Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Paraded. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Paraded Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Elizabeth Gaskell,David Ogilvy,Misty Copeland,M.c. Scott,Herbert Hoover for you to enjoy and share.
Or, in the triumph of the crowded procession, have the helpless been trampled on, instead of being gently lifted aside out of the roadway of the conqueror, whom they have no power to accompany on his march? It
You aren't advertising to a standing army; you are advertising to a moving parade.
I traced the marley floor with my pointe shoes, and imagine myself on the stage, not as a member of the corps, but as a principal dancer. It felt right. It felt like a promise. Some day, somehow, it was going to happen for me.
We broke camp together and set off in our opposite directions: we of the XIIth and our allies marched east, towards the rising sun, combat and honour; the IVth went west, to the setting sun, to ignominy and a wealth of digging. We sang as we marched. They did not.
My earliest realization of the stir of national life was the torch parade in the Garfield campaign. On that occasion, I was not only allowed out that night, but I saw the lamps being filled and lighted.
Processions, meetings, military parades, lectures, waxwork displays, film shows, telescreen programs all had to be organized; stands had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs written, rumours circulated, photographs faked.
Sinking invalids blew kisses to him from windows. Aproned shopkeepers cheered ecstatically from the narrow doorways of their shops. Tubas crumped. Here and there a person fell and was trampled to death.
A great stag woven of rushes and fluttering with green ribbons was borne through the streets to the music of pipe and tabor. Crowds of women surrounded it, leaping and grabbing at the ribbons.
As they marched, the crowds lining the route broke into applause, a sweet and deeply felt spontaneous pattering that was a sort of communal embrace. Welcome home.
On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street,
The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet,
With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea
And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
Kili and Fili rushed for their bags and brought back little fiddles; Dori, Nori, and Ori brought out flutes from somewhere inside their coats; Bombur produced a drum
You're raining on my parade."
"It's a pretty wet parade already, if you hadn't noticed.
The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The
You can't help yourself, can you? You think the only thing to do with a parade is rain on it. Some people know to enjoy the parade because, dude, the rain always comes back.
Keep marching boys and girls. Keep marching
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star ... And I dance.
I'm still passionately interested in what my fellow humans are up to. For me, a day spent monitoring the passing parade is a day well-spent.
The steeples swam in amethyst, the news like squirrels swam.
Every house was festooned with flowers and with lanterns. On the national day, the whole country went wild with joy, But on that very day, I was placed in chains and transferred: The wind remains contrary to the flight of the eagle.
Dance in the most perishable of the arts. Ballets are forgotten, ballerinas retire, choreographers die
and what remains of that glorious production which so excited us a decade ago, a year ago, or even last night?
streets, came nearer and nearer.
They walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street and taking in every Musketeer they met, so that in the end it became a triumphal march. The heart of D'Artagnan swam in delirium; he marched between Athos and Porthos, pressing them tenderly.
Dancing and ballets would undoubtedly take on a new lease on life, if the customs established by a spirit of fear and jealousy did not in some way close the path of glory ...
The whole past is the procession of the present.
Opportunity is a parade. Even as one chance passes, the next is a fife and drum echoing in the distance.
The walk of shame, please. It was the walk of pride today.
sometimes stood up and speared, and
band behind them. The crowd moved and shifted. Tickertape and confetti fluttered down from the second- and third-floor windows of the business
The vast army of McClellan spread out before me. The marching columns extended back as far as eye could see in the distance. It was a grand and glorious spectacle, and it was impossible to look at it without admiration.
Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton.
If you are being run out of town, get in front of the crowd and make it look like a parade.
A dance to the music of time.
It was tremendously satisfying to watch this color parade.
All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.
We trust in plumed procession
For such the angels go
Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
Dance is music made visible
The dance had begun.
The servants of God who had been a besieged garrison became a marching army; the ways of the world were filled as with thunder with the trampling of their feet and far ahead of that ever swelling host went a man singing; as simply he had sung that morning in the winter woods, where he walked alone.
Our tongues danced - not a waltz or a minuet, but a war dance, a death dance of bone drums and screaming fiddles.
Dancing as an art, we may be sure, cannot die out, but will always be undergoing a rebirth. Not merely as an art, but also as a social custom, it perpetually emerges afresh from the soul of the people.
Music must be seen, and dance must be heard
The treble parade would have been the most perfect moment of my footballing life, but for the two people standing behind me, clearly already plotting their next move.
Dance has been transformed from an involuntary motor discharge, a ceremonial rite, into a work of art, conscious of, intended for, observation.
Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls and boys,
In our youth time were seen
On the Echoing Green.
Remember that you're far back in the procession; remember that a whole army corps has laid siege to her, that she's been laid waste, plundered and pillaged.
I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Lila walked by with her nose in the air. In a straight line behind her, six obedient kindergartners waddled like baby geese, singing in unison, 'Row, row, row your yacht ...
Once again the songs of the fatherland roared to the heavens along the endless marching columns, and for the last time the Lord's grace smiled on His ungrateful children.
I've been marching in every single ethnic nationality parade all throughout the City of New York. We're all Americans first and foremost, but people understand their heritage and it's good to see.
Hurrying, dragging, falling, crying, calling out names hopefully and hopelessly.
It seemed to Jahan that, in truth, this world, too, was a spectacle. One way or another, everyone was parading. They performed their tricks, each of them, some staying longer, others shorter, but in the end they all left through the back door, similarly unfulfilled, similarly in need of applause.
We Rode to war in a taxi-cab
Say again, over," he announced.
"I was saying that I'm going from here on foot," Arkeley told them. "You can follow however you choose but this place was never meant for a military parade."
"He's making fun of your truck," Caxton told Captain Suzie.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade, into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way.
Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home
breathtakingly lewd exhibition of modesty.
Lots of times you have to pretend to join a parade in which you're not really interested in order to get where you're going.
Every one a drum major leading a parade of hurts, marching with our bitterness.
Crowds rarely cheer too loudly for the defeated, no matter how hard they fought, how great their sacrifices, how long the odds. Maidens might wet themselves over cheap and worthless victories, but they don't so much as blush for 'I did my best
And they went off down the street, into the heart of Mardi Gras Day.
We Irish don't really need thousands of people surging behind a big brass band to have a parade. One guitar player and a few people whistling will do the job.
She had spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to finally come home and how much she missed everybody - she thought they'd throw her a ticker tape parade. She thought it would be a big hugfest.
We must make an issue, create an event, and establish a national position for ourselves: and never may expect to be respected as men and women, until we have undertaken some fearless, bold, and adventurous deeds of daring ...
Vivian was an eccentric who not only marched to her own drummer but was usually the drum major of the crazy parade
I'm one of those old-fashioned homosexuals, not one of the newfangled ones who are born joining parades.
They march from safety, and the bird-sung joy
Of grass-green thickets, to the land where all
Is ruin, and nothing blossoms but the sky
I guard my existence, sheltered by distance. Hidden and masked I parade, everyone oblivious to the grand charade.
Parade your pallor in iniquity.
I danced along a colored wind/ Dangled from a rope of sand
What are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
Poetry is a string of words that parades without a permit.
though my voice is eager to tune to marches,
toady to wine and city...
To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
I danced with the London Festival at Covent Garden. I'm a ballerina by trade; I'm a ballerina who sings by the way.
The drum to which we march reveals the conductor to whom we're listening.
Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?
The red-jacketed band stirred to life. The first musician raised his trumpet. The trombone dipped. The drumstick rose. Lea lowered her clarinet. It had been Brent's idea not to have their insturments rise and fall in unison. The staggered motion gave it a more exciting rhythm.
Masked, I advance.
Fame Imperishable and glory that will never die
that is what we march for!
Now I'm on the rise, doin' business with my guys. Visions realize, music [your craft] affected lives. A gift from the skies, to be recognized, I'm keeping my eye on the people, that's the prize
There was a lovely bit of play which set Valley Parade alight again
That's it, said Cavuto. You're too much of a nerd to be gay. I'm contacting the committee. They'll revoke your rainbow flag and you will not be permitted anywhere near the parade.
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.
When the Second World War broke out, I felt that everyone must do his share, and I began composing songs and marches for the front. But soon events assumed such gigantic and far-reaching scope as to demand larger canvasses.
And over the river
in purple durance the
echoes bided there time.
If there were music and movements that embodied the wildness and recklessness and immortality of youth, they were here, on this dance floor. Doneval
We beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
I was a drummer in the bugle band in cadets. I marched. It's probably quite funny to look back on it.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves
There's no need for rain
It's our own parade
Let's not be afraid of our reflections
It's not only you you're looking at now
Along the avenue of cypresses,
All in their scarlet cloaks and surplices
Of linen, go the chanting choristers,
The priests in gold and black, the villagers ...
I will never forget the moment when Peter van Pels and I saw a group of selected men. Among those men was Peter's father. The men were marched away. Two hours later, a lorry came by, loaded with their clothing.
In a retreat the lame are formost.
[In a retreat the lame are foremost.]
Derailed. In exile. Deeply ashamed, despised. Yet she had so little pride, she was grateful most days simply to be alive.
There is Minimalist art; there are minimalist lives.
Words are but the bannerets of a great army, a few bits of waving color here and there; thoughts are the main body of the footman that march unseen below.
Sing your song. Dance your dance. Tell your tale.
We were marching since we were babies and all we did was make Jane Fonda famous.
With my scrip on my back, and my staff in my hand,I'll march on in haste thro' an enemy's land.Though the way may be rough it cannot be long;So I'll smooth it with hope, and I'll cheer it with song.
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.