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.

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.

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.

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 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.

I’m so tired to talking to Boomers or Gen X and they’ll say “y’know growing up was as hard for us as it was for you guys. We had Watergate, the Vietnam War and the oil crisis.” I had to mandatorially read 5 books on the Vietnam war in the school system and none on any other wars. If I have to hear about how Watergate was generationally traumatic I’ll die. Sure. That stuff happened. You didn’t have mass labor discrimination against your race so you couldn’t get hired at any good work, especially not promoted. 95% of new job positions at major corporations go to ethnic minorities. 80% of men in their young 20s weren’t single. 1/3 of men under 30 weren’t virgins or sexless. You couldn’t have your entire life destroyed for looking at a girl in the gym or hitting on your coworker or in a coffeeshop. Rent wasn’t 70% of your income and affording a home was possible. Boomers in their 20s literally had 90% more spending power than Gen Z. You didn’t have to deal with ritual humiliation as a white man in the education, work and entertainment space. Your entire identity wasn’t discriminated against in every cultural form. You didn’t have to say you’re evil for your skin tone to be accepted socially. You weren’t allowed to not play outside alone as a kid due to helicopter parenting. Schools weren’t ideological indoctrination. People went outside and weren’t glued to their screens. Mental health issues weren’t rippling across the population where most young people have at least one psychological issue. 80% of people your age didn’t suffer chronic loneliness or anxiety. Your governments weren’t openly stating cultural suicide as their dominant goal. The elites hadn’t decided that you would live in a pod, eat bugs and own nothing. The major political parties hadn’t questioned the last two elections. Half the states in the country hadn’t questioned the central authority militarily. Most countries in the Western world still had freedom of speech and weren’t jailing thousands of political dissidents. Making an edgy joke wouldn’t send you to jail. There wasn’t a question of what a man or woman was. The government didn’t fund people’s desires to change people’s sex. Political pundits didn’t say violence was the only logical solution. You used to be able to be friends with people of different political views. The reason I state all of this is that things aren’t normal. We pretend they are but things are not ok now. It happened slow enough that people cope they are. We’re not in the same America as the Simpsons or John Hughes. We’re in a cyberpunk dystopia combined with the 17th century.

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.