Rolls Gracie Quotes

My gaze shot to the door as Topher sauntered inside. I tried not to stare, but it was hard, all things considered. His wild blond hair was untamed like he just rolled out of bed, and his hooded eyes and a lazy smile made him look sleepy in the most adorable way.

As you are surely aware, our planet is turning on its axis around and around in space. It turns slowly, however, making one complete rotation only every twenty-four hours; and that's a good thing -- isn't it? -- because if our world turned as fast as Gracie's room appeared to be turning, the sun would be either rising or setting every fifteen minutes, astronomers would be as woozy as rodeo clowns, and it'd be nearly impossible to keep our meatballs from rolling out of our spaghetti.

Gracie sat quietly while Justin and Danielle talked. She eavesdropped halfheartedly, absorbed with re-creating the incident up at the latrine that Danielle seemed to have already forgotten. Something had happened up there that bothered her, because it suggested someone on the trip had an agenda besides the adventure itself. It reminded her that people could be evil, something she believed more and more the older she got. Danielle, however, was at her charming best. Subjects ranged from their schools to Facebook pages to sports, television shows, and bands. Gracie found herself rolling her eyes each time Danielle and Justin discovered more and more common bonds. When Danielle mentioned their parents were divorced, Justin said, “Shit, mine too.

If you are called to roll with a jiu-jitsu instructor, rolling means rolling. He may toy with you. He may decline to tap you. But he expects you to do your best to defend yourself and to attack him. When an instructor’s body can no longer do what his mind tells it to, then he does not roll with students in this way, but provides wisdom and leadership appropriate to his rank and age. Students also adjust their intensity level appropriately to the training context. It is not inconceivable that a strong young blue belt could tap Helio Gracie out in 1999. He would pay a high and painful price for the glory of doing it however. There is a reason for age, weight, belt, and gender categories in competitions.

A master’s degree in fish,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that. Call it ichthyology. Or fishery science, or marine biology.

There needs to be a sense that everyone is doing Jiu-Jitsu, even the people who are just learning the self-defense. Even the people who never compete. Even the people who only roll with the one or two training partners they know and trust and feel comfortable with. There needs to be a sense that it's all legitimate, that it's all Jiu-Jitsu.

I've heard Rener and other people say that after about the age of forty, every ten years, you lose a ranking in effectiveness when you're rolling. Which is just a fact of nature. We all get older, we all get weaker, we all slow down, we all die.

For ten years, from 1979 to 1989, Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in America pretty much meant you were rolling around on the floor in a garage in Southern California. Think about keeping that little fire lit for ten years, when it's not catching. Ten years is longer than most people last in Jiu-Jitsu. It's a long haul.

Think about a big, strong white belt on his first day of class. What's it like rolling with him? You probably catch him, but up until that point it's kind of crazy, kind of wild and unpredictable. It's different from rolling with a blue belt who may be good and fast but who's mostly doing moves that are recognizable as Jiu-Jitsu. But the thing is, the average guy you fight out in the street is going to be a lot more like the white belt. When you get mounted on a guy like that, you can't rush into things. You have to focus on weathering the storm.

I like her,” Gracie said, the questions as clear as if she’d spoken them. Mitch gave the woman he’d come to think of as a sister a level-eyed stare, keeping his mouth shut. Gracie tilted her head to the side, sending her mop of blond curls flying. “How are you going to keep her?” “She lives in Chicago. I’m not keeping her.” He was temporarily borrowing her until she decided to hightail it to her real life. She gave a smug smile. “I meant keep her for now.” Mitch scrubbed a hand over his jaw, contemplating. “I’m not sure she has any other options.” “Don’t tell me you’re banking on that?” Gracie looked up to the ceiling as if exasperated by his complete stupidity. “A woman always has options, and she’ll think of plenty if you’re stupid enough to point out that she has to choose you by default.” Of course, Gracie was right. But he’d talked her into staying once; he could do it again. The question was, how? Mitch sat forward, placing his elbows on the table, his brain starting a slow, methodical spin. He took a sip of coffee and looked at Gracie. She practically danced in her chair. He rolled his eyes. “What’s on your mind?” “The way I see it,” Gracie said, not letting grass grow under her feet with any long dramatic silences, “her car’s broken down, and Tommy’s is closed today. That buys you a couple of days.” Immediately finding fault with her logic, Mitch shook his head. “Not necessarily. She has family. She could come to her senses and call them, and be gone by noon.” Just because she’d been adamant last night about not contacting them didn’t mean her justifications would hold true in the light of day. “I don’t think so.” Gracie peered behind him, looking thoughtful. “She told me she has no money.” Mitch pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The more he thought about it, the more he saw it as the most likely outcome. He’d only been able to convince her to come back to his house last night because she’d been tired, scared, and drunk. “There’s no way she’ll take any from me. What other option is there?” “One little hitch and you’re giving up?

I pushed against it harder, hoping to emboss my face with the jeweled star pattern. 13 One Hundred Percent Driven Snow “YOU NEVER KNOW,” my mother said to me. “You never know what means what.” “True,” I said. I was just nine years old, give or take, but I had learned not to interrupt my mother when she was on a roll, especially not when she was talking to me in the deep voice she used with the women in the beauty shop. She didn’t talk this way to all of them, of course; different people got different treatment, just as some people had to pay for every clip of the shears and other people got their bangs straightened for free. On that day, in the car, she talked the way she did with the longtime customers, the ones who got their lips waxed on the house, the ones who called me “Miss Lady” and called my mother “Girl.” “George Burns cheated on Gracie,” Mama said. “Can you believe that?” I didn’t believe or not believe it, as I wasn’t absolutely sure who George Burns was. “The man who plays God in that movie?” “Yes,” she said. “Him. He hasn’t always been old, you know. He was young and handsome and he was married to Gracie.” “Oh,” I said. “I remember.” This was the key. If I talked too much,