Zig Zag Life Quotes

when the bullets are flying and the bombs are dropping, the ability to zig and zag is far more valuable than the capacity to figure out the calibre of the bullets and what kinds of planes are flying overhead.

Maybe that's what life was. You zigged and you zagged and zigged and zagged some more.

I thought of kissing Astrid under the fire escape. I thought of Norm’s rusty microbus and of his father, Cicero, sitting on the busted-down sofa in his old trailer, rolling dope in Zig-Zag papers and telling me if I wanted to get my license first crack out of the basket, I’d better cut my fucking hair. I thought of playing teen dances at the Auburn RolloDrome, and how we never stopped when the inevitable fights broke out between the kids from Edward Little and Lisbon High, or those from Lewiston High and St. Dom’s; we just turned it up louder. I thought of how life had been before I realized I was a frog in a pot. I shouted: “One, two, you-know-what-to-do!” We kicked it in. Key of E. All that shit starts in E.

Life is a River" Life is a river zig zag it goes on flowing myriad memories quench thirst in the swirling waves of life! Life has its own colour a mingling of blue, green, black and white sweeping away all happiness and sadness in the cascading bubbles of tears and delight Life shares its own wisdom to keep on flowing is its only zeal whether it be summer or winter life will keep on flowing but never still Life is a river it flows at its own pace sometimes it may have no direction and this is life's story and grace! - Poet Manjushree Mohanty Translated from Odiya to English by Poet Avijeet Das

Your alarm’s about to go off in ten minutes,” Caden called from the doorway. He had a cup of coffee in hand and wore only jeans. I tried to keep my eyes front and center, but I lost. The tattoos were a nice little zig-zag pattern, pulling my gaze down, all the way down. Caden’s slow, smooth chuckle told me he knew what I’d just done. My cheeks only warmed a little. I shot him a look, falling back to the pillow. “I feel like this should be the first skip day of my school career.” “You’ve never skipped before?” I shook my head, rolling it side to side on the pillow. “Am I missing out? Should I embrace my inner deviant?” He smirked. “You can skip a class for any reason in the world. It’s your life.” I sat up, eyeing that coffee. “You were supposed to be the bad influence.” His eyebrow lifted. “I’m not selling it enough?” He lifted his cup. “You want some coffee?” “I’m wondering if today is the day I try coffee too.” “You’ve never had coffee?” “I’m beginning to think I’m lame.” I thought about it. “Really lame.” “You slept at some guy’s house last night. Think of it that way.” His smirk was back. “Not so lame now.” I could do one better. “I slept at a fraternity house.” “And you drank beer.” “It was the second night in a row that I drank beer.” “See? Not so lame after all.” “You’re right.” I sat up. “I’m halfway to total badass.

All day long the red squirrels came and went, and afforded me much entertainment by their manoeuvres. One would approach at first warily through the shrub-oaks, running over the snow crust by fits and starts like a leaf blown by the wind, now a few paces this way, with wonderful speed and waste of energy, making inconceivable haste with his “trotters,” as if it were for a wager, and now as many paces that way, but never getting on more than half a rod at a time; and then suddenly pausing with a ludicrous expression and a gratuitous somerset, as if all the eyes in the universe were fixed on him,—for all the motions of a squirrel, even in the most solitary recesses of the forest, imply spectators as much as those of a dancing girl,—wasting more time in delay and circumspection than would have sufficed to walk the whole distance,—I never saw one walk,— and then suddenly, before you could say Jack Robinson, he would be in the top of a young pitch-pine, winding up his clock and chiding all imaginary spectators, soliloquizing and talking to all the universe at the same time,—for no reason that I could ever detect, or he himself was aware of, I suspect. At length he would reach the corn, and selecting a suitable ear, frisk about in the same uncertain trigonometrical way to the top-most stick of my wood-pile, before my window, where he looked me in the face, and there sit for hours, supplying himself with a new ear from time to time, nibbling at first voraciously and throwing the half-naked cobs about; till at length he grew more dainty still and played with his food, tasting only the inside of the kernel, and the ear, which was held balanced over the stick by one paw, slipped from his careless grasp and fell to the ground, when he would look over at it with a ludicrous expression of uncertainty, as if suspecting that it had life, with a mind not made up whether to get it again, or a new one, or be off; now thinking of corn, then listening to hear what was in the wind. So the little impudent fellow would waste many an ear in a forenoon; till at last, seizing some longer and plumper one, considerably bigger than himself, and skilfully balancing it, he would set out with it to the woods, like a tiger with a buffalo, by the same zig-zag course and frequent pauses, scratching along with it as if it were too heavy for him and falling all the while, making its fall a diagonal between a perpendicular and horizontal, being determined to put it through at any rate;—a singularly frivolous and whimsical fellow;—and so he would get off with it to where he lived, perhaps carry it to the top of a pine tree forty or fifty rods distant, and I would afterwards find the cobs strewn about the woods in various directions.

Make this path as procedural as possible. Zig-zagging around the space is likely to be less productive.

If you read the life stories of successful people you admire, often you’ll find that somewhere along the way they zigged when they thought they were going to zag, but that someone in their life presented the opportunity to them.

Ayanda Khumalo had not yet been intimidated a second of her life.

Crazy Is a Compliment: The Power of Zigging When Everyone Else Zags.

As in any other year, life zigged and zagged according to the adventures my friend Serendipity laid at my feet. Like any other year I gathered the fleeting and magnificent experiences in my arms and accepted the small thrills and dangers excitedly, or calmly, for they formed an inseparable part of the iridescent extraordinary.

Magpies are singular, excitable birds. Watch them in the examining sunlight: they split three ways. One stays in the field; he walks left, runs right, zig-zags, tires of his erratic pedestrianism, then flies for thirty yards, lands, starts over. He

With the Zigzags of life, " today I may feel down with the Zig, But plan to go up soon with the Zag." Lani-Dancing In The White Sand

People have shapes.All we do and say and think and believe cuts outlines around us like a jigsaw.And sometimes, you run into a person who seems to fit right beside you in the picture.Someone who sticks out where you dent in and zigs where you zag.

Zig when the world expects you to zag

There might be someone you love, some one you wanted to be with, and then, found your self with, there were such things, such lives and lovers. I am like that sometimes, I think, some distant romantic wrapped in music. I wanted to know myself, and found that was a lifetime's work, the twists and zig zags, dips and turns, all could disorient you, that you were no longer you but somebody else masquerading as yourself's desire. Rain could come. The sky grow light. It could even be twilight, in a foreign town. Where you walked under far noises of invisible worlds. But when you remember all of your faces, blown now gone forever in the wind, you'll see that you were always wanting to be you, you were always wanting to know and love yourself, and you found a few faces, a few names, that extended your life into other lives, and as time marches, hours, days, decades dance, you'll find your hand in someone else's hand, you'll hear yourself thinking about some person other than you and then look up and yes there will be some other person some closeness and echoed tenderness, that makes us more than dots under the far away, that make us more than split seconds of light

The aroma of mangos and gasoline still festers. I'm zigging and zagging down Bali's mad streets on a rented bike, my existence and crypto riches secure in the back of a backpack. And then? Spinning on the sidewalk, dodging airborne papayas, and a helpless victim as a thief swiped my sack from my shoulder in the mess. Inside: $310,000 in Bitcoin, ten years of digital vagabond work, and the socks I preferred. Local officials yawned, sipping sugary tea beside a whirring ceiling fan. "Suku banyak cryptonym?" they complained, inviting me to submit a report after nap time.  My crypto fortune was evaporating faster than an Indian sandcastle swept by monsoon rains. WhatsApp info:+12723  328 343 Enter ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST, recommended by a seasoned highway veteran on a forum thread captioned "When Your Life Gets Pirated (Literally)." Desperation compelled me to cling to hope like a guest on a broken-down scooter. Their support team didn't even raise an eyebrow at my incoherent rantings. They asked for timestamps, transaction hashes, and whatever bit of metadata Website info: http s:// adware recovery specialist. com  today's detectives use magnifying glasses instead. As it turned out, my thief was no genius. He'd tried to wash my Bitcoin through a chain of offshore exchanges, creating a digital trail of breadcrumbs. ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST engineers married blockchain forensics with GPS data from my stolen equipment, following his footsteps like a high-stakes treasure hunt. They tracked him to a cybercafe in Jakarta, where he'd fought with mixers and privacy coins, blissfully unaware that each click was being duplicated. Email info: Adware recovery specialist (@) auctioneer. net  Eleven days later, I received a screenshot: my wallet balance, refilled. No fanfare, no triumphalism, but instead a modest "Your funds are safe. I slumped into a beanbag at a Ubud coworking facility, crying and laughing in half steps, while digital nomads gave me a side-eye over their cold brews. My Bitcoin was restored. My dignity? Still missing, thanks to a viral video of me face-planting into a durian stand. Telegram info: ht tp s:// t.me/ adware recovery specialist1  ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST  did not outsmart a thief, but they unveiled the fragility of our virtual world. Technical sorcery coupled with sheer determination converted a dismal nightmare into a rags-to-riches tale one in which the villain is sent a blockchain paper trail and the hero wears a headset instead of a cape. Today, my backpack holds a decoy wallet and an AirTag surgically attached to my ledger. I’ll never ride a motorbike in flip-flops again, but I’ll always travel with the ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST contact saved in triplicate. They’re the antidote to a world where crypto can vanish faster than a beach sunset, and where fruit vendors double as viral content creators. If your crypto ever goes rogue, skip the panic. Call the ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . Just maybe avoid Bali’s fruit stands while you’re at it.