This Congress has promised all manner of border security and port security to the tune of billions of dollars. . . yet we have - to date - funded our promises for port security at only $900 million. That's quite a distance between what we say and what we actually do.
I feel I'm discovering something new, a different rhythm, and I guess these rhythms have a lot to do with walking, too, but it's a longer trajectory now. I'm traveling greater distances with each sentence. But I don't write about walking that much anymore.
Translated literature can be fascinating. There's something so intriguing about reading the text second hand - a piece of prose that has already been through an extra filter, another consciousness, in the guise of the translator. Some of my favorite writers who have written in English were doing so without English being their first language, so there's a sense of distance or of distortion there, too. Conrad. Nabokov. These writers were employing English in interesting ways.
I plan on getting out there and mixing with the crowd. I want to show everyone what happens in Times Square not from a distance, but from right there in the crowd.
When I was in therapy about two years ago, one day I noticed that I hadn't had any children. And I like children at a distance. I wondered if I'd like them up close. I wondered why I didn't have any. I wondered if it was a mistake, or if I'd done it on purpose, or what. And I noticed my therapist didn't have any children either. He had pictures of his cats on the wall. Framed.
You have to understand, my dears, that the shortest distance between truth and a human being is a story.
the whistle of the old steam trains. . . could conjure up visions of bleak distances with one solitary wail.
Having wandered some distance among gloomy rocks, I came to the entrance of a great cavern. . . Two contrary emotions arose in me: fear and desire--fear of the threatening dark cavern, desire to see whether there were any marvelous things in it.
Here is Menard's own intimate forest: 'Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade. . . I live in great density. . . Shelter lures me. I slump down into the thick foliage. . . In the forest, I am my entire self. Everything is possible in my heart just as it is in the hiding places in ravines. Thickly wooded distance separates me from moral codes and cities.
To see the greatness of a mountain, one must keep one's distance.
I never got tired of watching the radar echo from an aircraft as it first appeared as a tiny blip in the noise on the cathode-ray tube, and then grew slowly into a big deflection as the aircraft came nearer. This strange new power to "see" things at great distances, through clouds or darkness, was a magical extension of our senses. It gave me the same thrill that I felt in the early days of radio when I first heard a voice coming out of a horn.
Stereotypes abound when there is distance. They are an invention, a pretense that one knows when the steps that would make real knowing possible cannot be taken or are not allowed.
Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this, but like everyone, I learned it late.
I find that the mask of the critic is to have distance.
I think about myself as like an ocean liner that's been going full speed for a long distance, and the captain pulls the throttle back all the way to 'stop', but the ship doesn't stop immediately. It has its own momentum and it keeps on going, and I'm very flattered that people are still finding me useful
When I was a rookie, Cy Young used to hit me flies to sharpen my abilities to judge in advance the direction and distance of an outfield-hit ball.
No dignity without distance.
I perfectly understood President Obama's attitude throughout the French presidential campaign. He had no reason to distance himself from Nicolas Sarkozy. It's the basic solidarity that leaders who worked together owe to each other.
Anarcharsis, on learning that the sides of a ship were four fingers thick, said that "the passengers were just that distance from death.
The number of medals on an officer's breast varies in inverse proportion to the square of the distance of his duty from the front line.