Tug Of War Game Quotes

We're a tragedy in the making. The game of tug-of-war we're playing will end up destroying us, because she doesn't have it in her to surrender, and I can't let go.

I was having my own game of tug of war with my cyclops at least once a night.

Why aren’t boys more engaged in school? According to Sommers, “schools today tend to be run by women for girls. Classrooms can be hostile environments for boys. They like action, competition and adventure stories. Those are not in favor. Games like tag and dodge-ball are out; tug of war has become tug of peace, and male heroes have been replaced by Girl Power.

[I] threw open the door to find Rob sit­ting on the low stool in front of my book­case, sur­round­ed by card­board box­es. He was seal­ing the last one up with tape and string. There were eight box­es - eight box­es of my books bound up and ready for the base­ment! "He looked up and said, 'Hel­lo, dar­ling. Don't mind the mess, the care­tak­er said he'd help me car­ry these down to the base­ment.' He nod­ded to­wards my book­shelves and said, 'Don't they look won­der­ful?' "Well, there were no words! I was too ap­palled to speak. Sid­ney, ev­ery sin­gle shelf - where my books had stood - was filled with ath­let­ic tro­phies: sil­ver cups, gold cups, blue rosettes, red rib­bons. There were awards for ev­ery game that could pos­si­bly be played with a wood­en ob­ject: crick­et bats, squash rac­quets, ten­nis rac­quets, oars, golf clubs, ping-​pong bats, bows and ar­rows, snook­er cues, lacrosse sticks, hock­ey sticks and po­lo mal­lets. There were stat­ues for ev­ery­thing a man could jump over, ei­ther by him­self or on a horse. Next came the framed cer­tificates - for shoot­ing the most birds on such and such a date, for First Place in run­ning races, for Last Man Stand­ing in some filthy tug of war against Scot­land. "All I could do was scream, 'How dare you! What have you DONE?! Put my books back!' "Well, that's how it start­ed. Even­tu­al­ly, I said some­thing to the ef­fect that I could nev­er mar­ry a man whose idea of bliss was to strike out at lit­tle balls and lit­tle birds. Rob coun­tered with re­marks about damned blue­stock­ings and shrews. And it all de­gen­er­at­ed from there - the on­ly thought we prob­ably had in com­mon was, What the hell have we talked about for the last four months? What, in­deed? He huffed and puffed and snort­ed and left. And I un­packed my books.

Theirs was a tug-of-war and neither could let go. Both felt the burn and still wouldn't let go. Some might call it a game for neither could admit defeat.

Staying is not always a choice, and I have lived and lost enough to know that. But the way I think about grief is that it is the great tug-of-war, and sometimes the flag is on the side you don’t want it to be on. And sometimes, the game has exhausted all of its joy, and all that’s left is you on your knees. But, today, even though I am sad, my hands are still on the rope.

Every single day is a game of tug-of-war; I have to fight, push, and pull for something. Every single day it is double or nothing.

Every single day is a game of tug-of-war; I have to fight, push, and pull for something.

Our fates have been melded together in a way that can never be undone. Like a game of tug of war, I'm afraid that I'm pulling you into my world, and I'm being drawn into yours. Soon we will both fall somewhere in the middle and lose touch as to what it is we're searching for.

Every single day is a game of tug-of-war; I have to fight, push, and pull for something. Every single day it is double or nothing. I pulled and pulled and pulled and saved my soul from being rotten. I dug my hands and feet in the sand—the moon controlled the tides. The moon is watching over me. The moon is my protector. I was protected because I am here. I guess I should be grateful. I am breaking. When will enough be enough?

Maybe that's where it started and they brought it back from the desert, some kind of contagious psychic wound, guilt based. Maybe it's the dark matter, invisibly making up most of the universe. Maybe it was methane thawing at the bottom of the sea, releasing some ancient spore from the melted icebergs. Maybe it was the hole in the ozone, the collapse of the upper atmosphere. Maybe it was the overload of information, the swarms of data generated by every human gesture. Maybe it was the networking craze, the resurrection of dead friendships and memories meant to be lost, now resurfacing like rusted shipwrecks to reclaim our attention and scramble our sense of time. Maybe it was the death of an artist at the hands of a zealot. Maybe it was the particles made to collide. Maybe the mapping of the genome. Maybe the clashing of gods, the tug-of-war over our souls, not one of them refusing to let go, instead opting to see us sliced in two by Soloman's sword. Maybe it was food becoming a prop for food. Maybe it was a distant comet dusting us with its tail of poisoned ice. Maybe it was someone uttering a combination of syllables that should never be uttered. Maybe it was the emergence of collective intelligence, the flattening of the world. Maybe the game we inhabit had a glitch. Maybe the angel's horn had finally been blown.

I don’t want to fight you. But perhaps there’s another way I could win your favor.” The way he said it made her hearts pound and her body heat up. But even if her hormones were moved, her ambitions remained unswayed. “I’m only going to say this one time, so hear me well. If you want me, don’t let some bounty come between us,” she finally said. “I’m not playing games anymore. Either it’s real, or it’s nothing. I will not be seduced away from my own success.” She waited a long moment as he thought about it. “You win this one fair and square,” he finally said. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to try lying to the Grand Inquisitor, anyway. I can prove myself on my own.” A brief pause. “And we’ll see how you might be seduced.” The comlink went silent. As she and Sixty-Seven walked back to her ship, she watched Tualon’s ship take off from just a few klicks away and zip into the sky. Now, this was a version of Tualon she could respect. Honest with himself and others, ambitious and confident. She looked forward to seeing where the seduction might come in. For all that she’d been drawn to him since they were children, he’d always been neutral toward her, never felt that same tug. But now, freed from the rigidity of the Jedi ways, perhaps he was finally realizing how powerful a partner she might be. They would make a good team, but not if he thought he was in charge. No one could rule Iskat Akaris.

told me more about what happened the other night?” she asked, deciding to air her worst fears. “Am I under suspicion or something?” “Everyone is.” “Especially ex-wives who are publicly humiliated on the day of the murder, right?” Something in Montoya’s expression changed. Hardened. “I’ll be back,” he promised, “and I’ll bring another detective with me, then we’ll interview you and you can ask all the questions you like.” “And you’ll answer them?” He offered a hint of a smile. “That I can’t promise. Just that I won’t lie to you.” “I wouldn’t expect you to, Detective.” He gave a quick nod. “In the meantime if you suddenly remember, or think of anything, give me a call.” “I will,” she promised, irritated, watching as he hurried down the two steps of the porch to his car. He was younger than she was by a couple of years, she guessed, though she couldn’t be certain, and there was something about him that exuded a natural brooding sexuality, as if he knew he was attractive to women, almost expected it to be so. Great. Just what she needed, a sexy-as-hell cop who probably had her pinned to the top of his murder suspect list. She whistled for the dog and Hershey bounded inside, dragging some mud and leaves with her. “Sit!” Abby commanded and the Lab dropped her rear end onto the floor just inside the door. Abby opened the door to the closet and found a towel hanging on a peg she kept for just such occasions, then, while Hershey whined in protest, she cleaned all four of her damp paws. “You’re gonna be a problem, aren’t you?” she teased, then dropped the towel over the dog’s head. Hershey shook herself, tossed off the towel, then bit at it, snagging one end in her mouth and pulling backward in a quick game of tug of war. Abby laughed as she played with the dog, the first real joy she’d felt since hearing the news about her ex-husband. The phone rang and she left the dog growling and shaking the tattered piece of terry cloth. “Hello?” she said, still chuckling at Hershey’s antics as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Abby Chastain?” “Yes.” “Beth Ann Wright with the New Orleans Sentinel.” Abby’s heart plummeted. The press. Just what she needed. “You were Luke Gierman’s wife, right?” “What’s this about?” Abby asked warily as Hershey padded into the kitchen and looked expectantly at the back door leading to her studio. “In a second,” she mouthed to the Lab. Hershey slowly wagged her tail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Beth Ann said, sounding sincerely rueful. “I should have explained. The paper’s running a series of articles on Luke, as he was a local celebrity, and I’d like to interview you for the piece. I was thinking we could meet tomorrow morning?” “Luke and I were divorced.” “Yes, I know, but I would like to give some insight to the man behind the mike, you know. He had a certain public persona, but I’m sure my readers would like to know more about him, his history, his hopes, his dreams, you know, the human-interest angle.” “It’s kind of late for that,” Abby said, not bothering to keep the ice out of her voice. “But you knew him intimately. I thought you could come up with some anecdotes, let people see the real Luke Gierman.” “I don’t think so.” “I realize you and he had some unresolved issues.” “Pardon me?” “I caught his program the other day.” Abby tensed, her fingers holding the phone in a death grip. “So this is probably harder for you than most, but I still would like to ask you some questions.” “Maybe another time,” she hedged and Beth Ann didn’t miss a beat. “Anytime you’d like. You’re a native Louisianan, aren’t you?” Abby’s neck muscles tightened. “Born and raised, but you met Luke in Seattle when he was working for a radio station . . . what’s the call sign, I know I’ve got it somewhere.” “KCTY.” It was a matter of public record. “Oh, that’s right. Country in the City. But you grew up here and went to local schools, right? Your

I feel like I’m in a game of tug-a-war. I don’t want to be the rope.

Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, trying to shake him off but he didn’t budge. “Like what?” “Like you didn’t take part in that whole shoving me in a pit bullshit right before the Nymph attack. Like we aren’t on two different sides of some fight I never asked to be in,” I spat, surprising myself with how angry I felt at him. “We are on two different sides of it though,” he said and there was no apology in his voice, just acceptance. “But shit, Tory you don’t understand how freaking much I like playing this game with you. Ever since we got back from that party I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else. The feeling of you in my arms, the taste of your blood on my lips, the rush I get when you run from me...” My pulse spiked in response to his words despite myself and as he drew a little closer to me, I didn’t push him back. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” I breathed. “Can’t be sorry for it. I’ve got responsibilities. To the other Heirs, my family, Solaria... I have to think of what’s best for all of them and if you take the throne then the Nymphs might just get the leg up they need to win this war. You have to know I can’t let that happen.” He hadn’t released me and I found I didn’t really want him to. “I have a bit of a weakness for assholes,” I admitted slowly. “But I’m used to them lying about what they are. At least you own it.” “I do,” Caleb said with a smirk, his hand travelling up my neck ever so slowly. “I’m an honest to god asshole. Do you want to keep playing with me, Tory?” “Maybe,” I breathed because in that moment I didn’t even know anymore. I should have been trying to keep away from him and his psycho friends but one way or another our lives all seemed to be destined to tangle up with each other's. And at least Caleb wasn’t lying to me. He wasn’t offering me the world, but he was offering me freedom, at least in this. So maybe I could try keeping the two things separate, when we were alone we could forget about being an Heir and a lost princess. And outside of that, we could stay on opposite sides of this stupid feud. It seemed kinda like a recipe for disaster but maybe I wanted a little rebellion. “I’ll take maybe.” Caleb leaned forward to kiss me and I didn’t make any move to stop him. His mouth was hot and demanding against mine and the passion that burned between us sprang to life instantly, urging me on. My heart thumped harder and his fingers twisted into my hair, tugging just enough to elicit a moan from my lips. (tory)

The world has entered the season of a clash between two kingdoms—the kingdom of God and the kingdom of darkness. In the parable of the wheat and tares, Christ exposed this conflict as a struggle between the children of Satan and the children of God. Satan wants to engage in a tug of war to pull humanity across a line that, when the game ends, leads a person to eternal destruction.

I listened to you,” she vehemently said at last. “I loved you, and I trusted you, and I fought not to lose you after my brother’s death.” “You never trusted me,” Narian contradicted, interrupting whatever else she had intended to say. “And with good reason. You believe the only way to repay a betrayal if with a betrayal. You betrayed me in the worst way imaginable. You lied to me my entire life, trained me and used me as a weapon, never telling me the real reason I was of value to you.” His blue eyes flashed, their sapphire brilliance rivaling the ever-changing emerald sparks in hers. “But I will no longer be manipulated for your causes, and I will not become another warlord. You can consider yourself repaid.” The High Priestess’s rage built to a frightening level, her body almost shaking with the effort to retain control. Her shield maidens watched in fear from where they stood near her throne, while I locked my knees to force myself to stay in place. Then she backhanded Narian across the face, forcefully enough that he stumbled. “You will regret what you have done, Narian,” she swore as he brought a hand to his cheek. “The Hytanicans will not succeed. You will pay for protecting their leaders from execution and for your willingness to step aside.” “They may very well succeed. Don’t pretend otherwise. This is no longer a game of tug of war, Your Highness. It is a game of chess. And as you well know, Cannan and London have always been masterful strategists.” “London?” “Yes, he is alive and well. I suspect he is responsible for the chaos that surrounds us.” At the mention of London, my eyes snapped to Narian, and my heart ached to hear more. But something in Nantilam’s visage changed, and she turned away to take up her throne. “So you have lent no assistance to the Hytanicans--you have not armed them, have not repositioned our troops to aid their strike, have not left our soldiers without strong leadership?” “No, I have not. Our forces are in place, and I took all the usual precautions before traveling here as you ordered.” “Then it may indeed be interesting to see what the Hytanicans can do. Cannan as a commander long rivaled my brother, and London…well, a man such as London is rare. If he and I had not been enemies, I would have chosen him to father my own child.” My heart lurched at this revelation, but Narian showed no reaction, continuing to stand stiffly before her. The High Priestess met his eyes, evaluating him for another long moment.

Anselm must have been out of his mind to think that the question ‘Does God exist?’ is a question about a predicate. His ontological argument, and Descartes’ ontological argument, and all of the other ontological arguments are worthless except for playing linguistic games. Let’s not play linguistic games. Let’s be reasonable. Let’s look to science. There was no need for Aquinas to make four cosmological arguments if he had one good one, which he didn’t. As for the teleological argument, listen. Order emerged from the chaos that followed the Big Bang because gravitational tug of wars gradually balanced, and Earth’s millions of animal and plant species seem to be perfectly designed for their environments because evolution occurred via mutation and natural selection. So the argument that there must exist a supreme orderer or a supreme designer is invalid.

But if the attraction between you and Jaxon is because you’ve both lost someone… Just be careful, okay, Grace? The last thing you want is to become the chew toy in a game of tug-of-war between him and Flint. Because in the end, you’re going to be the one who gets ripped apart.

The last thing you want is to become the chew toy in a game of tug-of-war between him and Flint. Because in the end, you’re going to be the one who gets ripped apart.

For the second, someone had to make Skadi smile. The gods all tried and failed. Finally, Loki was the one that gave a smile to her face once again. He simply started a game of tug of war with a goat. In the aftermath, Loki fell over into Skadi’s lap, and she began to smile.

But more and more lately, I felt myself being pulled in his direction, like a game of tug-of-war that my heart was losing. As much as I enjoyed his friendship, I might need to put some distance between us until my heart caught up with my head.

To go back to the game metaphor from before, there exists a component of storytelling where it is you and the reader (or viewer, or whoever) sitting on opposite sides of a chessboard. You’re always trying to outwit each other. And sometimes you need them to outwit you—the audience needs that power, needs to be invested. They want to do work, and they want (sometimes) to be victorious. Other times, they want the shock of loss, the joy at being outplayed. And at those times you misdirect and distract, and as they’re thinking you’re moving your piece one way, you move it another and shock them with your prowess. But the trick is making all of this organic. It has to unfold naturally from the story—it’s not JUST you screwing with them. It’s you fucking with them within a framework that you built and agreed upon, a framework you’ve shown them, a place of rules and decorum. In this context, consider the game space. Like, say, a chessboard, or a D&D dungeon. The game space is an agreed-upon demesne. It has rules. It has squares. Each piece or character moves accordingly within those squares. It has a framework that everyone who has played the game understands. And yet, the outcome is never decided. The game is forever uncertain even within established parameters. Surprises occur. You might win. Maybe I win. That’s how storytelling operates best—we set up rules and a storyworld and characters, and you try to guess what we’re going to do with them. We as storytellers shouldn’t ever break the rules. Note: Breaking the rules in this context might mean conveniently leaving out a crucial storyworld rule (“Oh, vampires don’t have to drink blood; they can drink Kool-Aid”), or solving a mystery with a killer who the audience couldn’t ever have guessed (“It was the sheriff from two towns over who we have never before discussed or even mentioned”), or invoking a deus ex machina (“Don’t worry, giant eagles will save them. It’s cool”). You can still have chaos and uncertainty within the parameters—creating a framework, like building a house, doesn’t mean it cannot contain secrets and surprises—but you stay within the parameters that you created. Again, it’s why stage magic works as a metaphor when actual wizard magic does not. With stage magic—tricks and illusions!—you can’t really violate the laws of reality. But it damn sure feels like you do. Stories make you believe in wizard magic, but really it’s just a clever, artful trick. The storyworld is bent and twisted, but never broken. And, of course, your greatest touchstone for all of this is the characters, and their problems and places inside the storyworld. The characters will forever be your guide, if you let them. They are the tug-of-war rope, the chess pieces, the D&D characters that exist as a connection between you and the audience. They are your glorious leverage.

Somehow I won in a game of tug of war with the sun, & discovered I’d been underestimating the strength of my own light for entirely too long.

Discourage rough games such as wrestling, tug-of-war, keep-away, and play biting, and encourage your children to master the walk and to engage in challenging activities such as fetch, swimming, and agility games. Teach children that all games with a puppy need to have a beginning and an end.

Ease off confrontational games. No more tug-of-war or wrestling, and eliminate all in-home chasing matches. Play games outside and teach your puppy calm

There were many tales of souls challenging death to games (usually hide and seek, though chess was also popular) in a futile attempt to extend their lives. But Murphy had something different in mind. Fueled by a potent mix of rage and infernal magic, Murphy kicked what remained of his powertrain into four-wheel drive. Let’s see how he likes Tug of War, Murphy thought as he revved his engine and took off into the night.