When me and Mike Tyson were around, we played king of the hill. Whoever comes to the hill, you get your behind whooped. We don't pick and choose. I fought guys when I had fractured wrists and ribs, bad backs, I didn't care. I was the king of the hill; Tyson was king of the hill. When we left, people were trying to get the 'most money fight.'
The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.
Choose your companions before you choose your road.
The third discipline is community. Whom do you choose as your companions? Whom do you choose to be friends with, to live with? Are they people who love you, and care for you, and nurture you?
Choose action, not rest. Choose the good in life in all things, and choose the opportunity as well as the chance to work when springtime smiles on your face.
And if my choice is to sit graciously in my best robes and accept the inevitable or to bail a sea with a bucket, give me the bucket.
Washington is gripped by crab-in-the-bucket syndrome. And there's no cure in sight. Put a single crab in an uncovered bucket, and it will find a way to climb up and out on its own. Put a dozen crabs in a bucket, and 11 will fight with all their might to pull down the striver who attempts escape.
As I came down the Highgate Hill, The Highgate Hill, the Highgate Hill, As I came down the Highgate Hill, I met the sun's bravado, And saw below me, fold on fold, Grey to pearl and pearl to gold, This London like a land of old, The land of Eldorado.
Sometimes the very best of all summer books is a blank notebook. Get one big enough, and you can practice sketching the lemon slice in your drink or the hot lifeguard on the beach or the vista down the hill from your cabin.
You either choose to view America as the shining city on the hill that inspires the best in all mankind, or you don't.
Bucket filling is in the eye of the bucket holder, not the bucket filler. Fill their buckets with things that are important to them ... not you.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
In the creative state a man is taken out of himself. He lets down as it were a bucket into his subconscious, and draws up something which is normally beyond his reach. He mixes this thing with his normal experiences and out of the mixture he makes a work of art.
A ball will always come to rest halfway down a hill, unless there is sand or water at the bottom.
As soon as you choose to fight with violence you're choosing to fight against your opponents best weapons and you have to be smarter than that.
It doesn't matter where you are in your own personal development, nor has it mattered where you have been culturally; dogs simply don't pass judgment on you the way all of the rest of life and all your other companions seem to.