. . . I stayed because running seemed too strange and too complicated. All I knew was how to fall back, find a patch of solid ground, and then dig my heels in and fight to start over.
We must do the work to prove our fears groundless, otherwise it is our fears that will gain ground and our lives will be spent in their service.
A burrito is a sleeping bag for ground beef.
The only thing of which one can be guilty is of having given ground relative to one's desire.
Your first instinct when you see a man on the ground is to go down on him.
It is okay to fall, but not okay to stay on the ground.
Where you can make up ground is if the wind blows and your opponents make big numbers. I think you can shoot three, four, five-under par. But to make up a six, seven or eight-shot lead, that will be tough without the leaders coming back.
I try to keep my feet on the ground. Even though I appreciate the fame and adoration, I remember once I used to pick cotton, and I felt like even then I was somebody. I have the same feet, hands and heart like everyone else. I'm just also blessed with a good voice.
To remain static is to lose ground.
Male urination really is a kind of accomplishment, an arc of transcendance. A woman merely waters the ground she stands on.
Make your race a playground, not a proving ground.
I just put my feet in the ground and move them around.
Lack of money rivets us firmly to the ground, one's wings are clipped.
The ground was silvery, as if some stars had fallen there.
New York is the biggest mouth in the world. It appears to be prime example of the herd instinct, leading the universal urban conspiracy to beguile man from his birthright (the good ground), to hang him by his eyebrows from skyhooks above hard pavement, to crucify him, sell him, or be sold by him.
I have learned that a man has the right and obligation to look down at another man, only when that man needs help to get up from the ground.
Looking back on 200 years of feminist agitation in this country, we've got to get it that the moral high ground doesn't get us anything. Pleading with powerful men never gets us what we need. Talking doesn't do it. Being right doesn't do it. Hardball politics does it. . . and a political strategy.
God, it's like reality's completely shifted on me. I used to think I was standing on such solid ground. If I wanted something badly enough, I just worked like hell for it. Now I can't decide what to do, which move to make. All the things I counted on aren't there for me anymore.
The work of God's Holy Spirit begins with bruising. In order to be saved, the fallow ground must be plowed up, the hard heart must be broken, the rock must be split apart.
He who sling mud, lose ground.