Pod Racing Quotes

Hey, as long as you’re not moving the story forward at all, why not have a pod race?

Other runners try to disassociate from fatigue by blasting iPods or imagining the roar of the crowd in Olympic Stadium, but Scott had a simpler method: it’s easy to get outside yourself when you’re thinking about someone else.

Advice" I must do as you do? Your way I own Is a very good way, and still, There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, One over, one under the hill. You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, That the prudent choose each time; And you think me reckless and rash to-day Because I prefer to climb. Your path is the right one, and so is mine. We are not like peas in a pod, Compelled to lie in a certain line, Or else be scattered abroad. 'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend, If we all just went one way; Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, Though they lead apart today. You like the shade, and I like the sun; You like an even pace, I like to mix with the crowd and run, And then rest after the race. I like danger, and storm, and strife, You like a peaceful time; I like the passion and surge of life, You like its gentle rhyme. You like buttercups, dewy sweet, And crocuses, framed in snow; I like roses, born of the heat, And the red carnation's glow. I must live my life, not yours, my friend, For so it was written down; We must follow our given paths to the end, But I trust we shall meet--in town.

Lano mi ovázal kolem pasu a pevně ho utáhl. "Běž!" křikl. Opřel jsem se proti lanu, zabral nohama a táhl do dopředu. Když lano povolil, vystřelil jsem jako z praku. "Dobře," pochválil mě. "Kdykoli poběžíš, vzpomeň si na ten pocit tahu proti lanu. Udržíš tak nohy pod tělem, boky budou směřovat přímo dopředu a paty se nezapojí.

Back in the twentieth century, we thought that robots would have taken over by this time, and, in a way, they have. But robots as a race have proved disappointing. Instead of getting to boss around underlings made of steel and plastic with circuitry and blinking lights and tank treads, like Rosie the maid on The Jetsons, we humans have outfitted ourselves with robotic external organs. Our iPods dictate what we listen to next, gadgets in our cars tell us which way to go, and smartphones finish our sentences for us. We have become our own robots.

They needed to rethink their technology, but they would preserve their DNA. After six months of discussion, Jobs finally became curious enough to give the effort his blessing, and two different teams were off to the races in an experiment to test whether they should add calling capabilities to the iPod or turn the Mac into a miniature tablet that doubled as a phone. Just four years after it launched, the iPhone accounted for half of Apple’s revenue.

It seems that all the wondrous influences that have coalesced to produce myriad life forms are irrelevant and can be trashed at will in a pointless race to produce ever more things ever more quickly.

Recipte for the Eyaws Take 1 pint of hogs Lard 1 handfull of earth worms 1 handfull of Tobacco 4 pods of Red pepper 1 spunfull of Black pepper 1 Race of Ginger Stew them well together, & when Applyed mix Sum Sperits of Brandy with it.

When they become slaves to thoughts that pull them down they fall into another kind of slavery and no one can emancipate them from such bondage as that except themselves—not even a Lincoln. I say this because there is an increasing tendency among the youth of both races to assume that a system of government will unload them of all responsibilities for the care of aged parents, for sicknesses and accidents—often due to their own carelessness and neglect—and for their periods of unemployment, no matter how much their condition is due to laziness or failure to co-operate with others. I see this every day. ‘Let the government do it,’ they say, ignoring the fact that, in a democracy, they themselves help pay for the government’s disbursements. It looks to me at this time as if they wish to declare not their independence, but their dependence upon the government from the cradle to the grave.

As the sun was coming up over the horizon, Willy shook himself awake. He had slept safely between his parents in the middle of their pod, where all the little ones slept. He wanted to swim and stretch and jump out of the water like he had seen the adult whales jump. Willy bumped into the other whales around him as he stretched. Some of them were young ones and when they awoke, they shook and stretched, bumping against the adults. Eventually, the entire pod awoke and began moving around for the day. They would soon be moving toward food. Willy joined with three young whales as they swam to the top for air. They blew out the cold air through their blowholes and took in deep breaths before submersing again. But this time, each of them went down deep, then turned around and raced for the surface. As they broke through the surface, their bodies kept climbing toward the big blue sky. Willy was still small, so he was able to jump higher than the adult whales.

It’s one of the great privileges of adulthood to know that there’s nothing commonplace in watching a minke whale breaching a few metres from your boat, with its calf following shortly after; or in watching a pod of dolphins racing in front of the bow, twelve of them jumping out of the water in a synchronised wave. All this life—all this survival—in the deepest cold.

The shapes I seemed to see - or saw, for if a man sees visions with the interior sight he sees them, fo himself at least, as surely as if he saw them with the outward eye - loomed lofty and gigantic, and peopled once again Menteith with riders, as it was peopled in the past. The shadowy and ill-starred earls, their armour always a decade out of fashion, and now and then surmounted by a Highland bonnet set with an eagle's feather, giving them the air half of the Saxon half of the Kelt, their horses lank and ill-groomed, their followers talking in shrill Gaelic seemed to defile along the road. Their blood was redder than the King's, their purses lighter than an empty bean-pod after harvest, and still they had an air of pride, but all looked "fey", as if misfortune had set its seal upon their race.