Hardest Climb Quotes

This mountain’s of such sort that climbing it is hardest at the start; but as we rise, the slope grows less unkind.

Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.

Keep moving through valleys to find your sight, As the dark becomes the light, Keep moving up mountains to find your strength, As you climb the hardest length.

The hardest part of autism is the communication challenge. I feel depressed often by my inability to speak. I talk in my mind, but my mind doesn’t talk to my mouth. It’s frustrating even though I can communicate by pointing now. Before I could, it was like a solitary confinement. It was terrible having experts talk to each other about me, and to hear them be wrong in their observations and interpretations, but to not be capable of telling them.

Great men must go through great pain The strongest storms The hardest rain The toughest climbs The roughest terrain Great men must go through great pain

Well said!!! The best view comes after the hardest climb and to reach to the peak one has to cross many tiny foothills.

That’s the hardest thing about being a parent,” she explains. “Living through heartache, bearing your struggles, learning the hard lessons the hard way, and enduring years of climbing a wall only to fall back down and have to start all over again . . .” She holds my eyes, and her voice is weighted with sadness. “The tears, the waiting, the zero sense of who the hell you are, and then one day . . .” Her voice grows lighter and she looks happy. “You wake up, and finally you’re exactly the person you’ve always wanted to be. Strong, decisive, resolute, kind, brave . . . But then you also look in the mirror and you’re fifty-eight.” An

We have a choice in our lives. We can be content with where we are, or we can set goals and continue to push ourselves beyond our limits. I’m ready to keep doing that. I want to be the first person with cerebral palsy to climb the tallest free-standing mountain in the world.

When the Path Is Blocked When the path is blocked, back up and see more of the way. We are each a mountain for the other to climb, and often our path to love is interrupted by a mishap or a problem or something unexpected that needs attending. We tend to call these unexpected things in life “obstacles.” Often the thing in the way comes from another person: a stubbornness falls like a tree blocking where we want to go, or a sadness comes like a flash flood to muddy the road between us, or just as we go to rest in the clearing we have prepared, we are bitten by something hiding in the undergrowth. Thus, in daily ways, we have this constant choice: to see each other as the stubborn, muddy, biting thing that blocks our way, or to back up and take in the whole person as we would a mountain in its entirety, dizzy when looking up into its majesty. When we are blocked in our closeness with another, we have this constant opportunity: to raise our eyes and behold each other completely, then to kneel and lift the fallen tree, or cross the flooded path, or pluck and toss the biting thing. We have the chance to keep climbing, so we might cup the water that runs from each other, so we might quench our thirst as from a mountain stream, knowing that love like water comes softly through the hardest places.

And he to me: This mountain's of such sort that climbing it is hardest at the start; but as we rise, the slope grows less unkind

Dear Herr N., Nobody can set right a mismanaged life with a few words. But there is no pit you cannot climb out of provided you make the right effort at the right place. When one is in a mess like you are, one has no right any more to worry about the idiocy of one’s own psychology, but must do the next thing with diligence and devotion and earn the goodwill of others. In every littlest thing you do in this way you will find yourself. [Everyone has] to do it the hard way, and always with the next, the littlest, and the hardest things. Yours truly, C.G. Jung

It may not be as visible a mark of your class as bad teeth, but a history of violence being acted upon you by those you love is just as effective at keeping you from climbing too high. Violence isn’t so much a belief system as it is a symptom. The Bible only serves to provide a necessary excuse, because the truth is, you can’t afford the cure for the disease you inherited. It was passed down from your parents who still don’t believe in therapy. They inherited it from their dads who came back from France with shattered nerves and screamed at night, sucked it up and went to work.

Ever since I can remember I have loved climbing trees. Getting higher and higher, pushing the limits of what was 'safe' or 'smart'. The hardest part was never getting up there, I could always find a way. The difficult part, the challenging part, was getting down. Not just returning to earth foot by foot, inch by inch, but the actual act of hanging above the ground and letting go. I've always had a problem with it, always second guessed that I was going to come down wrong. I always hang for a moment longer than I need to before I remember that sometimes you just have to let go and hope for the best

Make out a schedule for yourself, on paper if necessary, that requires you to be busy with housework or anything else while your baby is awake. Go at it with a great bustle—to impress your baby and to impress yourself. Say you are the mother of a baby boy who has become accustomed to being carried all the time. When he frets and raises his arms, explain to him in a friendly but very firm tone that this job and that job must get done this afternoon. Though he doesn’t understand the words, he does understand the tone of voice. Stick to your busywork. The first hour of the first day is the hardest. One baby accepts the change better if his mother stays out of sight a good part of the time at first and talks little. This helps him to become absorbed in something else. Another adjusts more quickly if he can at least see his mother and hear her talking to him, even if she won’t pick him up. When you bring him a plaything or show him how to use it, or when you decide it’s time to play with him, sit down beside him on the floor. Let him climb into your arms if he wants, but don’t get back into the habit of walking him around. If you’re on the floor with him, he can crawl away when he eventually realizes you won’t walk. If you pick him up and walk him, he’ll surely object noisily just as soon as you start to put him down again. If he keeps on fretting indefinitely when you sit with him on the floor, remember another job and get busy again. What you are trying to do is to help your baby begin to build frustration tolerance—a little at a time. If she does not begin to learn this gradually between six and twelve months, it is a much harder lesson to learn later on.

At the end of the ridge we leaned on our ice axes and looked up. Above us was the legendary Hillary Step, the forty-foot ice wall that formed one of the mountain’s most formidable hurdles. Cowering from the wind, I tried to make out a route up it. This ice face was to be our final and hardest test. The outcome would determine whether we would join those few who have touched that hallowed ground above. If so, I would become only the thirty-first British climber ever to have done this. The ranks were small. I started up cautiously. It was a long way to come to fall here. Points in. Ice axe in. Test them. Then move. It was slow progress, but it was progress. And steadily I moved up the ice. I had climbed steep pitches like this so many times before, but never twenty-nine thousand feet up in the sky. At this height, in this rarefied thin air, and with 40 mph of wind trying to blow us off the ice, I was struggling. Again. I stopped and tried to steady myself. Then I made that old familiar mistake--I looked down. Beneath me, either side of the ridge, the mountain dropped away into abysses. Idiot, Bear. I tried to refocus on only what was in front of me and above. Up. Keep moving up. So I kept climbing. It was the climb of my life, and nothing was going to stop me.

I woke in bed, sweating and breathing heavily. It was the third time I’d had this nightmare: reliving that horrible feeling of falling, out of control, toward the ground. I was now on month two of just lying there prone, supposedly recovering. But I wasn’t getting any better. In fact, if anything, my back felt worse. I couldn’t move and was getting angrier and angrier inside. Angry at myself; angry at everything. I was angry because I was shit-scared. My plans, my dreams for the future hung in shreds. Nothing was certain any more. I didn’t know if I’d be able to stay with the SAS. I didn’t even know if I’d recover at all. Lying unable to move, sweating with frustration, my way of escaping was in my mind. I still had so much that I dreamt of doing. I looked around my bedroom, and the old picture I had of Mount Everest seemed to peer down. Dad’s and my crazy dream. It had become what so many dreams become--just that--nothing more, nothing less. Covered in dust. Never a reality. And Everest felt further beyond the realms of possibility than ever. Weeks later, and still in my brace, I struggled over to the picture and took it down. People often say to me that I must have been so positive to recover from a broken back, but that would be a lie. It was the darkest, most horrible time I can remember. I had lost my sparkle and spirit, and that is so much of who I am. And once you lost that spirit, it is hard to recover. And once you lose that spirit, it is hard to recover. I didn’t even know whether I would be strong enough to walk again--let alone climb or soldier again. And as to the big question of the rest of my life? That was looking messy from where I was. Instead, all my bottomless, young confidence was gone. I had no idea how much I was going to be able to do physically--and that was so hard. So much of my identity was in the physical. Now I just felt exposed and vulnerable. Not being able to bend down to tie your shoelaces or twist to clean your backside without acute and severe pain leaves you feeling hopeless. In the SAS I had both purpose and comrades. Alone in my room at home, I felt like I had neither. That can be the hardest battle we ever fight. It is more commonly called despair. That recovery was going to be just as big a mountain to climb as the physical one. What I didn’t realize was that it would be a mountain, the mountain, that would be at the heart of my recovery. Everest: the biggest, baddest mountain in the world.

The hardest part of climbing isn't going up, it's coming down.

a simple but stark criterion: the number of climbers who successfully reach the summit compared to the number who die on the mountain. For Everest, the ratio turns out to be seven to one. For K2, which has the reputation of being the hardest and most dangerous of the high peaks, the ratio is a little over three to one. But for Annapurna, it’s exactly two to one. For every two climbers who get to the top, one climber dies trying.

The hardest wall you will have to climb is the one you've built within your mind.

You’ve climbed higher mountains than I ever had to climb, but you have one more mountain to climb, and you know it. The past is always the highest peak, and the hardest to scale. But when you finally pull yourself to the top and peer over the edge, there’s nothing before you but the rest of your life.

Any athlete who experienced race-level effort completely out of context would instantly regain full respect for its awfulness. If a runner were to suddenly experience the same level of effort she felt during the last mile of her hardest marathon while climbing a flight of steps at home, for example, she would probably fall to the floor and call for help, believing she was dying.

We can double back now to the examples we discussed earlier, of mountain climbing, war, and raising children, and we can see how they fit our criteria. They all involve an impactful goal (this is hardest to see in the case of mountain climbing, but certainly the climbers themselves see it as impactful). They extend over a long period of time and involve a series of events; they have a narrative structure. When it comes to the optional criteria, they match some but not others: they are all social, and some are seen as morally valuable (again, mountain climbing the least of all), but, while religion can infuse all of these activities, it doesn’t have to.

The world is a hard place to live in, but along the way, you might just find someone, or several people, to travel the path with you, lightening your load and making it worthwhile. The climb is always the hardest, but the view from the top of the mountain is so worth

the best view comes after the hardest climb!" Believe in yourself, take on your challenges, dig deep within yourself to conquer your fears!

The top is only half way. And climbing down is frequently the hardest part of the climb.

Men are indeed wretched... Everything beautiful happens without them. Cholera and catchwords are what they make. The foam with jealousy or die of boredom, which comes down to the same thing, if they're not allowed to interfere. And whenever they do interfere, there's a premium on hypocrisy and raving. One need only be up here o in the wilderness that I rode through the other day, to realize where the true battles lie, to become very particular about the victories one strives for. In short, to cease being content with little. As soon as you're alone, things lay hold of you by themselves and always force you to take the roads that are hardest to climb. And even if you don't get there, what fine views you have, and how reassuring everything is.

But when I think of the hardest climbs I’ve done, in virtually every case what I remember is feeling relaxed, not really trying too hard, feeling like I was flowing.

Your past is just a story, and once you realize this, it has no power over you. Remember, the best views of the world come after the hardest climb.

The dockers were the hardest men in the world. Their guts were lined with coal dust and pitch. They came to work armed with blades, iron bars, bale-hooks, their own knuckle-dusters. They drank to wake up in the early houses before work. And they drank during work, washed down the world’s dirt and grit and fed the headaches. And after work when they went to collect their wages, in Paddy Clare’s or Jack Maher’s, the dockers’ pubs, they drank what was left in their hands after the stevedore had finished doing his sums. While their children starved - and their wives too, on top of being fucked by the stevedore after he’d drunk his cut of the wages or sold them back to Paddy Clare - the dockers drank themselves into fighting form and looked around for some poor goat to take the place of the stevedore. Glasses of whiskey went into the pints of porter. And God help any poor eejit who walked in on top of a roaring docker swinging his belt. Harmless men ended up in the river and some of them never climbed out; they went under the lock and fed the mullet. The dockers were beyond the law. They knew no rules except their own and the stevedore’s. They were heady company for a young man who’d been left all alone by the dead. And I started to keep up with them.

i built walls so high even i could not climb them convinced they were protection but they became a cage until i realized the hardest prison to escape is the one you create for yourself and the key is always in your hands

The best views come after the hardest climbs—always worth it!