(The golden goose has died, my prince turned into a frog, the Kingdom is lost, everyone has turned into stone and I am locked in the tower)
There is a delicate ridge one must ride between fear and reason on a motorcycle—lean too far in either direction and there will be consequences.
My father-in-law has ear hair like a wolverine. It fans out from the auricles, wafting from the ridge lines like cilia, like gray feathered plumage.
I would love it if people could look at chubby folks with all of our curves, bumps and ridges and just say 'She's beautiful' just like that. You don't have to get on a treadmill as long as your blood pressure is under control and you eat healthy, God...
The whole point of bike-sharing is to give New Yorkers another way to commute. A lot of folks in Bay Ridge work in downtown Brooklyn or other parts of the borough. For them, it would make more sense to hop on a Citi Bike than to wait for a train or a...
Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors. Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering. For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU
Riding that ridge between reason and recklessness, stillness and speed, is the first, maybe the most important, thing I learned about motorcycles.
Tucker: "Today we ran into a mama grizzly with two cubs at the ridge off Colter Bay and Clara sang to it to make it go away." Mrs. Avery: You sang to it? Tucker: Her singing is that bad.
As a young boy I won a few dollars in 1972 when Riva Ridge won the Kentucky Derby. I had overheard someone say he was going to win, and I guess that made an impression on me.
A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone.
All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest; with a Buonaparte for a commander, could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, i...
Then an odd thing happened. Britney put her finger on the ridge of the painted glass and rubbed it. It made a perfect noise. The kind of noise that goes on and on as a beautiful noise does once it has wrung the ear. It was the chord of the wild sea.
When I go to Indian reservations in the West, and especially to the Pine Ridge Reservation, I sometimes feel unsure where to put my foot when I open the car door. The very ground is different from where I usually stand. There are fewer curbs, fewer s...
Zara right now has incredible jeans. I'm obsessed. They have these jeans that have those ridges on the knees. I swear they have a little bit of stretch to them, so they hug everything in the right places. They've got great boyfriend jeans that are to...
[Rooster is caught under his horse; as Ned starts to shoot him, La Boeuf fires from the ridge and hits Ned's horse; Ned falls dead] Mattie Ross: Hooray for the man from Texas! Some bully shot!
I've been exploring different options for when I'm done skiing. I have the Turtle Ridge Foundation, which is helping a bunch of worthy causes around the Northeast. I've also started SkiSpace, which is an online social network that basically deals wit...
Today’s breakfast consist of rice and a piece of bread fried in a bit of salt pork grease. At least I have my memories of grand banquets and fine foods, but this is all the children have ever known. I suppose it is best not to have anything to comp...
They could have fought against it, begged for another way or gone off the path in hopes of finding an easier passage. Instead, they looked upon the trail ahead, the rough ridge, now bound by thick snow, and they accepted the path they had chosen.
My father, Cecil Banks Mullis, and mother, formerly Bernice Alberta Barker, grew up in rural North Carolina in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My dad's family had a general store, which I never saw. My grandparents on his side had already ...
They were in a long line, an endless line, and as they burst from the wood there was an instant, the smallest part of a heartbeat, when all Catelyn saw was the moonlight on the point of their lance, as if a thousand willowisps were coming down the ri...
Jordan Belfort: My wife, Naomi, the Duchess of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. A former model and Miller Lite girl. Yeah. She was the one with my cock in her mouth in the Ferrari, so put your dick back in your pants.
