Playground Fun Quotes

Steampunk is...a joyous fantasy of the past, allowing us to revel in a nostalgia for what never was. It is a literary playground for adventure, spectacle, drama, escapism and exploration. But most of all it is fun!

Falling in love is sudden, easy, and fun. It’s like a child going down a playground slide. Falling out of love is slow, difficult, and painful. It’s like watching a child die of cancer. ~ Ben Davis, Sr.

What had I done? Where was my fun? I wanted play, I wanted sun, he was the opposite —I called him Zum because he’s an un-fun, the sort of mean-fun bully on the playground-fun. Mean Mr. Zum. This was madness, this was badness this was sadness this was too much un-fun-ness.

He had judged the Holly situation and knew how to join in the fun like a girl on the playground jumping into a double Dutch competition.

Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean we should grow up! The world’s a playground for us, Melody, and I for one intend to play!

And so I would like to thank you. You taught me, again and again again and again and again, not to dream of you. And I listened. I am silent. These words are not words of love, but of the silence that will remain when I walk away when this letter is done. I have listened and I do not continue to imagine our love, for it was not love. You were too busy walking a flowered path, and it was my misstep that I thought we had something more than an hour’s fun for you. Thank you, for clarifying for me what love is not. Love is no thing, and nothing is a gift, space is a playground, and time and distance are merely peaks and valleys in the topography of real love. And I would remind you: I am not one of your fans. For I know what I deserve, and it is one who is not afraid of fear. Love does not require this map: it makes its way across the miles. Love does not heed the time; it is not rooted in the months of one or two moons. Love is not bothered by obstacles—they form the high sides to the left and right of this rocky path. This path does not depend upon external signs: love will find its own way.

We also need to recognize that not all stress is bad, that children require challenges and risk as well as safety. It is natural to want to protect our children, but we need to ask ourselves when the desire for risk-free childhoods has gone too far. The safest playground, after all, would have no swings, no steep slides, no rough surfaces, no trees, no other children—and no fun. Children’s brains are shaped by what they do slowly and repeatedly over time. If they don’t have the chance to practice coping with small risks and dealing with the consequences of those choices, they won’t be well prepared for making larger and far more consequential decisions.

Yes, life is a playground, its fun and wonderful unless you're careless, then you're going to fall off the monkey bars and break your neck.

But I hung on, like a tiny four-year-old grasping the curved bars of a playground merry-go-round when someone's older cousin spins it too fast. YAY, THIS IS FUN, KINDA!

How is it?" I ask as we stroll towards the dressing rooms. "Working at the playground. That must be fun." "Sure, they're just adorable," she says, "For the first five minutes. And then I want to wring their adorable little necks." I stop, shocked. "I always figured you loved kids." "Yeah, no." Kayla shakes her head emphatically. "One kid, I can do, even two-- just stick them in front of a Disney movie, let them play Xbox all night. But a herd of them?" She shudders.

This was the sort of challenge that delighted Hearst, who, according to one who knew him well, regarded journalism as 'an enchanted playground in which giants and dragons were to be slain simply for the fun of the thing.

Fascism offered false solutions, simplistically blaming groups such as Jews and Communists for complex problems such as unemployment and crime. She made merciless fun of the concept of the triumph of the will, likening the Führer and the Duce to playground bullies. They claimed popular support, but banned all opposition.

I've heard people talk about the circle of life. What comes around goes around and other such contiguous descriptions. But I think life is a seesaw, the kind that used to populate every children's playground. Seesaws rarely balance. They're usually in motion, either flinging you up or dropping you down. They can be fun or they can be terrifying - a lot of it depends on the other person.

The notion of finding “a body in the library” of a country house was another trope of the genre. Christie had fun with it in The Body in the Library, where the corpse is found in Gossington Hall, owned by Miss Marple’s cronies, Colonel Arthur Bantry and his wife Dolly. But profound changes were taking place in British society as war was followed by peace-time austerity, and high taxes made it impossible for many families to cling on to old houses that were cripplingly expensive to run. Country house parties fell out of fashion, and although traditional whodunits continued to be written and enjoyed, detective novelists could not altogether ignore the reality. The scale of upheaval is apparent in another Marple story, The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side, published twenty years after The Body in the Library. Gossington Hall has been sold off, and been run as a guest house, divided into flats, bought by a government body, and finally snapped up for use as a rich woman’s playground by a much-married film star. Her entourage provides a “closed circle” of suspects suited to the Sixties.

I had started climbing trees about three years earlier, or rather, re-started; for I had been at a school that had a wood for its playground. We had climbed and christened the different trees (Scorpio, The Major Oak, Pegagsus), and fought for their control in territorial conflicts with elaborate rules and fealties. My father built my brother and me a tree house in our garden, which we had defended successfully against years of pirate attack. In my late twenties, I had begun to climb trees again. Just for the fun of it: no ropes, and no danger either. In the course of my climbing, I learned to discriminate between tree species. I liked the lithe springiness of silver birch, the alder and the young cherry. I avoided pines -- brittle branches, callous bark -- and planes. And I found that the horse chestnut, with its limbless lower trunk and prickly fruit, but also its tremendous canopy, offered the tree-climber both a difficulty and an incentive.

Marlboro Man and I walked together to our vehicles--symbolically parked side by side in the hotel lot under a cluster of redbud trees. Sleepiness had definitely set in; my head fell on his shoulder as we walked. His ample arms gripped my waist reassuringly. And the second we reached my silver Camry, the temperature began to rise. “I can’t wait till tomorrow,” he said, backing me against the door of my car, his lips moving toward my neck. Every nerve receptor in my body simultaneously fired as his strong hands gripped the small of my back; my hands pulled him closer and closer. We kissed and kissed some more in the hotel parking lot, flirting dangerously with taking it a step--or five--further. Out-of-control prairie fires were breaking out inside my body; even my knees felt hot. I couldn’t believe this man, this Adonis who held me so completely and passionately in his arms, was actually mine. That in a mere twenty-four hours, I’d have him all to myself. It’s too good to be true, I thought as my right leg wrapped around his left and my fingers squeezed his chiseled bicep. It was as if I’d been locked inside a chocolate shop that also sold delicious chardonnay and french fries…and played Gone With the Wind and Joan Crawford movies all day long--and had been told “Have fun.” He was going to be my own private playground for the rest of my life. I almost felt guilty, like I was taking something away from the world. It was so dark outside, I forgot where I was. I had no sense of geography or time or space, not even when he took my face in his hands and touched his forehead to mine, closing his eyes, as if to savor the powerful moment. “I love you,” he whispered as I died right there on the spot. It wasn’t convenient, my dying the night before my wedding. I didn’t know how my mom was going to explain it to the florist. But she’d have to; I was totally done for. I’d had half a glass of wine all evening but felt completely inebriated. When I finally arrived home, I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I was intoxicated--drunk on a cowboy. A cowboy who, in less than twenty-four hours, would become my husband.

All right there, mate?’ Clark jumped and turned round. He straightened up and looked at Billy, recognition taking a few seconds. Billy’s hair was shorter now, and his face was tanned. ‘Christ, you startled me,’ he said. ‘What have you got there?’ Clark held up the jar by a piece of tatty string. ‘Sticklebacks!’ For a moment his blue eyes shone with excitement, then they clouded over. He ran a wet hand through his red hair and swept it off his face. His freckles were more pronounced than usual, and for a moment Billy saw him as an eleven-year-old again. He felt his throat constrict, which made his next sentence a strangled croak. ‘We had fun, didn’t we, Clark?’ Clark snorted and set the jar of fish down on a large stone. He waded out of the water and sat down heavily on the bank. Billy edged closer and then tentatively sat down next to him. ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ said Clark. ‘Look, Clark. Can’t we be friends again?’ ‘Can’t we be friends again?’ mimicked Clark. ‘We’re not in the school playground now, Billy.’ ‘Why did you come here?’ asked Billy. Clark thought for a moment. ‘To reflect.’ He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a brown envelope. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting it into Billy’s hands. Billy opened the envelope and stared at the contents. ‘You’ve been called up?’ ‘Military training,’ explained Clark. Billy knew it was only a matter of time. Since Parliament had passed the Act in April, all men aged twenty and twenty-one were required to undertake six months’ military training. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Clark, look …’ He passed the envelope back. ‘How’s Chrissie?’ asked Clark, looking Billy directly in the eye. Billy was taken by surprise at the sudden mention of her name and picked at a blade of grass. ‘She’s fine, thanks. In fact she’s with me now, over there.’ Clark looked in the direction of Billy’s finger and Chrissie slid out sheepishly from behind a tree.

Hah, try conducting yourself with coltish munchkins on the playground. Children were our argotic nemesis. They had no sense of propriety. Without any approval whatsoever, they would cobble together words of unknown meaning. They would make up idioms laced with sexual contexts, bathroom humor, and secret signals. Most were unintelligible, seductively cryptic. Every time we erased one slang anathema, the children would create two more. Sometimes I think they were poking fun at us.

together in town, each one on a separate little strip of paper. Then, we rolled up all the little strips and placed them inside our “fun jar.” Now, every Friday afternoon, we simply pull an activity from the fun jar and do it. Sometimes we’ll visit a museum, while other times we’ll play in the park or visit a highly rated ice cream parlor across town. That time is reserved just for us. Truth be told, the fun jar idea doesn’t always work as smoothly as I’d like. It’s hard for me to muster up the energy to head to the playground when New York’s temperatures fall below freezing. On those days, a cup of hot cocoa and a couple of chapters of Harry Potter sound way more inviting for us both. What’s important, though, is that I’ve made it a priority in my weekly schedule to live up to my values. Having this time in my schedule allows me to be the dad that I envision myself to be.

Remember that when our children come to us with a problem, they want to be heard, understood, and accepted. We can demonstrate that we hear them through reflective listening—reflecting back the content and the feelings behind what they said. You could say something like: “Oh, honey, you’re really feeling bad! It’s no fun on the playground at all right now.

My brain is screaming at me to go back to Mallory and the others, but my feet are already walking toward the fun house.

Yes, most people do network marketing every day, but they fail to get paid for their recommending and promoting efforts. Here are a few more examples: - Recommending a playground for the children. - Recommending a hotel with a great view. - Recommending an upcoming concert. - Recommending a fun activity for the weekend. - Recommending a brand of clothes. - Recommending your beautician. - Recommending an airline. - Recommending a lawyer. - Recommending a dentist. - Recommending your favorite evening television show. - Recommending a fat-free dessert. - Recommending a great view. - Recommending a music teacher. - Recommending some exciting night clubs.

Flomaton suddenly felt like ancient history. Blooming honeysuckle mingled with a stink from the belching paper mill you could taste in the back of your throat. I tripped on a pair of tree roots diving in and out of the sandy ground like barky sea serpents. Luckily, I didn’t fall or drop the bags. From where I stood, I could see the railroad tracks curving around the bend of pine trees on Muscogee. When I was a boy, Grandpa would take me here to watch trains carry cargo to the paper mill. I remembered him holding my hand as they rumbled by. As I got older, watching trains was no longer fun. My imagination craved make-believe, and the yard was a creative playground for Tyler and me. We used to lay tracks, build forts and secret outposts, and raise all kinds of holy hell with our own version of World War II as the backdrop. And this beautiful oak tree I’d climbed many times as a child. Spanish moss covered most of the branches now. Hattie once told me the gray draping mosses in these trees were memorials for lost and forgotten souls, as if all the nearby dead in unmarked graves had heaved themselves into the branches for the wind to remember. Hattie called them Graveyard Trees.

Practice: Explore Denotation Take a few minutes to unpack your word hoard, then read the words slowly, out loud. Listen as if you were encountering these words for the first time. Mark any words that you feel curious about, that spark the question What does that word mean? The words you mark don’t have to be words you’ve never used. Sometimes it’s fun to pick a familiar word and look it up. Now select one or more of the words you marked. Look up their meanings in the dictionary. What do you notice? Is this what you thought these words meant? If you own a second dictionary, look up some of your words in that one, too. Are there any differences in the definitions? If you like, write down the definitions in your notebook. Now, with the dictionary meanings of your words in mind, experiment with using some of these words in sentences. What do you notice? Try reading your sentences out loud. You can also make words your own by using them in conversation. Practice: At Play in the Dictionary Take some time to browse the pages of your dictionary. When a word catches your attention, write it down in your notebook, along with its definition(s). Now use the word in a sentence. What do you notice in doing this practice? Practice: Verify the Meanings of Words As you read, take note of words you like whose meanings elude you. Look up those words in a dictionary, then make sentences with them. Practice: At Play in a Thesaurus English, someone once wrote, is the only language that needs a thesaurus. That's because English has so many synonyms. To spend some time browsing in a thesaurus is to be amazed by the wealth of words in English—more words than any writer, no matter how prolific, could ever use in a lifetime. Like a dictionary, a thesaurus is a wonderful playground for writers who want to exercise their word minds and build their word hoards. Give yourself some time, when you can, to simply flip the pages of a thesaurus and browse its entries. Take note of the words you like; collect them into your notebook, if you wish. Try using them in sentences.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to go back to the girl I was before stepping foot inside that fucking carnival. He's ruined me. Broken me so that nothing normal will ever feel right again. Tiny fragments of me are scattered across that place, just like the shards of glass that cover the floor of the fun house.

Fortunately, a few educators and parents are pushing back with “dangerous” playgrounds that encourage creativity and risk and the “free-range parenting” movement.50 Want to raise a bold, brilliant, original thinker? Permit your children to explore alone, take risks, and experience failure. Let them have fun and break the rules once in a while. It’s more work, worry, and pain for parents, yes, but the ultimate outcome will be better. As Steve Jobs once wondered, “Why join the navy when you can be a pirate?

I just realised I haven’t asked what you do for a living.’ Laura’s words brought me back to the office. ‘I am an actuary,’ I said. ‘Well, I gave my notice two weeks ago.’ ‘Because of YouMeFun?’ I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know about this park at the time. I resigned because I couldn’t stand watching my workplace turn into a playground. Then I inherited one.’ Was Laura Helanto smiling? I didn’t think I’d said anything amusing. She had raised a hand in front of her mouth. When she lowered it again, her expression was neutral.

So how old will you be?’ Madam Mizue asked mischievously. ‘Forty.’ ‘Ah, how nice. Finally you’re ready to do all kinds of things. Have fun, the playground is big.

I’m standing with other parents in the school playground. A misery of humans, huddled, hunched, and wet. Our golf umbrellas are only helping the top half of our bodies. Even though the storm has passed, the wind is still whipping up the rain, our legs are soaked. And isn’t it fun standing in wet feet?

Confetti Fun Center in New Springfield, OH, is the premier destination for family fun and kids' parties. With attractions like Toddler Town, inflatable bounce houses, climbing walls, a 3-story playground, and a full arcade, it offers endless entertainment. Stress-free party planning with customizable themes, a cafe, and various activities like mini-golf and laser tag ensures memorable experiences for all ages. Located in the historic Hummel Gift Shop, it's the go-to place for joyous celebrations and adventures.

I know I shouldn’t do this. Trust me, I do. But the demented bastard I call my cock is screaming for me to take little miss perfect and give her exactly what she’s asking for. So I have to do it. Them’s the rules. This should be fun.

Their normal children generally play on the scrubby bit of grass in front of the playground fence, falling over each other like a mass of puppies in racing-green sweatshirts. Evie regards them with disdain, Thomas with envy and fear. He has inherited a double dose of physical ineptitude from his parents and knows he would be killed if he joined in.

There is only one rule on this Wild Playground. . . . ‘Have fun, my dear; my dear, have fun.’” — HAFIZ, PERSIAN POET

I don't know if I'll ever be able to go back to the girl I was before stepping foot inside that fucking carnival. He's ruined me. Broken me so that nothing normal will ever feel right again. Tiny fragments of me are scattered across that place, just like the shards of glass that cover the floor of the fun house.

For all you dirty little sluts out there who like your book boyfriends a little unhinged… ready to have some fun? Harper You liked being called a dirty little slut, huh? Wren

What’s your limit, huh? You gonna let me cut you up? Tie you up and leave you hanging? Beat you? Choke you until you pass out? Or does it not matter, as long as I keep my eyes on your face and my cock in your cunt? That’s fucking pathetic. You’re pathetic. And not worth my time. I could do much better than you. What about your friend? What was her name? Mallory? Yeah, why don’t you call her? Bet she’s a lot more fun. You’re just a disgusting little freak.

Whether you know it or not, she writes, your life has just taken off in an amazing direction. I know this because my life is doing the same thing. Also I don’t know if you’ve ever really thought about this, but the more fun you have, the better you are at life. At five o’clock, she writes, I doubt if those Puritans who have raised you have let you in on a little secret: The whole universe is your playground. You were meant to be happy.

So how old will you be?” Madam Mizue asked mischievously. “Forty.” “Ah, how nice. Finally you’re ready to do all kinds of things. Have fun, the playground is big.

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