A Quote by Hermann Maier

For the moment, the snow is quite wet and soft. If it was hard or icy, it would be a perfect downhill for my style, because I could fight even harder. — © Hermann Maier
For the moment, the snow is quite wet and soft. If it was hard or icy, it would be a perfect downhill for my style, because I could fight even harder.
I would have been more aggressive in the Ruslan [Provodnikov] fight if not because of my eye early in the fight. I had to protect that eye and be even smarter than I normally would. Don't be confused with my style just from that one fight, because I know a lot of you have only seen that one fight.
I would like to be soft and warm. I would be terrified to be that way. I could be hurt if I were soft and warm. I could be hurt by something other than myself. It is harder to be soft than it is to be hard. I could be hurt by something other than myself.
With my fight style - speed and volume punching - it would be an amazing fight. Golovkin is a come-forward fighter. It would be fireworks, a fight that the fans would enjoy. Because of my style, I would stop him due to the pure amount of punches. Whether it's a cut or he gets tired, stopping him would definitely be on the cards.
A lot of people, once they become champion, they relax, kind of sit in the position and try to enjoy it. But I feel like everything I've ever worked for could be lost at any moment. I work harder and harder and harder, because I want to be farther ahead with every fight, and not worrying about these girls catching up to me.
Even when I'm singing on record there's a lot of times when I'll fight for a bit of imperfection. I might not have quite hit the note to the perfect pitch, but there was a soul in there and feeling that,to me, delivers the emotion of that moment. For me, doing a show, the excitement of singing live, and the possibility that you're not going to be perfect - that's the thrill of it.
It's hard in daily life. It's even harder in management because it's the stress of the moment.
It rained a lot in New Hampshire, and when I skied, the snow was icy and hard, and the mountains were small.
I trained as hard as I could, I ran as much as I could, I sparred hard, I did everything right. I did everything I could possibly do at the age when I could fight. You have to be realistic; you can't say, 'Oh, I am smarter now, older and I can punch harder.' You think you can, but you can't.
Karen wasn't hard, she was soft, too soft. A soft touch. Her hair was soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft. She was so soft there was no resistance. Hard things sank into her, they went right through her, and if she made a real effort, out the other side. Then she didn't have to see them or hear them, or even touch them.
When you refuse to fight guys because you say you are better than them, that is not really being the best. If I could just fight certain fighters that fit my style, I would look great in all of them.
Non-injuring has to be attained by him who would be free. No one is more powerful than he who has attained perfect non-injuring. No one could fight, no one could quarrel, in his presence. Yes, his very presence, and nothing else, means peace, means love wherever he may be. Nobody could be angry or fight in his presence. Even the animals, ferocious animals, would be peaceful before him.
For some reason, people find me funny. It's quite hard to define why a thought is funny. It's even harder to define why a person would be funny. It's a word that I can't define at all. But whether I know quite what it is or not, I seem to be it.
Like they used to say about Joe Montana, he threw soft because he couldn't throw hard. He was successful because he didn't try to do what he couldn't. I couldn't rock out harder than everybody, or overpower people with mastery like Jack White of the White Stripes, so why try? That's why I've always worked harder on words.
In London the day after Christmas (Boxing Day), it began to snow: my first snow in England. For five years, I had been tactfully asking, 'Do you ever have snow at all?' as I steeled myself to the six months of wet, tepid gray that make up an English winter. 'Ooo, I do remember snow,' was the usual reply, 'when I were a lad.'
The beauty of that June day was almost staggering. After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in bloom and blossom. The sunlight was a benediction. The breezes were so caressingly soft and intimate on the skin as to be embarrassing.
That's mind-blowing to me that people would say that because you have nice things, you're soft. No, you're soft because your culture is soft.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!