Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Ruts. 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 Ruts Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Lisa Mangum,Katrina Cope,Miroslav Florian,Ozzy Osbourne,Angie Fox for you to enjoy and share.
Gotta keep moving; can't stop; stagnation kills.
a furtive groove
Stand still for a while
Our blood entered this soil
But we straightened up again
You've got to try and take things to the next level, or you'll just get stuck in a rut.
row of stitches.
The slaves of custom and established mode,
With pack-horse constancy we keep the road
Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells,
True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
She was a rut in the road. Plenty of life beneath the surface but it was kept beaten down by the wheels.
What are the asses at now?" He
Occasionally, if I'm in a rut, I find changing location helps.
... one of those terrifying rows where suddenly an end you never thought would come rears up in front of you, like a cliff edge you weren't aware of.
Action is traction.
If you chase after your dreams, your heels must be cushioned by resilience.
When my way is too rough for my feet, or too steep for my strength, I get off it to some smooth velvet path which fancy has scattered over with rosebuds of delights; and, having taken a few turns in it, come back strengthened and refreshed.
'The ruckus' is different experiences you go through throughout your life which builds your ruckus points up - your tolerance. You've got to have a high tolerance for dealing with stuff all the time.
To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm.
When it comes to staying tuned: if you rest, you rust.
Trample the weak. Hurdle the dead.
...this rubbed like a small pebble in a boot. At first it seems like nothing but a nuisance, but eventually it hobbles you.
p 317
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
I laced my shoes with sorrow
and walked a weary road
dead end streets
don't come undone
with double knots
wing tipped shoes
that walk on air
through vacant lots
Rut, routine, robotic. These are the three R's of adult-hood. Wake up, eat, go to work, eat, work more, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat every day until we all reach retirement, or death.
For speed Bone had buried his pack half a day back, and thus as he stood he laced the boots together and tied them to his belt, so that their jostling could deliver a metaphorical kick in the behind.
If the wind doesn't blow...row
The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run
Fear sometimes adds wings to the heels, and sometimes nails them to the ground, and fetters them from moving.
poleaxed with exuberance. Keeping to dirt roads,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, my toes to numb to step, wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.
When the morning's freshness has been replaced by the weariness of midday, when the leg muscles give under the strain, the climb seems endless, and suddenly nothing will go quite as you wish it is then that you must not hesitate.
None though as bowed, small-boned, as my own peasant legs, which in their backward sway and inward turn, shaped by years of adherence to hostile terrains, possess a history of staying put.
Hurrying, dragging, falling, crying, calling out names hopefully and hopelessly.
It takes some real hard running to stay in the same place
Where the legs have gone the hind legs must follow
Mortals trotted about in shoes and corsets made to limit movement, fashion for prey.
Preparing for the ups and downs of life.
It's hard to keep your balance standing tip-toe.
Confuse your trail, lose your trail.
Tenterhooks are the upholstery of the anxious seat.
For six years, from age nineteen until I turned twenty-five, I did not sleep uninterrupted through a single night ... I felt lucky to get my shoes on the right feet ... I moved forward only, thinking each morning anew that we were leaving the worst behind.
Plank to base. I require urgent backup. Repeat. Urgent backup. Am knackered. Repeat. Knackered. And can you pick me up a bag of ready salted crisps on the way? Repeat. Ready salted crisps. Urgent. Over.
Putting facts by the thousands, into the world, the toes take off with an appealing squeak which the thumping heel follows confidentially, the way men greet men. Sometimes walking is just such elated pumping.
I'm steel-toed boots in a ballet-slipper world.
This state of equilibrium is only attractive when we walk a tightrope; sitting on the ground there is nothing marvellous about it." 12
Stand firm as surefooted as deer.
Where you crawl and crawl,
where you live in the husks of trees,
where you lie on the wild twigs
When crushed to your knees, it is best to dig in your heels.
Lack of money rivets us firmly to the ground, one's wings are clipped.
There is an ambush everywhere from the army of accidents; therefore the rider of life runs with loosened reins.
I don't dig staying in one groove.
All feete tread not in one shoe.
I can click my heels together all I want, but there's just no place to go.
We used to languish when we walked, or sidle down the street like dogs that have just done something wrong. Now Rube walks upright, because he's on the attack.
To walk, we have to lean forward, lose our balance and begin to fall. We let go constantly of the previous stability, falling all the time, trusting that we will find a succession of new stabilities with each step.
If you're on your back, you're not on your feet!
We suffer pain, we hang tight to hope, we nurture expectations, we are plagued occasionally by fears, we are haunted by defeats and unrealized hopes ... The hoplessness of which I speak is not limited.
stick together like shit on a shoe.
When it's hard to run, jog,
when it's hard to jog, walk,
when it's hard to walk, limp,
when it's hard to limp, crawl.
As long as you are headed to light
the shackles of darkness are left behind.
At times in life you must rediscover your footing.
Those who stand on their toes are not steady.
In the almost film-like flitting-by of modern life, a man needs something to tell him, from time to time, that he is still himself, and nothing can give him this assurance in so comforting a manner as the "four feet trotting behind".
If you don't run, you rust.
I've been reduced to drag.
Step into my shoes follow my journey my mountains my valleys my surprise potholes and if you can keep going the way I keep going perhaps you'll understand my choices & strength.
On one foot you limp;
on two feet you sprint.
Your spikes have gone floppy,
My ties and ballasts leave me - I travel - I sail - My elbows rest in the sea-gaps. I skirt the sierras. My palms cover continents - I am afoot with my vision.
It isn't the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it's the pebble in your shoe.
Kick the crutch out from under your excuses
A brand-new pair of toe shoes presents itself to us as an enemy with a will of its own that must be tamed.
Well, ring-tailed rutabagas.
You put high heels on and you change.
I do Skid Row every night.
We who lose our footing have lost our way.
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch, - This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.
Hard rain falling,
on all the half-hearted
half-formed
fast walking
Half-fury, half-boredom.
Hard talking.
Half dead from exhaustion.
Hard pushed,
but the puddles keep forming
Don't fall in.
They stumble that run fast.
A stony road, hard on the feet. I would beg for us to sit down but you discouraged it, knowing that sitting was fatal, because of the willpower required to get up again.
If you were ever a ballerina, you know the pain: just to be able to look like it's all so light, but when they take off their shoes, it's all bloody.
discombobulated around
Running to stand still
-Lena
I told you it was kicks. Everybody's kicks, man!
Our sacred beliefs have been made pencils / names of cities / gas stations / My knee is wounded so badly that I limp constantly / Anger is my crutch / I hold myself upright with it / My knee is wounded / see / How I Am Still Walking.
Here is the start, there is the finish line. Between that, you have to run.
You must hang onto the scraps of the bucking moment as if your sanity and life depended on it - because actually they do.
The rising unto place is laborious, and by pains men come to greater pains; and it is sometimes base, and by indignities men come to dignities. The standing is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall, or at least an eclipse.
When you're at rock bottom, strap on a different pair of boots and start climbing - The New Mrs D
The horses have stopped
their clippity-clop,
but feet are too slow
for where I must go.
So here I shall stay
until light of day
when clippity-clop
gets my team underway.
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place ...
I'm riding you with a slack rein, my pet, but don't forget that I'm riding with curb and spurs just the same.
The old days, they arrive back in the oddest ways, suddenly taut, breaking the surface, a salmon leap.
I unzipped my boots but they wouldn't budge. My feet had swollen in the heat. After much tugging, a queue had started to form behind us. Eventually I had no choice but to hold onto the rail with my legs in the air whilst Adam pulled. It wasn't my finest hour.
it was difficult to stay upright. Once rolling, the oxen were as
We are completely saddled and bridled, and ... the bank is so firmly mounted on us that we must go where it will guide.
We fell. We got up. We ran.
To stand still is to regress.
I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.
Fall down 7, get up 8
It isnot good enough tospend time and ink indescribing the penultimate sensations and physical movements of people getting into a state of rut, we all know them so well.
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.
The ballerina on perfected toe
Spins to the axis of a fortitude
That is the sum of all her yesterdays.
Oh, the boots were on the other eight feet now.