People are like bicycles. They can keep their balance only as long as they keep moving.
Kids ought to have two bicycles, one to ride and one to rent.
If constellations had been named in the 20th century, I suppose we would see bicycles.
I live on a bicycle. . . I live in central London, probably 90 percent of my travel is done on a bicycle. I love bicycles.
I want to be motivational and inspirational for everybody: my big aim is more women on bicycles.
Bicycles are almost as good as guitars for meeting girls.
Perhaps the most vivid recollection of my youth is that of the local wheelmen, led by my father, stopping at our home to eat pone, sip mint juleps, and flog the field hands. This more than anything cultivated my life-long aversion to bicycles.
I thought, “I want to die. I want to die more than ever before. There’s no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it’s sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame. That dream of going on bicycles to see a waterfall framed in summer leaves—it was not for the likes of me. All that can happen now is that one foul, humiliating sin will be piled on another, and my sufferings will become only the more acute. I want to die. I must die. Living itself is the source of sin.
As a private person, I have a passion for landscape, and I have never seen one improved by a billboard. Where every prospect pleases, man is at his vilest when he erects a billboard. When I retire from Madison Avenue, I am going to start a secret society of masked vigilantes who will travel around the world on silent motor bicycles, chopping down posters at the dark of the moon. How many juries will convict us when we are caught in these acts of beneficent citizenship?
Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly, Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!
We are a nation that worships speed and power. And for good reason. Without power we would still be part of England and everybody would be out of work. . . Bicycles are too slow and impuissant for a nation like ours. They belong in Czechoslovakia.
