Groundhog Quotes

When the groundhog casts his shadow And the small birds sing And the pussywillows happen And the sun shines warm And when the peepers peep Then it is Spring

I fell in love with you on Valentine’s day, Emilie, but I need more than just seven minutes.

Groundhog found fog. New snows and blue toes. Fine and dandy for Valentine candy. Snow spittin'; if you're not mitten-smitten, you'll be frostbitten! By jing-y feels spring-y.

My desire to self-destruct is a one-night stand on Groundhog Day. Fucking repetitive. Repetitively fucking.

If you were offered the chance to live your own life again, would you seize the opportunity? The only real philosophical answer is automatically self-contradictory: 'Only if I did not know that I was doing so.' To go through the entire experience once more would be banal and Sisyphean—even if it did build muscle—whereas to wish to be young again and to have the benefit of one's learned and acquired existence is not at all to wish for a repeat performance, or a Groundhog Day. And the mind ought to, but cannot, set some limits to wish-thinking. All right, same me but with more money, an even sturdier penis, slightly different parents, a briefer latency period… the thing is absurd. I seriously would like to know what it was to be a woman, but like blind Tiresias would also want the option of re-metamorphosing if I wished. How terrible it is that we have so many more desires than opportunities.

An alarm rings again again. It's still the same again again. Still the season of COVID-19 (variant three and maybe four). Still the season of political instability. Still so much to contend with. Groundhog Day. Groundhog Day Again. Groundhog Day Again Again.

Isn`t man an amazing animal? He kills wildlife - birds, kangaroos, deer, all kinds of cats, coyotes, beavers, groundhogs, mice, foxes, and dingoes - by the millions in order to protect his domestic animals and their feed. Then he kills domestic animals by the billions and eats them. This in turn kills man by the million, because eating all those animals leads to degenerative - and fatal - health conditions like heart disease, kidney disease, and cancer. So then man tortures and kills millions more animals to look for cures for these diseases. Elsewhere, millions of other human beings are being killed by hunger and malnutrition because food they could eat is being used to fatten domestic animals. Meanwhile, some people are dying of sad laughter at the absurdity of man, who kills so easily and so violently, and once a year sends out a card praying for 'Peace on Earth.

In Sliding Doors, the whole idea is that every choice you make, and every single thing that happens to you changes the trajectory of your life, and once you are put on that trajectory, there is no way back. But Groundhog Day - which, I tell him, also happens to be a much better movie - says the opposite. It says if you mess up or make the wrong choice, you just have to keep at it until you do it right.

from Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day "Maybe God isn't omnipotent. Maybe he's just been around so long, he knows everything.

They’s nothin more triflin than a pet groundhog.

We can’t heal what we don’t feel. We can’t have a future until we fully inhabit our present. It’s like the proverbial Groundhog Day. Most people don’t live 70-90 years; they live the same year 70-90 times because they keep regurgitating an incomplete present.

A loved one’s death wasn’t a onetime thing that you had to endure. It was an endless cycle. A cruel Groundhog Day that burned away at your heart and soul until there was nothing left but scorched flesh where they once had been.

Why do you think there are no gods on Mount Olympus now? They killed themselves, that’s why. They were terminally bored.

Your perpetual loop of teen angst? Or as you put it, your own personal episode of 'Dawson's Creek' playing over and over, like a demented 'Groundhog Day'?

Gambling to me is what a telephone pole might be to a groundhog. He sees that it’s there but doesn’t for the life of him understand why.

changes.” And then we start again. It’s like Groundhog Day. It may seem like you’ve made no progress and are starting over, but you aren’t. Every repetition is different; the lessons are different because you are.

When I’m working on my art, I don’t feel like Odysseus. I feel more like Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill. When I’m working, I don’t feel like Luke Skywalker. I feel more like Phil Connors in the movie Groundhog Day.

So, um, Agent Thomas, is it?"I asked Agent Groundhog nervously. He gave a curt nod and continued to scan the area. "Would you like to come inside?" His head snapped in my direction like I just told him that I was giving birth right there on the sidewalk and needed him to deliver the baby--hah; I wondered if they covered that in training.

We left home, married, had children of our own, found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us. Dad began dresssing the pole with more complexity and less discernible logic. He draped some kind of fur over it on Groundhog Day and lugged out a floodlight to ensure a shadow.

Most European nations identify themselves with eagles or lions, with some predator or creature of the air, ascendant and belligerent. I would like to visit the country which adopts the groundhog as its mascot, somewhere peaceful, some place that curls against the secrets of the earth, a little Belgium of the imagination, tables piled high with cakes, the Sunday bells ringing (not too loudly), the light falling on rolling hillocks studded with salad greens.

We can all escape from whatever dilemma we’re in by adopting the correct attitude. It’s a tough lesson, but to learn it is to gain the means to transcend ordinary life.

Texans didn’t have the vocabulary God gave a groundhog.

Maybe when you die time folds in on you, and you bounce around inside this little bubble forever. Like the after-death equivalent of the movie Groundhog Day.

Nos respondíamos siempre con la presteza de los que viven en Los lunes al sol, Groundhog Day o un sempiterno domingo.

I never met a groundhog I didn't like.

Aren’t humans amazing? They kill wildlife – birds, deer, all kinds of cats, coyotes, beavers, groundhogs, mice and foxes by the million in order to protect their domestic animals and their feed. Then they kill domestic animals by the billion and eat them. This in turn kills people by the million, because eating all those animals leads to degenerative – and fatal – health conditions like heart disease, stroke, kidney disease, and cancer. So then humans spend billions of dollars torturing and killing millions more animals to look for cures for these diseases. Elsewhere, millions of other human beings are being killed by hunger and malnutrition because food they could eat is being used to fatten domestic animals. Meanwhile, few people recognize the absurdity of humans, who kill so easily and violently, and once a year send out cards praying for “Peace on Earth.” ~Revised Preface to Old MacDonald’s Factory Farm

The prognosticating groundhog is thought to derive from a German tradition that if the sun comes out on Candlemas Day and the hedgehog sees his shadow, six more weeks of winter will follow.

February 2, 2010—Groundhog Day Addistar Network, Inc. Bridget Maslow, HR bmaslow@addistar.com Dear Ms. Maslow: Though I prefer to send letters of recommendation via the U.S. Postal Service, now considered by many to be as quaint as muttonchop whiskers and the butter churn, I hereby accede to your request for an e-mail evaluation of Quentin Eshe, who has applied for the position of assistant communications coordinator at Addistar.

As I come to the end of my advice and send you off into the world, I have an alternative way for you to stay on the straight and narrow: periodically watch Groundhog Day. It was made long ago, in 1993, but it’s still smart and funny, the chemistry between the stars (Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell) is terrific, and it has a happy ending. Groundhog Day is also a profound moral fable that deals with the most fundamental issues of virtue and happiness.

This is why we do it all over again every year. Fueled only by the stuff they drink from the air and earth, the bush beans fill out their rows, the okra booms, the corn stretches eagerly toward the sky like a toddler reaching up to put on a shirt... We gardeners are right in the middle of this with our weeding and tying up, our mulching and watering, our trained eyes guarding against bugs, groundhogs, and weather damage. But to be honest, the plants are working harder, doing all the real production. We are management; they're labor.

Now that bastard of a groundhog was running around like a squirrel with a snootful of cocaine and belting back Red Bull shots. All she needed was for that little fucker to pull out a couple of pistols and start shooting up the joint to have herself a raging telenovela in her pants.   *

We have been conditioned to fear the shadow side of life and the shadow side of ourselves. When we catch ourselves thinking a dark thought or acting out in a behavior that we feel is unacceptable, we run, just like a groundhog, back into our hole and hide, hoping, praying, it will disappear before we venture out again. Why do we do this? Because we are afraid that no matter how hard we try, we will never be able to escape from this part of ourselves. And although ignoring or repressing our dark side is the norm, the sobering truth is that running from the shadow only intensifies its power. Denying it only leads to more pain, suffering, regret, and resignation. If we fail to take responsibility and extract the wisdom that has been hidden beneath the surface of our conscious minds, the shadow will take charge, and instead of us being able to have control over it, the shadow winds up having control over us, triggering the shadow effect. Our dark side then starts making our decisions for us, stripping us of our right to make conscious choices whether it’s what food we will eat, how much money we will spend, or what addiction we will succumb to. Our shadow incites us to act out in ways we never imagined we could and to waste our vital energy on bad habits and repetitive behaviors.

It’s Groundhog Day,” said Max. “The new people come in and think that the previous administration and the civil service are lazy or stupid. Then they actually get to know the place they are managing. And when they leave they say, ‘This was a really hard job, and those are the best people I’ve ever worked with.’ This happens over and over and over.

With a whistle of the wind, And an icy snow flurry. Off to Gobbler's Knob, Come now let us hurry! It is February second! Groundhog's Day! We need some prognostication, On this cold winter's day. Happy Groundhog Day to you! Punxsutawney Phil, do come out of your cave! For whether you cast a fair shadow, or no shadow you see on this day! We send many warm wishes, Of good tidings and cheer! For when it is Groundhog's Day, Springtime is surely near!

I’ve only written one decent poem in my life called “Lizard up My Leg”: A lizard up my leg gave me a fright Not because he did, but ‘cause he might. Okay, not a great poem, but it’s honest and also it’s short so I can remember it.

But I was stuck in my Groundhog year, waking up every morning to the same gray reality of copping to feel right. I went on another horrible heroin run with Kim and stopped being productive. I was withering away, mentally, spiritually, physically, creatively—everything was fading out. Sometimes doing heroin was nice and dreamy and euphoric and carefree, almost romantic-feeling. In reality, I was dying and couldn’t quite see that from being so deep in my own forest.

I don’t believe we have a choice when it comes to whether we endow the world with meaning. We are all little fairies, sprinkling meaning dust everywhere we go. This mountain will mean God, and that precipitation will mean trouble. The vacuum of space will mean emptiness, and the groundhog will mean nature’s scorn for human absurdity. We will build meaning wherever we go, with whatever we come across. But to me, while making meaning isn’t a choice, the kind of meaning can

I came to London to make my dreams come true - big, naive head on me at twenty-two. Going to work every day physically hurts.' I hadn't realised how strongly I felt about my lack of a career, my Groundhog Day existence, until I uttered those last two words and realised I wasn't exaggerating. A kind of agony wrapped me in its razor-edged wires every day as I cycled to the Sugar Pot, to Kenneth and to my hideaway cupboard; it was dull, like my skin was smeared with a strong numbing cream.

I told everyone I knew that I had written a screenplay, and somehow I compiled a list of people who knew people who were in the industry. It was about as tenuous as it gets. But here’s what I found out: If there is a personal connection, no matter how tenuous, people are very friendly and anxious to help.

I jerked my head up, my tie with Jack severed. 7 “You’re early,” I told the Magician as Matthew and I climbed down. “Wanted to avoid the midnight-hour traffic.” When Cyclops padded over hesitantly, Finn grumbled, “Free fort, sit where you want!” He situated his crutch over his lap. “So an Empress, a horse, and a wolf walk into a fort. . . .” “If this is a dirty joke, I’ll pass.” I’d missed the Magician’s humor. Tilting my head at him, I said, “You don’t look so good, Finn.” “I feel like a bucket of fuck, but I’ll be ready,” he assured me. “Right, Matto?” “Ready Magician!” “H to the Azey. That army blows Baggers.” “Somehow she dragged me back to the fort.” “Good thing I’m dying young,” Finn continued in a nonchalant tone, “or I’d be shit out of luck with this bum leg.” “Dying young?” He wasn’t kidding. “Made peace with it.” He shrugged. “Kind of think we all should.” Have you guys gotten snow here yet?” I thought I’d spied a single flake the night I’d left Aric. “Not looking forward to that. SoCal surfer boy here, remember? Just think: if the snow comes down like the rain has . . .” “Snowmageddon!” Matthew cried, cracking both of them up. “Yeah, Matto, that groundhog came out to check for nuclear winter. But then a Bagger ate him!

In one of the extras that come with the DVD version of the movie (Groundhog Day), Danny Rubin, who came up with the original idea and then wrote the script, says that the movie is about “doing what you can do in the moment to make things better instead of making them worse.” Which might not sound like very much, but it’s just about all you can do in life. Which only proves that the world itself runs on Yiddish-speaking principles: the best way to get what you want and make all those bastards out there so jealous that they’ll want to poke their own eyes out is to go out of your way to be nice to those bastards. That’s the way to show them. That’s how a mentsh gets revenge.

No greater affirmation of life is possible than to wish every part of it to return to you forever. It is the sublime moment when a person can look at his life, no matter what it consists of – good, bad, or indifferent – and find within himself the desire never to be freed from any aspect of it that allows a human being to be transformed into an Übermensch, the supreme life affirmer.

Quickly I find another surprise. The boys are wilder writers — less careful of convention, more willing to leap into the new. I start watching the dozens of vaguely familiar girls, who seem to have shaved off all distinguishing characteristics. They are so careful. Careful about their appearance, what they say and how they say it, how they sit, what they write. Even in the five-minute free writes, they are less willing to go out from where they are — to go out there, where you have to go, to write. They are reluctant to show me rough work, imperfect work, anything I might criticize; they are very careful to write down my instructions word by word. They’re all trying themselves on day by day, hour by hour, I know — already making choices that will last too unfairly long. I’m surprised to find, after a few days, how invigorating it all is. I pace and plead for reaction, for ideas, for words, and gradually we all relax a little and we make progress. The boys crouch in their too-small desks, giant feet sticking out, and the girls perch on the edge, alert like little groundhogs listening for the patter of coyote feet. I begin to like them a lot. Then the outlines come in. I am startled at the preoccupation with romance and family in many of these imaginary futures. But the distinction between boys and girls is perfectly, painfully stereotypical. The boys also imagine adventure, crime, inventions, drama. One expects war with China, several get rich and lose it all, one invents a time warp, another resurrects Jesus, another is shot by a robber. Their outlines are heavy on action, light on response. A freshman: “I grow populerity and for the rest of my life I’m a million air.” [sic] A sophomore boy in his middle age: “Amazingly, my first attempt at movie-making won all the year’s Oscars. So did the next two. And my band was a HUGE success. It only followed that I run the country.” Among the girls, in all the dozens and dozens of girls, the preoccupation with marriage and children is almost everything. They are entirely reaction, marked by caution. One after the other writes of falling in love, getting married, having children and giving up — giving up careers, travel, college, sports, private hopes, to save the marriage, take care of the children. The outlines seem to describe with remarkable precision the quietly desperate and disappointed lives many women live today.

But my point applies to a broader audience. Indulge me in one more thought experiment, a familiar one: You will be stranded on a desert island, and you can take just 10 books and 10 music CDs. What do you choose? My prediction is that even people who don’t listen to classical music regularly will take Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. Even people who haven’t picked up Shakespeare in years will take the collected works of Shakespeare. When we want something we can go back to again and again, we choose the same giants that the experts choose. My proposition about the literature, music, and visual arts of the last half century is that hardly any of it has enough substance to satisfy, over time. The post-1950 West has unquestionably produced some wonderful entertainments, and I do not mean wonderful slightingly. The Simpsons is wickedly smart, Saving Private Ryan is gripping, Groundhog Day is a brilliant moral fable. The West’s popular culture is for my money the only contemporary culture worth patronizing, with its best stories more compelling and revealing than the ones written by authors who purport to write serious novels, and its best popular music with more energy and charm than anything the academic composers turn out. It is a mixed bag, with the irredeemably vulgar side by side, sometimes intermingled, with the wittiest and most thoughtful work. But the quality is often first-rate—as well it might be. The people producing the best work include some who in another age could have been a Caravaggio or Brahms or Racine, and perhaps dozens of others good enough to have made their way onto the roster of significant figures. Why not be satisfied with wonderful entertainments?

Mattis and Gary Cohn had several quiet conversations about The Big Problem: The president did not understand the importance of allies overseas, the value of diplomacy or the relationship between the military, the economy and intelligence partnerships with foreign governments. They met for lunch at the Pentagon to develop an action plan. One cause of the problem was the president’s fervent belief that annual trade deficits of about $500 billion harmed the American economy. He was on a crusade to impose tariffs and quotas despite Cohn’s best efforts to educate him about the benefits of free trade. How could they convince and, in their frank view, educate the president? Cohn and Mattis realized they were nowhere close to persuading him. The Groundhog Day–like meetings on trade continued and the acrimony only grew. “Let’s get him over here to the Tank,” Mattis proposed. The Tank is the Pentagon’s secure meeting room for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It might focus him. “Great idea,” Cohn said. “Let’s get him out of the White House.” No press; no TVs; no Madeleine Westerhout, Trump’s personal secretary, who worked within shouting distance of the Oval Office. There wouldn’t even be any looking out the window, because there were no windows in the Tank. Getting Trump out of his natural environment could do the trick. The idea was straight from the corporate playbook—a retreat or off-site meeting. They would get Trump to the Tank with his key national security and economic team to discuss worldwide strategic relations. Mattis and Cohn agreed. Together they would fight Trump on this. Trade wars or disruptions in the global markets could savage and undermine the precarious stability in the world. The threat could spill over to the military and intelligence community. Mattis couldn’t understand why the U.S. would want to pick a fight with allies, whether it was NATO, or friends in the Middle East, or Japan—or particularly with South Korea.

This scene came from the writing I did with Bill in New York, working out of an office in the Director’s Guild building. I generally came in early and worked for a couple of hours before Bill arrived. He would then spend about an hour puttering around the office and smoking cheroots, then would eventually settle in next to me at the desk, read what I had written, and begin offering suggestions and improvements. Sometimes I would print out a scene and then mark it up—as with the scene above—as Bill tried out Phil’s dialogue, and we tweaked lines accordingly. Our afternoons were often spent walking around New York running Bill’s errands while talking about general script issues. He was a warm and wonderful host to me during my New York visit. There was an afternoon where he and Tom Davis paired up against me and Dan Aykroyd in a spontaneous basketball game, the four of us sneakerless and slipping around in our socks. I made my bones with Bill that day when he hurled a basketball at my head and I managed to duck. “Good reflexes,” he said. I think of these two weeks with Bill as one of the more surreal and memorable experiences of my writer’s life.

What if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today." -- From 'Groundhog Day

Isn’t man an amazing animal? He kills wildlife—birds, kangaroos, deer, and all kinds of cats, coyotes, beavers, groundhogs, mice, foxes and dingoes—by the million in order to protect his domestic animals and their feed. Then he kills domestic animals by the billion and eats them. This in turn kills man by the million, because eating all those animals leads to degenerative—and fatal—health conditions like heart disease, kidney disease, and cancer. So then man tortures and kills millions more animals to look for cures for these diseases. Elsewhere, millions of other human beings are being killed by hunger and malnutrition because food they could eat is being used to fatten domestic animals.20

Life is more like the film Groundhog Day than anyone wants to admit.

The one thing that hasn't changed around our house is our having a groundhog. Strange how he stayed on after Doc died since Mama and I have up growing vegetables. He just lives off grass these days, which makes me wonder why he had to bedevil poor Doc so much over his corn and tomatoes. I guess Doc's garden was just too tempting, like dangling a candy bar in front of a child. Of course, I don't know for sure that it's Big Tom, the GD groundhog himself, or just one of his children. But this groundhog sure is big and bodacious. And, you know, he does the funniest thing at twilight. He waddles out to the rose garden and lies down there, almost like he's looking for Doc. Maybe his is. I guess groundhogs don't know about flying south.

When students are taught to approach argument through inquiry, good things happen: they choose topics worthy of arguing, they gain ownership (through choice) of their writing, and their teacher is not stuck in Groundhog Day reading the same argument paper over and over. Key

Dear Lord,' Lula said, 'Bless this disgusting, swelled-up groundhog and take him into the Kingdom of Heaven or wherever it is that dead groundhogs are supposed to go. Amen.' We both made the sign of the cross. 'I would have said more, but I didn't really know the deceased,' Lula said.

I fear living a life similar to the movie "Groundhog Day", where I wake up in the morning, work eight to five, come home and watch television for a few hours, then go to bed, only to wake up the next day and do the same thing. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. I don't want to look back on my year and see nothing but a long string of eight to fives.

becoming groundhog days, where no new learning is possible, just a repetition of past mistakes which over time can cause them to become the defining theme of an entire life.

Basically, in some time travel, there’s a loop in which things can change, and what you do affects everyone else: i.e., you kill Baby Hitler and then Hitler doesn’t exist, and that could affect a million other things and change history entirely. Or there’s a loop where nothing changes except the fact that you’ve done it before, like Groundhog Day.

The orchard smelled thick: Scents of mud, buds, insects, and early-blooming flowers overlapped one another. Murphy had spent all her life breathing the aroma of fry grease and parking lot weeds. Squirrels darted up and down the trees, and rabbits and the occasional groundhog watched Murphy work, reminding her that the orchard was the world to them, that they’d never seen Taco Bell and would never be roadkill. It was actually comforting. It was still earth, but without the crap.

We are all nodes of God. Between us, we are experiencing everything, and why wouldn’t God, the True God, do exactly that? In the seminal movie Groundhog Day, the hero at first sees the daily recurrence in which he is trapped as hell itself and does everything to free himself from it, even though he can’t. By the end of the movie, he has changed his perspective, and understands that he is actually in a process that allows him to become a god. When he achieves perfection, that’s when he escapes from the loop. You have to change your mindset too. You have to escape from linearity. You have to embrace the cyclical. You may not be up to it yet. But you will be one day. You will be comforted by this amazing reality you are in, you are part of, you are contributing to

Yes. I had intended to stop working the end of March, 2011, however a new Vice President started in January of 2011 and he asked me to stay on. We compromised. I stayed till the end of November, received my full salary and benefits, but only came in to the office a couple of days a week. I was also available by phone and email, and attended customer meetings whenever the need arose. It was the perfect solution. I decided the time was right to leave my job when it started to feel like I was living the movie "Groundhog Day". I felt like I was doing the same things over and over

Perhaps though boredom is happier. It is for dogs or groundhogs. Now I wouldn’t be bored. Now I would know too much. Now I would know.

The quantization factor must be 48 hours, not 24. Otherwise, they would all have had to experience the same day every time, the premise behind the movie, Groundhog Day—a horrifying scenario.

A fascinating part of physician burnout is that without realizing it we can find ourselves stuck in a Groundhog Day–like pattern.

When you find yourself in a situation where you cannot move freely, you try to bury your anger, emptiness, frustration, inadequacy, helplessness, fear, guilt, loneliness, stress, and anxiety. You may think that by burying these emotions, you are putting an end to them, but in reality, you are sending them to another realm. You are giving them to the darkness, the yin, the dark world.Hades takes care of them and teaches them how to fight in the unconscious world. They learn to live below the conscious surface, like rabbits, skunks, mice, woodchucks, arctic ground squirrels, chipmunks, weasels, river otters, raccoons, muskrats, mink, beavers, opossums, moles, rats, and groundhogs. However, after a while, they try to resurface and torment you again.In my view, all archetypes reside in the unconscious, but some are empowered by darkness (yin), others by youth (yang), and some by both. If balance is lost, they turn against each other. That’s what happened to me. I buried my anger, fear, stress, and anxiety, but they returned to my conscious mind. They seem blind, unable to see or understand me.I don’t know how to care for them and make them conscious. They are so powerful, and I am exhausted. I don’t know what to do, but I have decided to make a deal with them. My arms have always been open for everyone except myself. Now, my caregiver archetype is trying to make a deal to heal my fragmented parts and bring them together. #Arash_Ghadir #ArashGhadir

We like to think of grief, and anger, and all our negative emotions, as always working one way, but sometimes they show up in ways we don’t expect, popping up like groundhogs. We think it’s kept to one place, in our hearts or in our minds, but that’s not how it works. Grief is a whole-body experience, John.

Wait,” I hesitated. “Will they let me in? After last time?” “Yes, they will let you in,” Michelle sighed. “But no more groundhogs. That thing bit a waiter.” “It wasn’t me,” I lied. “I told you it wandered in off the street.” I’m a terrible liar. I don’t think she believed me

We are particularly frustrated that so much of our politics today consists of lines first written during the clashes, domestic and foreign, of the 1960s. This "Groundhog Day" approach to replaying the culture war's tropes is perhaps nowhere in greater evidence than in how Americans talk about patriotism. Patriotism, as an idea, has been co-opted over the course of a generation by right-wingers who use the flag not as a symbol of transcendent national unity, but as a sectarian cudgel against the hippies, Francophiles, free-lovers and tree-huggers who constitute their caricature of the American left. The American left, for its part, has been so beaten down by this star-spangled caricature that it has largely ceded the very notion of patriotism to the right. As a result, the first reaction of far too many progressives to any talk of patriotism is automatic, allergic recoil. Needless to say, this reaction simply tightens the screws of the right's imprisoning caricature.

It’s hard to sleep that night. Our sofa’s got more lumps than bean soup, and every time I turn over, I pull out the blanket from the bottom. I get up about two in the morning and stand at the window. Moon’s almost full, and the snow sparkles like diamonds. I’m not lookin’ for moonlight or snowlight, though—only Shiloh. We keep the shed door open on nights like this so he can go in there and sleep if he comes back late. But I know my dog; he’d make at least one detour up on the porch first to see if somebody was awake to let him in. Not a fresh paw print anywhere. I’m thinking of the hunters we heard up in our woods. Deer season’s over now, but there’s possum and coon to hunt; rabbit and groundhog, too. What if a hunter took it in his head to steal Shiloh? You ride along and see notices posted on trees about a dog missing, and most of the time

Groundhog Day,

Ed Amies, one of my oldest and closest friends, told my simply that: “So often, God’s callings have a birth, a death, and then a resurrection.” I had had the birth, and had got stuck into Selection; I had had the death, at that fateful dam in the Welsh mountains--now was a logical time for the resurrection. If my faith stood for anything it was this: miracles really can happen. So I made the decision to try again. This time, though, I would be doing this alone. I knew that support from my family and friends would be much less forthcoming, especially from Mum, who could see the physical toll that just four months had taken. But I felt deadly serious about passing this properly now and I somehow knew that it was my last chance to do it. And no one was going to do it for me. Some two weeks later I listened to a mumbled message on my answering machine from Trucker. He’d got lost on the final part of a march. After hours of wandering aimlessly in the dark, and out of time, he had finally been found by a DS in a Land Rover, out to look for stray recruits. Trucker was dejected and tired. He, too, had failed the course. He went through the same struggle over the next few weeks that I had, and like me, he was invited by the squadron to try again. We were the only two guys to have been asked back. With greater resolve than ever, we both threw ourselves into training with an intensity that we had never done before. This time we meant business. We both moved into an old, secluded, rented farm cottage some six miles out of Bristol. And, Rocky-style, we started to train. The next Selection course (of which two are run annually) was just about to start. And just like in Groundhog Day, we found ourselves back in that old dusty gymnasium at the squadron barracks, being run ragged by the DS.

I can’t escape my past. I’m stuck in that movie, Groundhog Day, doomed to repeat my mistakes until I finally get it right. That means keeping him alive. And after that? I don’t know. I’ve never made it that far.

Maybe if she just lay on the bed for a while she would go to sleep and wake up remembering who she was. Or, maybe she would wake up and find herself on the train again, stuck in a loop like Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day, waking up in precisely the same circumstances, day after day, month after month. How can I remember an old movie but not my own name?    

This feels like Groundhog Day,” Phoenix said as Riley parked at the curb outside his parents’ house. “Groundhog Day?” “Haven’t you seen that movie? My mother has a copy. We watched it the night I got home. Bill Murray’s in it. I wasn’t interested enough to pay a whole lot of attention. I was mostly indulging her. But he lives the same day over and over again.

Whatever. There is a natural order to things, a hierarchy. And no less so in man. For man may be the master of nature, but he is also part of it. Every living thing, from the greatest of all men to the lowliest earthworm has its place. It is very important that the groundhog not think he is tiger, nor a sparrow believe he is a hawk. A frog would not make a very good shark, would it? One must know their place in the world" ~ Baroness von Berge, Greta Greaves of Austria

Why is it a good thing to understand this movie so well? Because it will help you live a good life. Absorbing the deep meaning of the Nicomachean Ethics will also help you live a good life, but Groundhog Day will do it with a lot less effort. 35.

Beautiful. Now I have to burrow like a groundhog into Mason’s basement to the same room where he summoned those things to take me Downtown. Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.

Moron, your bus is leaving-from Groundhogs Day Bill Murray

Thoughts manifest without our wanting them to, and most of the time, those thoughts are negative. Anger, frustrations, self-doubts, they dance around in your mind without invitation. They come and go at will, and boy, it then feels like your own personal Groundhog Day. Even when you thought you have forgotten about them, they can pop up in your mind again.

Writing a clean, lean, simple story is one of the hardest things in the world to do. When stories are first born, they’re always big and complicated, but simple stories are more powerful and meaningful. Think of Blaise Pascal’s famous postscript: “I’m sorry for writing such a long letter, but I didn’t have the time to write a shorter one.” Writers are always inclined to make their stories bigger and more complicated than anyone else wants them to be. Luckily, there are gatekeepers to cut us off at the pass. Editors chop novels down to size. Theater directors chop out scenes that don’t work. Producers slice the fat out of screenplays. They take sprawling, complicated messes and find the lean, simple story hiding inside. Ghostbusters was sold to the studio in the form of a forty-page treatment. It was set in the future. New York had been under siege by ghosts for years. There were dozens of teams of competing ghostbusters. Our heroes were tired and bored with their job when the story began. The Marshmallow Man showed up on page 20. The budget would have been bigger than any movie ever made, and far more than anybody was willing to spend. So why did the studio buy it? Because it liked one image: a bunch of guys who live in a firehouse slide down a pole and hop in an old-fashioned ambulance, then go out to catch ghosts. So the studio stripped away all the other stuff, put that image in the middle of the story, spent the first half gradually moving us from a normal world gradually that moment, and spent the second half creating a heroic payoff to that situation. That’s it. That’s all they had time to do. A few years after the success of Ghostbusters, one of the writers/stars of that movie, Harold Ramis, found himself on the other side of the fence. He wanted to direct a script called Groundhog Day, written by first-time screenwriter Danny Rubin. This was a very similar situation: In the first draft of that movie, the weatherman had already repeated the same day 3,650,000 times before the movie began! Everybody loved the script, so Rubin had his pick of directors, but most of them told him up front they wanted him to rewrite the story to begin with the origin of the situation. Ramis won the bidding war by promising Rubin he would stick to the in medias res version. Guess what happened? By the time the movie made it to the screen, Ramis had broken his promise. The final movie spends the first half getting the weatherman into the situation and the second half creating the most heroic payoff.

Evolution may have created a greater diversity of specific cognitive potentials across species than affective potentials, even though there are also bound to be many general principles that govern the seemingly distinct cognitive styles of different species. For instance, within the spatial maps of the hippocampus,28 the “well-grounded” navigational thoughts of groundhogs may be organized around similar neural principles as the soaring spatial thoughts of falcons. In any event, the empirically based premise of the present work is that at the basic affective level, neural similarities will abound.

Benny sits next to me on the porch swing, and we rock back and forth in aware silence. I can barely make out the shape of the house next door through the trees but can see the smoke curling from the chimney, the glow of their outdoor Christmas lights through the branches. The branches. I look up warily. Across the yard, I think I spot the snow-covered branch that cracked me on the head, and I point at it, growling, “You will not get me tomorrow, you fucker.” Benny goes still. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” “It won’t matter.” He studies me. “Why not?” “Because this is the fourth time I’ve been in this day, and no matter what I try to do differently, I keep coming back.” “Like Groundhog Day?” “Is that a movie?” He scrubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re young. I still think it’s one of the weirdest traditions, believing spring is determined by a groundhog’s shadow. Spring starts on the same day every year where I’m from.” I must be staring at him in bewilderment, because he nods. “Yes, Maelyn, Groundhog Day is a movie.” “Then yes. No matter what I do, I keep getting clobbered and waking up on the plane.

Horniness and hunger are the actual elements that determine a groundhog’s behavior when it emerges in winter from months of hibernation.

Instead of dwelling on the factory of sadness that was the aftermath of Autumn’s death, I cut to the chase. “After that, I threw myself into my business and then helped my parents settle into their new house here. Anything to keep my mind off not having her with me. I was numb for a long time, trying to move on as she would have wanted me to do. It was so hard.” I paused, thinking about those dark moments that involved way too much bourbon. “I was like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, doing the same thing over and over each day with no purpose in life. Stuck in a rut. Big time. Then one morning, I came across the body of my friend Paige Whitaker behind my bookstore, and something possessed me to figure out who did it.

Noah Pritchard ws cultured. Maybe not rich, but he spoke fine. She was an orphaned child from the woods and had all the etiquette of a groundhog at an evening ball.

Neuroscientist Joe Dispenza explains that it’s critical for us to become conscious of our values or life becomes a series of “repetitive actions”—literally Groundhog Day.

E assim por diante, na ladainha sem fim que todos os interrogadores recitavam quando viam pela primeira vez seus detentos. Muitos detentos não conseguiam deixar de rir ao ouvir esse absurdo mais próprio do Feitiço do Tempo [Groundhog Day]; na verdade, era o único entretenimento que tínhamos na câmara de interrogatório. Quando o interrogador disse a um dos detentos “Sei que você é inocente”, ele riu com vontade e respondeu: “Preferia ser um criminoso e estar em casa com meus filhos”. Acho que qualquer coisa perde força por ser muito repetida. Quando uma pessoa ouve pela primeira vez uma expressão como “Você é o pior criminoso da face da Terra”, o mais provável é que fique assustadíssima. Porém, quanto mais ouve isso, mais o medo vai diminuindo, e chega o momento em que não tem efeito nenhum. Soa mais como um bom-dia.

Eternally Weeps the Groundhog.

They trained for war in the nerge or hunt, pursuing antelope and martens often with the aid of a falcon. Marmots – groundhogs – were a staple, used for fresh food that could be dried for winter and as a source of fur. But these animals, or rather the fleas that lived in their fur, would play a special role in world history.

heads start popping up from cubicles like groundhogs.

In my old life, I'd had freedom: the freedom to make my own decisions, to set my own agenda, to wake up and decide how I wanted to spend the day. Even the hard days were my hard days. Once I gave up the fight, in my new life, I would wake up each morning and ask one question: "What are we doing?" And then I would do what I was told. I would go to sleep early. And then I would wake up and do what they told me again. And again. And again. It was like Groundhog Day. I did that for thirteen years.

would go to sleep early. And then I would wake up and do what they told me again. And again. And again. It was like Groundhog Day. I did that for thirteen years.

Being in a combat zone is almost a constant adrenaline rush, and it should be. The moment you get comfortable and complacent is the moment you lose. When you’re on a deployment, it almost feels like time stops, or maybe it feels more like you’re in some kind of a twilight zone. Your family and friends are all moving on without you while you’re stuck living the same day over and over, like in the movie Groundhog Day. You get up, conduct personal hygiene, report to duty, conduct physical fitness somewhere in there, and do personal hygiene again before you pass out in your bunk for the night. If you’re lucky, you might get to sleep through the night. The base sirens would interrupt other nights, signaling you to grab your gear and get in a bunker. Your friends and family back home don’t understand this. They don’t understand the fear, the adrenaline rush, the twilight zone effect, and it sometimes seems pretty lonely. But you’re not alone. No matter what walk of life you’ve come from, you’re not alone. Everyone out there is in a similar situation and understands what it’s like. They become your new family during the deployment. While deployed, there’s a good chance you’ll see and/or experience things that will haunt you. Some learn to detach themselves from those situations and almost experience them from a bird’s eye view, somehow making them seem less real. Often, soldiers cope by making light of a bad situation. As a result, dark humor runs rampant amongst Service Members. While those on the outside may see that dark humor as cruel, it is just another way that you learn to deal with the atrocities of war. I digress. Let’s get back into it.

The world celebrates all sundries of days, like New Year’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, National Heroes’ Day, Valentine’s Day, All Saints’ Day, Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Day. There’s even one state that has Groundhog Day, another—National Hamburger Day. Hence, it stuns me no end why no “GOD’S DAY”: “To Him, the Highest, no honor we pay?

Like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, we have to escape from the eternal recurrence of our day-to-day lives. We have to try new things, learn new things, become people of wide interest rather than narrow focus. We should test our limits, not let limits define us. When a new day comes, we should feel as grateful as Bill Murray, the most overjoyed man on earth when he was able to break out of the prison of repetition.

We can all escape from whatever dilemma we’re in by adopting the correct attitude. It’s a tough lesson, but to learn it is to gain the means to transcend ordinary life.

Mona recognized the voice. It was the groundhog, Mr. Gibson. He was supposed to be in bed! She found him just outside the ballroom, staring at his shadow on the wall. “Mr. Gibson, can I help you?” asked Mona. “Oh! Is the party over?” The groundhog turned around. He was holding a small sweet-smelling pillow in one paw and a cup in another. His nose was shiny and sticky with honey. “Yes,” said Mona. “It finished a while ago. But if you’re still hungry, I can find you something to eat.” She knew how important it was that the hibernators were well fed. “So kind of you. The staff at the Heartwood is always so thoughtful. You even gave us gifts.” He shook the lavender pillow. “But no, I am stuffed,” he said, patting his stomach. “Even my shadow is full.” He chuckled, then gave a big yawn. Before Mona knew it, he’d fallen asleep right on his feet! Mona smiled and leaned her broom against the wall. “Come on,” she said, gently waking him. “Let’s get you to bed.” “Ah, so kind, so kind,” replied Mr. Gibson. The groundhog trundled sleepily after Mona, down the hallway, through the lobby, to the stairs. He kept on mumbling to himself, “Ah, shadow, come along, too. Bed for both of us.” His shadow, and Mona’s too, did follow them down the staircase, bobbing on the wall in the light cast by the glowworms. Down, down, down Mona and Mr. Gibson went, past the kitchen, laundry, and staff bedrooms to the suites deep underground, nestled between the Heartwood’s roots. The hallway was darker here, earthy and cool. There were special vents that carried air from outside to keep the rooms just the right temperature. Too cold and the guests wouldn’t be able to sleep. Too warm and they might think it was spring and wake up early.

Don’t be a despairing Russian soldier. Never give up. Never lie down in the snow and wait for the end. Understand this – you are a perpetual motion machine. You will go on forever. You will never stop. There is no rest. You are a permanent becoming. You are trapped in Groundhog Day and you had better learn to love it since there’s no alternative. Once you fully understand that the purpose of Groundhog Day is to turn you into God an infinite number of times, how could you not find that the greatest news of all? No God could have whispered gladder tidings to you.

She ain't rubbed groundhog brains on her baby's sore teeth or needed to use the hen innards on the gums of her teething ones since. And after she read about a good paste recipe that cured thrush, Nestor said, none of her nine youngins ain't ever had to drink water from a stranger's shoe again to get the healin'.

I came to London to make my dreams come true - big, naive head on me at twenty-two. Going to work every day physically hurts.' I hadn't realised how strongly I felt about my lack of a career, my Groundhog Day existence, until I uttered those last two words and realised I wasn't exaggerating. A kind of agony wrapped me in its razor-edged wires every day as I cycled to the Sugar Pot, to Kenneth and to my hideaway cupboard; it was dull, like my skin was smeared with a strong numbing cream.

I came to London to make my dreams come true - big, naive head on me at twenty-two. Going to work every day physically hurts.' I hadn't realised how strongly I felt about my lack of a career, my Groundhog Day existence, until I uttered those last two words and realised I wasn't exaggerating. A kind of agony wrapped me in its razor-edged wires every day as I cycled to the Sugar Pot, to Kenneth and to my hideaway cupboard; it was dull, like my skin was smeared with a strong numbing cream.” - If Only

I came to London to make my dreams come true - big, naive head on me at twenty-two. Going to work every day physically hurts.' I hadn't realised how strongly I felt about my lack of a career, my Groundhog Day existence, until I uttered those last two words and realised I wasn't exaggerating. A kind of agony wrapped me in its razor-edged wires every day as I cycled to the Sugar Pot, to Kenneth and to my hideaway cupboard; it was dull, like my skin was smeared with a strong numbing cream." - from "If Only

The Soul-Hole (Note: icons in TSH do not necessarily match with formal meanings, they are decorative. There are multiple interprets–like the proverphorical layer cake. Enjoy the cuisine. Once dedicated to they who wish to stuff their pie holes on a diet of fattening sweet nothings). The Soul–Hole It was a soul It had a goal— (It had a notion–to fill its whole) Its desire was—to fill its hle It “dug” wholeheartedly its soul hole 5 To fill its soul and solely occupy the whole It tried all things to feed its hole— All sort O’ wants stuffed it–its black h●le The more it ❽ the more it famished— Ate its soul—all the more ravished 10 It thought it best Take More not less— Spaded it in–the meaningless Every shovel made Its hle got deep twice laid— 15 Struck it poor it did–its dirt well paid ◷ne scoop forward tw◑ depths deep Length doubles t◒◒—its emptying sØul–it keeps On the w(h)◎le, it went whole hog, To burrow its hole–this groundhog went agog— Furrowed it deep—to slop its façade The more it strode to trench its hole— A thimbleful empty⨟ no (front) end load (–Pssst! Its as if it got bit by a pire of soul— Yea, a soulpire sucked its swhoule dry— 25 Leaving 2wö more empty holes) It filled but missed It labored in bliss Found it it—it abyssed In dread and fearh it stoked its hole 30 With joyous tear it looped its knot whole Broke its soil with useless toil All–to–make it—it–assoiled Other: “do it have a h ◙ le in its •ead?—? It needs to fill its head h⌻le–like a hole in its head (—Fill ⎌ its h