Pole Vault Quotes

It's like practicing pole vaulting your entire life, and then getting to the olympics and saying, ‘what the hell did I want to jump over this stupid bar for?

Don't "pole-vault over mouse truds" - by the time you've discussed the many options available to you, the problem itself could have been long behind you had you simply disposed of those rodent droppings with a simple tissue and dumped them into the garbage!

The kiss was so consuming that Nick got lost in it, all his senses absorbed by it. It was still crazy to think this was the Doc he was kissing, to think he was getting turned on just sitting here and kissing Kelly. He would have to pole-vault over that hurdle too, because this was too damn good to pass up just because it was weird.

Years ago, when I was working on my master's thesis, I went to New York for a semester as an exchange student. What struck me most was the sky. On that side of the world, so far away from the North Pole, the sky is flat and gray, a one-dimensional universe. Here, the sky is arched, and there's almost no pollution. In spring and fall the sky is dark blue or violet, and sunsets last for hours. The sun turns into a dim orange ball that transforms clouds into silver-rimmed red and violet towers. In winter, twenty-four hours a day, uncountable stars outline the vaulted ceiling of the great cathedral we live in. Finnish skies are the reason I believe in God.

There are many people who could be Olympic champions. All-Americans who have never tried. I'd estimate more than 5 million people could have beaten me in the pole vault the years I won it... at least 5 million. Men that were stronger, bigger and faster than I was could have done it, but they never picked up a pole, never made the feeble effort to pick their legs off the ground trying to get over the bar.

That bitch.” Perry said. “Do you want me to go over there?” “No, I’ll take care of this.” I marched over and slammed my glass on the mahogany bar. Tiffany fake-smiled. “A psychic and a medium walk into a bar. The psychic says . . .” “Screw you.” She frowned. “That’s not how the joke goes, Clare.” “You know where you can shove your joke. Just get me a new drink and try not to include any of your STD-laced body fluid in it this time.” Tiffany dumped the soda out and began to repour. “I’d like a whole new glass.” She narrowed her eyes at me, then grunted as she reached for a new glass. “So how’s Justin?” she asked. I wanted to use an upended stool to pole vault over the bar and gouge her eyes out. Instead I took a deep breath and talked myself through it. Remain calm. Don’t sink to her level. You are a classy girl. She is a psychotic skankbag. You are the better of the two. Act like it. Okay, now I was calm. “I don’t know how Justin is and I don’t care.” “Really?” she said. “I thought you cared about him a lot.” Maybe she’s suicidal? That’s why she keeps inviting me to kill her? I fumbled with the coaster in front of me to keep my hands busy, since all they wanted to do at that moment was wrap themselves around her neck.

[S]till the Pole Star leers down from the same place in the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey.

The Vienna Boys Choir decked out in top hats and evil clown make-up could be directly next to me pole-vaulting over giant rotating knives and I'd never know because I'm gazing into the distance deliberating some vaguely imperceptible angst.

Deep sea fishing off Mexico can’t be beat! When you feel that old tug on your pole and that line goes whistling into the deep, that’s it brother! And, there is nothing quite like the way I feel about Wilbert burial vaults either. The combination of a ” pre-cast asphalt inner liner plus extra-thick, reinforced concrete provides the essential qualities for proper burial. My advice to you is, don’t get into “deep water” with burial vaults made of the new lightweight synthetic substitutes. Just keep “reeling in” extra profits by continuing to recommend WILBERT burial vaults....

From the pleasure podium of Ali Qapu, beyond the enhanced enclosure, the city spread itself towards the horizon. Ugly buildings are prohibited in Esfahan. They go to Tehran or stay in Mashhad. Planters vie with planners to outnumber buildings with trees. Attracting nightingales, blackbirds and orioles is considered as important as attracting people. Maples line the canals, reaching towards each other with branches linked. Beneath them, people meander, stroll and promenade. The Safavids' high standards generated a kind of architectural pole-vaulting competition in which beauty is the bar, and ever since the Persians have been imbuing the most mundane objects with design. Turquoise tiles ennoble even power stations. In the meadow in the middle of Naghshe Jahan, as lovers strolled or rode in horse-drawn traps, I lay on my back picking four-leafed clovers and looking at the sky. There was an intimacy about its grandeur, like having someone famous in your family. The life of centuries past was more alive here than anywhere else, its physical dimensions unchanged. Even the brutal mountains, folded in light and shadows beyond the square, stood back in awe of it. At three o'clock, the tiled domes soaked up the sunshine, transforming its invisible colours to their own hue, and the gushing fountains ventilated the breeze and passed it on to grateful Esfahanis. But above all was the soaring sky, captured by this snare of arches.(p378)

They'll be coming for you, Mr. Jones. They'll be coming any moment now. I hate to say this, but I must. It is my duty to warn you what will happen to you, an enemy spy. You'll be tortured, Mr. Jones—not simply everyday tortures like pulling out your teeth and toe-nails, but unspeakable tortures I can't mention with Miss Ellison here—and then you'll finish in the gas chambers. If you're still alive.' Mary clutched his arm. 'Would they—would they really do that?' 'Good God, no!' Smith stared at her in genuine surprise. 'What on earth would they want to do that for?' He raised his voice again: 'You'll die in a screaming agony, Mr. Jones, an agony beyond your wildest nightmares. And you'll take a long time dying. Hours. Maybe days. And screaming. Screaming all the time.' 'What in God's name am I to do?' The desperate voice from above was no longer quavering, it vibrated like a broken bed-spring. 'What can I do?' 'You can slide down that rope,' Smith said brutally. 'Fifteen feet. Fifteen little feet, Mr. Jones. My God, you could do that in a pole vault.' 'I can't.' The voice was a wail. 'I simply can't.' 'Yes, you can,' Smith urged. 'Grab the rope now, close your eyes, out over the sill and down. Keep your eyes closed. We can catch you.' 'I can't! I can't!' 'Oh God!' Smith said despairingly. 'Oh, my God! It's too late now.' 'It's too—what in heaven's name do you mean?' 'The lights are going on along the passage, Smith said, his voice low and tense. 'And that window. And the next. They're coming for you, Mr. Jones, they're coming now. Oh God, when they strip you off and strap you down on the torture table—' Two seconds later Carnaby-Jones was over the sill and sliding down the nylon rope. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. Mary said, admiringly: You really are the most fearful liar ever.' 'Schaffer keeps telling me the same thing,' Smith admitted. 'You can't all be wrong.

People tell jokes in the locker room about the pole vaulters. ‘When’s the best time to give a pole vaulter bad news?’” Cornelius pondered this for a moment, then gave up. “When?” he asked. “When he’s finished licking one end of the pole and is turning it around to lick the other end!” Kara said. “Even though I don’t really get it, that’s still pretty funny,

beak pillows or rat scarves

Kara fully accepted that her conscience might burst through the wall later in life, bearded, emaciated, and ready to wreak havoc on whatever successful position in life lacking a conscience had elevated her to. But as she gripped the pole, she had to admit it was a lot easier to focus on sports when you didn’t give a damn about anything in life that was actually important.

now that 9-Krelblax thought about it, were soon enough after the Secretary of War’s conviction for sleeping with an underage Piltrixian refugee to be in extremely poor taste. “An idle tentacle is a Piltrixian’s greatest ally.

Perhaps the saying should actually be that all folk wisdom has its roots in horniness.

It's probably best not to think about how horniness factored into a piece of folk wisdom that had to do with underutilized tentacles. Not while still processing all those front anuses.

the pole to Kara. “Sometimes there were so many of them I started calling in tips to Russian whalers,” Cornelius added. “Gotta pay the bills somehow. Now let’s quit messing around. Stick this jump and we’ll both earn a lot of money.

There was a brief, piercing scream as the moon began to set over HAWAll.

But every sign I saw just had the same stupid warning about endangered dolphin breeding habitats so I figured I still had a ways to go.

Attention ladies: My lower tentacles don’t extend past the two-inch mark.

Please pass along my greetings to your subordinates.

I’ll be quiet, sir,” Zzarvon said. He let the mass murder drop and went back to admiring his new pin. “Yo!

Let’s maybe avoid competing in the gymnastics events,” 9-Krelblax said. He sounded terrified. Zzarvon’s moodcore had gone white; he gulped and nodded in agreement.

Before the last Winter Olympics, a rumor had circulated around Kara’s middle school that in order to top the sheer scale and spectacle of the previous Olympics’ ceremony, the host country was actually going to throw someone into the mouth of an erupting volcano.

I’ve got a few years under my belt, Kara, and if I had to offer you one piece of advice, it would be to always say yes when a lunatic asks you if you are God. Best case scenario, you find yourself a willing servant. Worst case, you tell him that it is your will that he find a different seat on the city bus and leave you alone.

Careful there, Niner,” King Moho cautioned. “It’s bad luck if an alien passes out from hyperventilating in the middle of a luau.

Sounds desperate. I told him, ‘You can’t just talk the talk, you’ve got to walk the walk! Perform a couple of public ethnic cleansings, then you establish yourself as the go-to country for someone looking to commit a genocide!

Ever since the first caveman went out on a hunt and did not die horribly, thereupon learning that life was not, in fact, one unceasing string of negative events, hope has been a uniquely human condition. And, shortly after that caveman returned to his cave expecting his cavewife and cavebaby to greet him and instead found a saber-toothed tiger snacking on their bloody remains, disappointment has gone hand in hand with hope.

Really?” asked Zzarvon. “Is that one eligible for Make It A Meal Deal?

I bet there aren’t!” Zzarvon smiled.

Kara found herself wondering what the woman’s moodcore might look like if she were a Larvilkian. She thought there was a good chance it might just be a holographic projection of vultures picking at a dead horse.

Kara, has pole vault legend Verna Dickerson reached out to congratulate you yet?” “If I get you a pole, will you vault over that Sbarro right now?” “Where will you visit first, the White House or Disneyland?

You can’t just dump things at our feet when you want to go eat a goddamn panda. The working class are not your trash bin.

As the giant king ran towards Piper, Percy grabbed the tip of Porphyrion’s spear and forced it down into the ground. The giant’s own momentum lifted him off his feet in an unintentional pole-vault manoeuvre and he flipped over onto his back.

Cricket was a manly game. Manly masters spoke of the 'discipline of the hard ball'. Schools preferred manly games. Games were only manly if it was possible while playing them to be killed or drowned or at the very least badly maimed. Cricket could be splendidly dangerous. Tennis was not manly, and if a boy had asked permission to spend the afternoon playing croquet he would have been instantly punished for his 'general attitude'. Athletics were admitted into the charmed lethal circle as a boy could, with a little ingenuity, get impaled during the pole-vault or be decapitated by a discus and did a manly death. Fives were thought to be rather tame until one boy ran his head into a stone buttress and got concussion and another fainted dead away from heat and fatigue. Then everybody cheered up about fives.

My father is in a new version of Heaven. He hasn’t time to consider it yet, whether he is happy because he is hastening along the road with his father as day breaks, or just because he was asked to come and that now this is actually happening, or because he has been asked for a speech from Shakespeare and the phrases are coming like a long golden thread out of his mouth even before he has time to think of them. The words are there, and flow, as he works hard to, and now matches the long pole-vault strides of his father.

Now it takes a certain twist of mind to be able to write anything. And another twist to be able to write every day in a house that’s falling down around you with a mother who’s working her way through the wine cellar and a moist Bank Manager who’s expecting At the very least, Mrs Kittering-Swain, a gesture. My father had both twists. As Matty Nolan said about Father Foley, Poor Man, when he came back with the brown feet after thirty years in Africa, he was Far Gone. Virgil had that power of concentration that he passed on to me. He filled one Salmon Journal and started on the next. He went a bit Marcus Aurelius who (Book 746, Meditations, Penguin Classics, London) said men were born with various mania. Young Marcus’s was, he said, to make a plaything of imaginary events. Virgil Swain meet Marcus. Imaginary events, imaginary people, imaginary places, whatever you’re having yourself. Gold-medal Mania. I suppose it was just pole-vaulting really, only with a smaller pole. Point is, he was very Far Gone.

The decorative arms race finally caved in under the sheer absurdity of Augustus the Strong (1670–1733), the Elector of Saxony who, with money pouring in from his hideous porcelain factory and from defrauding the Poles (whose king through chicanery he had become), decided to go for broke. When many of his contemporaries were sharpening up and reforming their armies, he spent much of his revenue on mistresses, lovely palaces and daft trinkets. He was aided in this last aim by the services of the great Badenese goldsmith Johann Melchior Ding-linger, who blew astounding sums making such monstrosities as a giant cup made from a block of polished chalcedony, dripping with coloured enamels and metals and balanced on stag horns, or creating repulsive little statues of dwarves by decorating mutant pearls, or a mad but magnificent object called The Birthday of the Grand Mogul Aurangzeb in which dozens of tiny figures made from precious stones and metals fill the tiny court of the Mogul, itself made from all kinds of spectacular and rare stuff. This delirious thing (not paid for by Augustus for many years as the money sort of ran out when a Swedish invasion swept through a virtually undefended Saxony) simply ended the tradition. Looking at it today in the head-spinning Green Vault in Dresden, Dinglinger’s fantasy seems a long way from the relative, bluff innocence of a yellowy whale tooth in a little display box – but it was the same tradition endlessly elaborated. Aside

umping events are contested for height or distance. The jumps contested for height are called the vertical jumps, which include the high jump and the pole vault. The jumps contested for distance are known as the horizontal jumps, which include the running long jump, the standing long jump, and the triple jump. See table 9.1 for a list of the jumping events for each age group for both the USATF Junior Olympics and the Hershey's Track & Field Games.

Dodging left, he sucked his breath in at the distance to the next rooftop. If he missed that, it was going to hurt. Who wants to live forever? Ignoring his favorite motto whenever a dose of extreme stupidity was called for, he pulled his javelin off his belt and extended it so that he could use it to pole-vault over. He held his breath as he soared over the street so far below. Thankfully

That girl, the girl he had spent the afternoon with, the girl who had leapt off the sides of buildings and pole-vaulted off others, who had charmed Abu and shared an apple with him, was not some rich girl off for a jaunt or running away from home. She was a princess. The royal princess. Jasmine. Her eyes were black and hard. Her back was straight; her arms hung gracefully at her sides as if she had too much power even to need to put them on her hips or cross them in anger. Her diadem sparkled. "The princess...?" Aladdin said faintly. It was said that Jasmine was beautiful; it was said she was quick-witted. Both of these were without question true. It was also said that she was a witch with a tiger for a familiar. It was said she tore her suitors to shreds- verbally and, vis-a-vis the tiger, occasionally literally. "Princess Jasmine," Rasoul said immediately, lowering his eyes and bowing. "What are you doing outside the palace? And with this... Street Rat?" "That is none of your concern," Jasmine said. She put her hands on her hips and marched right up into the captain's space as if he was no more to her than an irritating camel. "Do as I command. Release him.

Founded in 1917 by Peter Brandal, it was named Ny-Ålesund or New Ålesund. The Svalbard Treaty of 1920 recognized Norwegian sovereignty and established Svalbard as a free economic zone and a demilitarized zone. It is only 769 miles from the North Pole on the island of Spitsbergen. Ny-Ålesund located at is on the largest and only permanently populated island of the Svalbard archipelago and holds the distinction of being the northernmost permanent settlement in the world. Owned by the Norwegian Ministry of Trade and Industry and is not incorporated, however it does have a port which accommodates cruise ships, an airport, a post office, the Svalbard church and the Norwegian Seamen's church. Ny-Ålesund has an all-year permanent population of 30 to 35 which expands to about 120 people in the summer. For accommodations there is the Nordpolhotell, opened on 3 September 1939, and considered the oldest and perhaps the most expensive place to stay in Ny Ålesund. In the 17th and 18th centuries the island was first used as a whaling base in the 17th and 18th centuries. Coal mining was started at the end of the 19th century. Now there are fifteen permanent research stations run by agencies from ten countries. Perhaps the best known is the Global Seed Vault. Deep inside a mountain, it was built to stand the test of time and is considered a fail-safe seed storage facility strong enough to face most natural or man-made disasters. It is also the center for international arctic scientific research.

But mostly Aladdin thought about Princess Jasmine. If he had never met her, he wouldn't have been thrown into prison by the royal guards, he wouldn't have fallen in with the crazy, oil old man, and he wouldn't be there now, trying to dig himself out of a black, suffocating pit in the middle of the desert. And still he wouldn't have changed a thing. He thought about her eyes when she was looking into his. He thought about her eyes when she had seen the beggar children. He had witnessed the single moment she began to comprehend the world he lived in. He replayed the graceful skill with which she handled her tiny silver dagger. He thought about her descending from the sky at the end of her pole vault like a warrior angel. Thinking about all that made him forget that his fingers were rubbed raw and the inside of his mouth felt like the sand he dug through.

But mostly Aladdin thought about Princess Jasmine. If he had never met her, he wouldn't have been thrown into prison by the royal guards, he wouldn't have fallen in with the crazy, evil old man, and he wouldn't be there now, trying to dig himself out of a black, suffocating pit in the middle of the desert. And still he wouldn't have changed a thing. He thought about her eyes when she was looking into his. He thought about her eyes when she had seen the beggar children. He had witnessed the single moment she began to comprehend the world he lived in. He replayed the graceful skill with which she handled her tiny silver dagger. He thought about her descending from the sky at the end of her pole vault like a warrior angel. Thinking about all that made him forget that his fingers were rubbed raw and the inside of his mouth felt like the sand he dug through.

She introduced us to a strange pastime called jip-norring…She would carry a sort of pogo stick, dig it in the earth and then catapult herself all over the grounds. Hard to describe —it was a mixture of skipping and pole vaulting, and she insisted it got her places far sooner than other more normal modes of travel.

the North Pole. It is the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, or Doomsday Vault, as some have taken to calling it. Finished in February 2008 at a cost of nearly $10 million,

Be realistic that you might not pole vault straight to your dreams. Sometimes you need a ladder.

So again, why are you climbing a tree?” Christine asked as she shielded her eyes from the sun. She and everyone else sat around on blankets watching Kellen help Stevie put her gear on. “I wanted to learn how to do it, and Kellen fixed up this dead tree for me. I want to show off my new skills, too, because Linden made fun of me,” Stevie said and struck a pose. “Be still, I’m trying to connect the climb line to your saddle,” Kellen said, focused on the task. Kenzie climbed onto Trent’s shoulders and made a face. “Uncle Linden says Aunt Stevie’s gonna break her butt.” “Thanks, Linden,” Stevie said and shot him a look. “She won’t.” Kyle laughed. “I’ve never seen so much safety equipment in my life. Kell, you forgot to bubble wrap her butt before you put the saddle on.” “Where’d you get them giant pads from?” Walt asked. “They’re the ones the track team at the school used to use for pole vaulting.” Kellen adjusted the chinstrap on Stevie’s helmet. “This is our exercise tree.” Stevie patted the trunk. “I want iron legs like Kellen’s, so she topped it for me, cut most of the branches off, and put out the pads. See how she spoils me?” “Yeah, she gave you what looks like fifty feet of dead tree,” Kyle said with a grin. “Most people just get flowers.” Trent snorted. “Nothing says love like a fifty-foot stump.” Kellen double-checked her own gear just in case Stevie got into trouble and she had to go up for her. “Okay, babe, don’t go past the fifteen-foot mark, trust your saddle when your legs get tired, pay attention to the depth of your spikes.” She patted Stevie’s cheek and whispered, “Now show them your monkey.