that very building to help pass the ADA. When people see me as an inspiration because I ‘overcame’ my disability to graduate college and hold a job, I want to respond that the only things I overcame were the specific obstacles in front of me. I am a return on others’ investment in policy. In the same way, every autistic person who language is in classes or winds up in a group home or institution is not a reflection of poor upbringing but rather a failure in policy.” ~ Eric Garcia We’re Not Broken: Changing The Autism Conversation

Bloated bureaucracies crush aspirations, suppress ingenuity, and grind responsiveness to a crawl.

The essence of life is to live it, not as a competition but as a race. In this race, you can crawl, walk, or run the best way you deem fit, as long as you are moving forward.

Here's what I want for myself.’ she said with such urgency. ‘I want to be fierce and self-assured. I want to be able to love like I've never been hurt or broken. I want to get to the other side, no matter if I'm running or crawling on my knees. I want to be able to block negativity, hatred, and doubt from infesting my mind. I want to be a fighter through the pain. I want to be unable to give up until the battle is won.

only sport known to have inspired an indignant left-wing poem. It was written by one Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn in 1915. The golf links lie so near the mill That almost every day The laboring children can look out And see the men at play. Just show me an indignant left-wing poem about softball or bungee jumping. And our local mill has been converted to a shopping mall, so the kids are still there. Golf is also the only sport God is known to play. God and Saint Peter are out on Sunday morning. On the first hole God drives into a water hazard. The waters part and God chips onto the green. On the second hole God takes a tremendous whack and the ball lands ten feet from the pin. There’s an earthquake, one side of the green rises up, and the ball rolls into the cup. On the third hole God lands in a sand trap. He creates life. Single-cell organisms develop into fish and then amphibians. Amphibians crawl out of the ocean and evolve into reptiles, birds, and furry little mammals. One of those furry little mammals runs into the sand trap, grabs God’s ball in its mouth, scurries over, and drops it in the hole. Saint Peter looks at God and says, “You wanna play golf or you wanna fuck around?” And golf courses are beautiful. Many people think mature men have no appreciation for beauty except in immature women. This isn’t true, and, anyway, we’d rather be playing golf. A golf course is a perfect example of Republican male aesthetics—no fussy little flowers, no stupid ornamental shrubs, no exorbitant demands for alimony, just acre upon acre of lush green grass that somebody else has to mow. Truth, beauty, and even poetry are to be found in golf. Every man, when he steps up to the tee, feels, as Keats has it … Like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star’d at the Pacific—and all his men Look’d at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien. That is, the men were silent. Cortez was saying, “I can get on in two, easy. A three-wood drive, a five-iron from the fairway, then a two-putt max. But if I hook it, shit, I’m in the drink.” EAT THE RICH

If you can’t crawl, roll. If you can't roll then get that tummy time in.  This is the story of the stages of development and how children need caring grown ups to nurture our babies so they grow into their fullest potential.

I’ve never been afraid of the darkness. It’s always been a part of my life. But I cannot live in the darkness forever. I better change the way I live and start to crawl toward the light.

Their corner She withdrew her hand from his soft but firm grip, And that was all about their romantic trip, She went her way and he went his way, And they got busy chasing the mammons of the day, The hands that held on to each other had slipped away, To feed the obsequious vanities of every new day, But at that discreet corner where she freed her hand, There she does often for a moments few stand, To hold the same sensation and to grab the same feeling, Under which her heart had discovered a new healing, And as her bus arrives, she occupies her seat, And keeps looking at the fading away corner in that narrow street, Where at dusk two shadows often meet, Holding each others hands as they wish and greet, The memory of the hands that held on to each other, Under the sun, under the moon, under the rain, in every weather, The man stands there moments after the woman has left, And his mind turns contemplative in ways simple yet deft, He too catches the bus and goes away, Leaving behind the shadows that you will find there every night and every day, Today the woman did not visit the corner, Today the man too did not surrender, His wishes and his desires, To this corner where he often her memories admires, And where she experiences his sensations crawling all over her, This corner where she felt him and he felt her, Where could they be wondered the street? And the corner, sadly in its obscurity clad dimension did retreat, The following day, they walked together holding their hands again, The street overflowed with joy and the corner had nothing left to disdain, They caught the bus together and looked at the corner and the narrow street, Where they now often meet, And the corner resonates with their whispering smiles, Because now in their minds they cover journeys of endless miles!

Yes, of course," she said, the words rushing out. "You're defending your country." She opened her mouth again, then bit her lip. "Go on," he said. "Ask what you wanted to ask. I don't bite." "Well, I suppose I just wondered whether you had... whether you had actually ever killed anyone." He laughed. "You know, you do seem much younger than sixteen," he said. "But in answer to your question- yes, I have. More than one." He stopped. There was a new, dark look in his eyes when he continued. "You can't imagine what it's like. The Libyan heat sticking to you, day in, day out. Nothing but sand and rock for miles. Not a bit of green. All day, crawling in the dust, shooting and being shot at. Men dying around you. You realize, when you see a person die, that there's nothing special about humans. We're just flesh and blood and organs, no different to the pig that have us this bacon. "So, all day, dust, death, everywhere. I went to sleep each night with dust in my mouth and the smell of blood in my nose. Even here- I'm still finding dust on me. Under my nails, in my hair, caked into the soles of my shoes. And I can still smell the blood. All so that some English girl, sitting pretty in her father's manor house, can ask me if I ever killed anyone.

Just like caterpillars who come into this world to undergo a process of transformation and evolve from ugly, earth-crawling creatures to majestic, magnificently colored butterflies. Humans are also born to engage in a process of gradual and perpetual transformation, aiming to progress from tiny, helpless newborns to empowered, knowledgeable, and skillful individuals.

About a half hour after his safe arrival, the daring private learned that several of his fellow soldiers of the 369th lay wounded in the mire back in no-man’s-land. McCowin gathered his gear and again climbed out of the trench into the torrent of German fire. He carried back wounded soldier after wounded soldier. It seemed as if the bullets could not hit him. Finally, he was severely gassed, but he still refused to fall back. Instead he crawled out again and carried back another wounded soldier. For his awe-inspiring bravery, Private McCowin was awarded the Croix de Guerre. In relaying the private’s story, one of his commanding officers stressed that McCowin did “all this under fire. That’s the reason he got the Distinguished Service Cross,” one of the army’s highest honors.38

Be wild and boundless. Why are you crawling when you have wings of imagination?

I knew what I stood for, even if nobody else did. I knew the piece of me on the inside, truer than all the rest, that never comes out. Doesn't everyone have one? Some kind of grand inner princess waiting to toss her hair down, forever waiting at the tower window. Some jungle animal so noble and fierce you had to crawl on your belly through dangerous grasses to get a glimpse.

Did you ever think that maybe we’re like that?” she asks me. I smile into the dark. How many times have I thought of myself as the ocean? “You think we’re like water?” Gemma sits up. The salty wind coming off the water snaps her hair around her shoulders. With one hand in the middle of my chest, she tries to push me into the sand. I’m strong enough to hold her off, but I don’t want to. I willingly collapse back and she crawls over me. Holding a smile on her face, she slips her legs on either side of my hips and settles her weight on me. In a voice thin as smoke, she says, “Well, maybe that’s how we start. Maybe, in the beginning, we’re nothing but a theoretical vast and empty sea with this huge open sky above us.” Her hands press down on my stomach and her fingers pull at the bottom of my shirt. She leans forward until her breasts are rubbing against me and her mouth is almost touching the skin of my neck. “Then slowly,” she continues, “over time, the currents change and we build up these continents inside our bodies.” Now her fingers walk a path from my bellybutton to my sternum. “And eventually, we have canyons and deserts and trees and beaches and all sorts of places where we can go and live.” I suck in a breath as Gemma flattens her hand on the skin just above my heart and kisses me just below my ear. Then she turns her face, fitting the crown of her head beneath my jaw and says, “Most of the time we’re safe on the land, but sometimes we get sucked out to sea. What do you think happens then?” I think about everything we’ve shared today. I think about Gemma and me. And how it feels like the geography inside of my own body is changing, how it’s been changing from the moment I met her. Maybe even before that. And I think about the continents we’re building between us. The bridges of land moving from her fingers to mine and the valleys and mountains formed by her lips on my skin and her words in my head. I use both of my hands to cup her face and pull her to my mouth. I press my lips to hers, parting her mouth and drinking in her breath. “I think you’d have to start swimming.” A minute of silence ticks by. Over the low drone of the waves on the beach, she whispers, “And what if you can’t swim very well?” I think for a minute. “Then you fly.

Go for broke, my friends. Straighten your spine when you step to the podium. Trust your own tongue. Believe that your weary legs will hold you until you reach the finish line. And reach it you will if you give it your all. Fall if you must, crawl if you must, but don’t you dare give up or give in until you’ve made it to the end. For at the end is where your great reward will be to begin anew. A new chance. A new life. A new you.

It was a darkness without time. It was an impenetrable darkness. To the right and left of me rose those terrible formless things of my imagination, which I could not see because there was no light. I could not see, but I dared not close my eyes lest the darkness crawl beneath my eyelids and suffocate me. I could only hear. My ears became my being and I could hear the specks of life that crawled beneath my clothing, the rotting of the great tree which rose from its three-cornered trunk above me. I could hear the darkness gathering against me and the silences that lay between the moving things. Helmet for My Pillow

Better crawl than stuck at same place

In life, some laugh, some cry, some live, some die. The choice is ours to crawl or to fly.

Christians crawled out of the woodwork when crisis hit . . . Christians weren't roaches.

Desiree recite Martin Luther King’s inspiring statement               “If you can’t fly, then you run, if you can’t run, then you walk, if you can’t walk, then you crawl. But whatever you do, you have to keep on moving.

In life, some laugh, some cry, some live, some die. The choice is ours to crawl or to fly.-RVM

I think I have grown wise enough To not to wish to climb up the stairs 'M gonna sit, walk, crawl, swing by on the step I am And let the upper ones have their stare

Sir Winston Churchill was born into the respected family of the Dukes of Marlborough. His mother Jeanette, was an attractive American-born British socialite and a member of the well known Spencer family. Winston had a military background, having graduated from Sandhurst, the British Royal Military Academy. Upon graduating he served in the Army between 1805 and 1900 and again between 1915 and 1916. As a British military officer, he saw action in India, the Anglo–Sudan War, and the Second South African Boer War. Leaving the army as a major in 1899, he became a war correspondent covering the Boer War in the Natal Colony, during which time he wrote books about his experiences. Churchill was captured and treated as a prisoner of war. Churchill had only been a prisoner for four weeks before he escaped, prying open some of the flooring he crawled out under the building and ran through some of the neighborhoods back alleys and streets. On the evening of December 12, 1899, he jumped over a wall to a neighboring property, made his way to railroad tracks and caught a freight train heading north to Lourenco Marques, the capital of Portuguese Mozambique, which is located on the Indian Ocean and freedom. For the following years, he held many political and cabinet positions including the First Lord of the Admiralty. During the First World War Churchill resumed his active army service, for a short period of time, as the commander of the 6th Battalion of the Royal Scots Fusiliers. After the war he returned to his political career as a Conservative Member of Parliament, serving as the Chancellor of the Exchequer where in 1925, he returned the pound sterling to the gold standard. This move was considered a factor to the deflationary pressure on the British Pound Sterling, during the depression. During the 1930’s Churchill was one of the first to warn about the increasing, ruthless strength of Nazi Germany and campaigned for a speedy military rearmament. At the outbreak of the Second World War, he was appointed First Lord of the Admiralty for a second time, and in May of 1940, Churchill became the Prime Minister after Neville Chamberlain’s resignation. An inspirational leader during the difficult days of 1940–1941, he led Britain until victory had been secured. In 1955 Churchill suffered a serious of strokes. Stepping down as Prime Minister he however remained a Member of Parliament until 1964. In 1965, upon his death at ninety years of age, Queen Elizabeth II granted him a state funeral, which was one of the largest gatherings of representatives and statesmen in history.

There is no shortcut to defining your suck and your lighthouse, and there are going to be moments when you want to shut down and crawl back into the comfort zone that will become your suck.

Marks … I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to find your spectacles in this wreckage.” “I have another pair at home,” she ventured. “Thank God.” Leo sat up with a quiet grunt of discomfort. “Now, if we stand on the highest pile of debris, it’s only a short distance to the surface. I’m going to hoist you up, get you out of here, and then you’re going to ride back to Ramsay House. Cam trained the horse, so you won’t need to guide him. He’ll find his way back home with no trouble.” “What are you going to do?” she asked, bewildered. He sounded rather sheepish. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to wait here until you send someone for me.” “Why?” “I have a—” He paused, searching for a word. “Splinter.” She felt indignant. “You’re going to make me ride back alone and unescorted and virtually blind, to send someone to rescue you? All because you have a splinter?” “A large one,” he volunteered. “Where is it? Your finger? Your hand? Maybe I can help to … Oh, God. ” This last as he took her hand and brought it to his shoulder. His shirt was wet with blood, and a thick shard of timber protruded from his shoulder. “That’s not a splinter,” she said in horror. “You’ve been impaled. What can I do? Shall I pull it out?” “No, it might be lodged against an artery. And I wouldn’t care to bleed out down here.” She crawled closer to him, bringing her face close to his to examine him anxiously... “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It looks worse than it is.” But Catherine didn’t agree. If anything, it was worse than it looked... Stripping off her riding coat, she tried to lay it over his chest. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Trying to keep you warm.” Leo plucked the garment off his chest and made a scoffing sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. First, the injury isn’t that bad. Second, this tiny thing is not capable of keeping any part of me warm. Now, about my plan—” “It is obviously a significant injury,” she said, “and I do not agree to your plan. I have a better one.” “Of course you do,” he replied sardonically. “Marks, for once would you do as I ask?” “No, I’m not going to leave you here. I’m going to pile up enough debris for both of us to climb out.” “You can’t even see, damn it. And you can’t move these timbers and stones. You’re too small.” “There is no need to make derogatory remarks about my stature,” she said, lurching upward and squinting at her surroundings. Identifying the highest pile of debris, she made her way to it and hunted for nearby rocks. “I’m not being derogatory.” He sounded exasperated. “Your stature is absolutely perfect for my favorite activity. But you’re not built for hauling rocks. Blast it, Marks, you’re going to hurt yourself—” “Stay there,” Catherine said sharply, hearing him push some heavy object aside. “You’ll worsen your injury, and then it will be even more difficult to get you out. Let me do the work.” Finding a heap of ashlar blocks, she picked one up and lugged it up the pile, trying not to trip over her own skirts. “You’re not strong enough,” Leo said, sounding aggravated and out of breath. “What I lack in physical strength,” she replied, going for another block, “I make up for in determination.” “How inspiring. Could we set aside the heroic fortitude for one bloody moment and dredge up some common sense?” “I’m not going to argue with you, my lord. I need to save my breath for”—she paused to heft another block—“stacking rocks.” Somewhere amid the ordeal, Leo decided hazily that he would never underestimate Catherine Marks again. Ounce for ounce, she was the most insanely obstinate person he had ever known, dragging rocks and debris while half blind and hampered by long skirts, diligently crossing back and forth across his vision like an industrious mole. She had decided to build a mound upon which they could climb out, and nothing would stop her.

I first imagined each moment separate, inspired, consecutive. I could have cast the film—myself the female lead, you the star. I wore color—magenta. lavender, lime. You were in white, something textured that moved with your body. The music was sensuous, full orchestra scored for harp, piccolo, twelve double basses, a chime. The premiere, well-attended, prices high. Those who didn't like it find little to like in this world. The critics, through careful eyes, decided our performance was fresh, the location on the cliff above the ocean a splendid choice on someone's part, the humor warm. But time extracts. After the blast, the slow boil, the few grains cupped in the palm. The orchestra was really scored for wind and pelican, the dry flick of lizard. The lily, with petals like white tongues, appeared from nowhere, and the gull remained stone-still. as gulls do not do. The costumes were too simple: sun and salt on skin, and the actors kept changing roles, crawling into one another’s lines, saying the wrong words when they spoke at all, finding it hard to think in vertigo, their love clouded with a retinue of men and women, former actors who wanted the parts. The critics made no sense of the film, double-exposed, sprocket holes on either side and a garbled sound track that wove ‘always’ and ‘never’ into one word. The beginning appeared in the last scene, and the climax was a whorl of color, like looking too long at the sun through closed eyelids. One thing someone found to praise: a clear shot of a shining feather lying on a stone in the path.

Love is a choice. Either we choose to behave lovingly toward others....or not; either we conduct ourselves in ways that enhance our relationship....or not. But we should be aware that genuine love requires effort. Simply put, if we wish to build lasting relationship, we must be willing to do our part. Building lasting relationship requires compassion, wisdom, empathy, kindness, courtesy, and forgiveness ( lots of forgiveness). If that sounds like work, it is – which is perfectly okay, since the rewards of love always outweigh the costs. Zora Neale Hurston observed, "Love makes your soul crawl out of its hiding place." Your capable of choosing that kind of love—and the world becomes a better place when you do.v January 27th

We crawl by inches. What we find today we will wipe from the blackboard tomorrow and reject it—unless it shows up again the day after tomorrow. And if we find anything which would suit us, that thing we will eye with particular distrust.

Although sponges have many different types of cells, most are not organized into organs with discrete functions, like kidneys, livers, or ovaries (although the choanocyte chambers could be considered simple organs). For this reason, sponges are sometimes described as having a ‘tissue-level’ organization. Some sponges have astonishing powers of regeneration, so extreme that they were the inspiration for regenerating aliens in the science-fiction television series Doctor Who. The defining experiments that revealed this property were published in 1907 by Henry Van Peters Wilson of the University of North Carolina, USA. Wilson mashed up a living sponge and passed it through a fine cloth, the sort used for sieving flour, thereby splitting most of it into individual cells. Wilson then observed that these cells gradually crawled back together and reassembled into a new sponge! Furthermore, if the cells of two different species were mixed together, they would sort themselves out and regenerate into the two original sponges again. Although regeneration is found in many branches of the Animal Kingdom, no other animals are as expert as some of the sponges.