I had been plunged into a different world. I found myself spending half my time answering weird questions on book tours in the Midwest. People would stand up and explain to me the situation in their office and ask me whether they should resign or not.
No fear of forgetting the good-humoured faces that meet us in our walks each day.
My sport is biking. I'm not much of a gym person, but I like being outside - hiking, canoeing, camping.
Isn't it really quite extraordinary to see that, since man took his first step, no one has asked himself why he walks, how he walks, if he has ever walked, if he could walk better, what he achieves in walking .. questions that are tied to all the philosophical, psychological, and political systems which preoccupy the world.
I have a notebook with me all the time, and I begin scribbling a few words. When things are going well, the walk does not get anywhere; I finally just stop and write.
If I make your workplace conducive to walking at lunch, or working out at some time during the day, or I get people to use the stairs more by creating incentives to do such, then people will start doing it naturally.
The reality is the cap-and-trade legislation offered by the Democrats amounts to an economic declaration of war on the Midwest by liberals on Capitol Hill.
I think that gravity sets into everything, including careers, but pendulums do swing and mountains do become valleys after a while... if you keep on walking.
Once more I can climb about and remind you that a woman in this epoch does the important literary thinking.
I'm from Wisconsin, and I love snowboarding, hiking, yoga and soccer.
Every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us.
I wear Blundstones for hiking. They're like a work boot with a bit of grip, so you can wear them all day. They're quite groovy.
Our philosophies must be rewritten to remove them from the domain of words and "ideas," and to plant their roots firmly in the earth.
Truth be told, I'm much more comfortable in a pair of hiking boots or with a rack of climbing gear than in front of a laptop.
When I die, I'll probably climb out of the coffin and play the organ at my own funeral!
How can a guy climb trees, say "Me, Tarzan, you, Jane", and make a million?
I learned that the richness of life is found in adventure. . . . It develops self-reliance and independence. Life then teems with excitement. There is stagnation only in security.
A few men own from ten thousand to two hundred thousand acres each. The poor Laborer can find no resting place, save on the barren mountain, or in the trackless desert.
I think to be shot in a mountain valley somewhere or other is altogether less glorious than crashing an airliner into a skyscraper.
The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
It is one of the blessings of wilderness life that it shows us how few things we need in order to be perfectly happy.
They stared at her curiously, and she caught snatches of conversation in two or three languages. It wasn't hard to guess their content, and she smiled a bit primly. Youth, it appeared, was full of illusions as to how much sexual energy two people might have to spare while hiking forty or so kilometers a day, concussed, stunned, diseased, on poor food and little sleep, alternating caring for a wounded man with avoiding becoming dinner for every carnivore within range - and with a coup to plan for the end.
When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow Park we saw a few daffodils close to the waterside. But as we went along there were more and yet more and at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a county turnpike toad. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew about the mossy stones about and about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake.
But all of this success came at the end of a long climb.
There's some end at last for the man who follows a path; mere rambling is interminable.
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