A Quote by Brigid Lowry

Twenty miles out of town. A million miles from the life you left behind. — © Brigid Lowry
Twenty miles out of town. A million miles from the life you left behind.
When I was a little kid, I used to walk miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles of railroad tracks.
A million million million million (1 with twenty-four zeros after it) miles, the size of the observable universe.
I can be a friend from a million miles away. I can play basketball in China. The only thing I can't do is be a father. I missed my kids' first basketball game. I missed birthdays. I can talk to you from a million miles away, but I was missing the dad part of life.
Silicon Valley is 130 miles from Sacramento, but it might as well be a million miles away given how it operates.
You can't rent a car in Bermuda; about twenty miles long and two miles wide at its fattest, it deems itself too small for surplus traffic.
The next film I have is called Miles Ahead, which is about Miles Davis, during a five-year period in his life during which he's struggling to figure out which direction to go musically and in his life. I play a record executive who's there to try to get Miles to collaborate with one of my clients. I'm excited to see that.
I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.
I spent the first twenty years of my running career trying to run as many miles as I could as fast as I could. Then I spent the next twenty years trying to figure out how to run the least amount of miles needed to finish a marathon. And I've come to the conclusion the second way is much more enjoyable.
There were years of that stuff that will never leave me. Never. When the bus turned a million miles - that's a lot of traveling. It's really cool to think about. I'm blessed to have traveled a million miles on a tour bus.
What is golden is miles under your belt, miles, miles, miles.
When you get out onto a glacier that's the size of Northern Ireland and it's so vast, and you're standing on top of it and you can see forever, it's so pure and clear that you can see for miles and miles and miles. You really do think, "Wow, there is a god!" You feel very humbled.
Humans are unbelievably data efficient. You don't have to drive 1 million miles to drive a car, but the way we teach a self-driving car is have it drive a million miles.
I started running, and I hated it. Of course, everyone hates running for the first mile. If you're running two miles or twenty miles, it always hurts. Now I live it. I look forward to it. It's really good. It clears my head.
I'm from rural Oregon, Yamhill County, a farm four miles out of a town of 1,000 people and that town is overwhelmingly pro-Trump.
The way to get through anything mentally painful is to take it a little at a time. The mind can't handle dealing with a massive iceberg of pain in front of it, but it can deal with short nuggets that will come to an end. So instead of thinking, Ugh, I've got twenty-four miles to go, focus on making it to the next telephone pole in the distance. Whether you're running twenty or one hundred and twenty miles at a time, the distance has to be tackled mentally and physically one mile at a time. The ability to compartmentalize pain into these small bite sizes is key.
Pollution from oil and gas development, toxic runoff, and miles and miles of plastic trash foul the waters and threaten marine life.
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