The way Jesus shows you is not easy. Rather, it is like a path winding up a mountain. Do not lose heart! The steeper the road, the faster it rises towards ever wider horizons.— Pope John Paul II
Competitive Winding Road quotations
Don't feel sorry for yourself if you have chosen the wrong road. Turn around.
All rising to great places is by a winding stair.
It snowed all day long, fortunately it didn't stay on the road.
It was very, very cold today. Fortunately, the wind was at my back. The terrain was rolly but not big hills. The first miles were like usual tough, but I felt quite good from there till the end of 10 miles.
If there is no wind, row.
The long and winding road that leads to your door / Will never disappear, / I've seen that road before it always leads me here, / Leads me to your door.
Give me the clear blue sky above my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner - and then to thinking!
I like to think that Einstein would look at string theory’s journey and smile, enjoying the theory’s remarkable geometrical features while feeling kinship with fellow travelers on the long and winding road toward unification.
Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.
The road to democracy may be winding and is like a river taking many curves, but eventually the river will reach the ocean.
Healing can be a long and winding road or a straightforward march to the finish line.
I've had my ups and downs. My fair share of bumpy roads and heavy winds. That's what made me what I am today.
It's your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.
I know that relationships can be a winding, sometimes unpredictable road.
.. it just seems to me that, if you ever find yourself backed into a corner, and the only way out is a box, that you have sex in, on stage, on live TV... something has gone terribly wrong.
At midnight the wind in the tress can sound like the ocean.
The moonlight can make a road appear as endless as the sea.
The pessimist complains about the wind. The optimist expects it to change. The leader adjusts the sails.
The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere Underneath my being is a road that disappeared Late at night I hear the trees, they're singing with the dead Overhead.
Climb the steep Cold Mountain way Roads to Cold Mountain are many and never ending The valleys are long and deep, the peaks piled high The streams are wide, the grass is thick The moss is slippery though there is no rain The pines sigh though there is no wind Who can escape the snares of the world And come to sit with me among the white clouds?
The road to success is dotted with many tempting parking spaces.
Winter is on the road to spring. Some think it a surly road. I do not. A primrose road to spring were not as engaging to my heart as a frozen icicled craggy way angered over by strong winds that never take the iron trumpets from their lips.
I dream of land, cut only where streams glistened with birdsong wander through quiet hills burnt hard by the scrape of wind, and of a porch from which a single road leads only homeward.
Wan February with weeping cheer, Whose cold hand guides the youngling year Down misty roads of mire and rime, Before thy pale and fitful face The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace Through skies the morning scarce may climb. Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears, But lit with hopes that light the year's.
The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjust the sails.
So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
O my choice beauty You've gone But your love remains in my heart Your image in my eye O guide on my winding road I keep turning round and round in the hopes of Finding you
No matter how far down the wrong road you've gone, turn back.
We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.
The mountains and moors, the wild uplands, are to be staked out like vampires in the sun, their chests pierced with rows of five-hundred-foot wind turbines and associated access roads, masts, pylons, and wires.
Even in populous districts, the practice of medicine is a lonely road which winds up-hill all the way and a man may easily go astray and never reach the Delectable Mountains unless he early finds those shepherd guides of whom Bunyan tells, Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere.
We cant direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
On and on they flew, over the countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
A traffic policeman stops Sister Bridget for speeding.
She pulls into the side of the road and winds down her window. The officer walks round and starts undoing his fly. "Oh dear," she says, "Not the breathalyser again."
I can't always change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.
How many roads must a man walk down Before your can call him a man? .
. . The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Now Livie's gone west, out of the dust, on her way to California, where the wind takes a rest sometimes. And I'm wondering what kind of friend I am, wanting my feet on that road to another place,instead of Livie's.
For every moment of joy Every hour of fear For every winding road that brought me here For every breath, for every day of living This is my Thanksgiving
You say you love rain, but you use an umbrella to walk under it. You say you love sun, but you seek shade when it is shining. You say you love wind, but when it comes you close your window. So that's why I'm scared when you say you love me.
The thing that will never go away is that connection you make with a band or a song where you're moved by the fact that it's real people making music. You make that human connection with a song like 'Let It Be' or 'Long and Winding Road' or a song like 'Bohemian Rhapsody' or 'Roxanne,' any of those songs. They sound like people making music.
And so, perhaps, the truth winds somewhere between the road to Glastonbury, Isle of the Priests, and the road to Avalon, lost forever in the mists of the Summer Sea.
A lonely Autumn leaf on the road by sticking to another one becomes more resistant to harsh winds. Unity is the midwife of security!
Who climbs the mountain does not always climb.
The winding road slants downward many a time;Yet each descent is higher than the last.
He put his foot on one pedal, scooted a few yards and swung his other leg over the saddle. He soared left into the vertiginously sloping hillside road and sped, without touching his brakes ... The hedgerows and sky blurred; he imagined himself in a velodrome as the wind whipped his hair clean...