A Quote by Colin Firth
I was in a lake in 'Love Actually', and I was attacked by some hideous aquatic beast and was rushed to the hospital by a man named Rafael! Something stung my elbow, and it blew up to the size of a tennis ball.
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I feel as though I stand at the foot of an infinitely high staircase, down which some exuberant spirit is flinging tennis ball after tennis ball, eternally, and the one thing I want in the world is a tennis ball.
O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
I bite my split ends off in the car, which is gross. It's disgusting. I've probably got a fur ball in my stomach the size of a tennis ball.
And beyond the timeless meadows and emerald pastures, the rabbit holes and moss-covered oak and rowan trees and the "slippy sloppy" houses of frogs, the woodland-scented wind rushed between the leaves and blew around the gray veil that dipped below the fells, swirling up in a mist, blurring the edges of the distant forest. (View from Windermere in the Lake District)
Some dogs could play fetch all day long, while others have absolutely no interest in chasing a ball. Some might love "find the treat" type puzzle toys and others may completely ignore them. The important things are that your dog finds the toy interesting without becoming obsessed over it, and that it is size and safety appropriate for your dog. A Chihuahua is probably not going to be a good match to a Kong as big as she is, and you wouldn't want to risk having your Malamute swallow one of those smaller size tennis balls.
I got into a bad habit of dropping my elbow and pushing the ball to the plate instead of getting on top of it and using some leverage to get it down in the strike zone or get some depth with the ball.
I think I've broken every finger, and my wrist on a tennis court in Guyana, and at 33 you get other injuries like hernias and tennis elbow.
For the world is broken, sundered, busted down the middle, self ripped from self and man pasted back together as mythical monster, half angel, half beast, but no man...Some day a man will walk into my office as a ghost or beast or ghost-beast and walk out as a man, which is to say sovereign wanderer, lordly exile, worker and waiter and watcher.
On just a personal level, since I was little, I've loved fairytales, especially this one, because it is about what goes into making a beast a beast. Do you start as a beast? Do you turn into a beast because of the way that people treat you? I think it's something that is really universal and hit a chord with me when I was little, and so, hopefully we can explore some of that.
If you watch Rafael Nadal play tennis, you can only respond with amazement and great admiration. He is an incredible athlete with so much discipline, so much concentration and someone who likes to put a lot of passion into every point. Words fail to come out of me to describe his game appropriately. I've rarely seen anyone who approaches a ball with so much attention. With such passion and joy that it makes great fun to watch him. With him, you can associate everything that makes tennis so beautiful.
As there is much beast and some devil in man, so is there some angel and some God in him. The beast and the devil may be conquered, but in this life never destroyed.
My suit blew up into a parachute. All this water rushed in, there's air, water in there. I was freaking out.
I have finally mastered what to do with the second tennis ball. Having small hands, I was becoming terribly self-conscious about keeping it in a can in the car while I served the first one. I noted some women tucked the second ball just inside the elastic leg of their tennis panties. I tried, but found the space already occupied by a leg. Now, I simply drop the second ball down my cleavage, giving me a chest that often stuns my opponent throughout an entire set.
You've heard tales of beauty and the beast. How a fair maid falls in love with a monster and sees the beauty of his soul beneath the hideous visage. But you've never heard the tale of the handsome man falling for the monstrous woman and finding joy in her love, because it doesn't happen, not even in a story-teller's tale.
Women's tennis? I think it stinks. They hit the ball back and forth, have a lot of nice volleys, and you can see some pretty legs. But it's night and day compared to men's tennis.
A man who waits to believe in action before acting is anything you like, but he's not a man of action. It is as if a tennis player before returning a ball stopped to think about his views of the physical and mental advantages of tennis. You must act as you breathe.
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