Standing My Ground Quotes & Sayings

I thought of To Kill a Mockingbird. I had finished reading it one night in a bunker, my knees bent and hunched together while mortars hit the ground, the glow of a cigarette and the moon as my only light. Standing there now, chain-smoking, I felt like I finally understood the ending. — Michael Anthony

That's when I hit the ground. So in the instant that that round landed and blew me in the air, I had those separate and distinct thoughts. The guy who was standing right next to where I had been standing had a hole in his back I could put my fist into. — Ed Bradley

The Storms of This Life
Watching the distant clouds building and growing forevermore
The harsh wind begins rushing thru the leaves with the branches bending to and fro
In the attempts to not give in again I'm standing firm on all that I know
And extending out my hand reaching beyond the heavens above
Grasping for His strength to hold on, along with the endurance to make it thru
Praying that the ground beneath me will not erode nor engulf all that I love — Christine Upton

After about half an hour I give up, thinking he must have stumbled home, when I find him. I'm in the girls' toilets, washing my hands, and I hear drunken poetry being recited from the end stall.

I walk down to it, push open the door, and there he is, lying on the ground, his head between the wall and the bowl. "Do you mind? I'm having a private moment here, Rachel."

I crouch on the floor beside him. "Here's a tip for a private moment: don't have it on the floor of the girls' toilets."

"The girls?" he asks.

"The added extras didn't give it away?"

He lifts his head and squints at the unit in the opposite corner. "Not a mailbox?"

"Not a mailbox, Henry," I say as I try, unsuccessfully, to haul him into a standing position. — Cath Crowley

Once I had feared that telling the truth would be like falling, that love would be like hitting the ground, but here I was, my feet firmly planted, standing on my own. — Rachel Hartman

the figures are shadow-swept, various, self-involved, and as turbulent as waves, as standing waves ...; and as I look at them, as I curl more tightly into shin-warmth on my preferred bench, I wonder which of these figures, too, are runaways, which of these scudding clumps are the moving forms of runaways ...but runaways whom I don't recognize, whose rightfulness I don't acknowledge: which of these figures am I denying ...; because it would take, I am sure, only a glance, only one shared eye-shudder, for all this to end, for their circumstances suddenly to reverse; it would only take one glance upon them...and one glance from them...; this, then, would be interpenetration, genuine interpenetration, a real refutation of figure and ground...; — Evan Dara

I begin to realize that my memory is a great catacomb, and that below my actual standing-ground there is layer after layer of historical ashes.
Is the life of mind something like that of great trees of immemorial growth? Is the living layer of consciousness super-imposed upon hundreds of dead layers? Dead? No doubt this is too much to say, but still, when memory is slack the past becomes almost as though it had never been. To remember that we did know once is not a sign of possession but a sign of loss; it is like the number of an engraving which is no longer on its nail, the title of a volume no longer to be found on its shelf. My mind is the empty frame of a thousand vanished images. — Henri Frederic Amiel

I'm proud of myself for standing my ground, though. — Elle Kennedy

She opens the book. Each sheet has one or two antique photographs stuck with corner tabs. The images are neither black and white nor gray, but hold that brownish gold of time and exposure to air.

"This man is your great grandfather. Look at that face, Pedro. It is a mean mean face." He's standing in front of a wood pile, holding an axe. "I think he was only a teenager there, a long time before he met my mother. But look how handsome he was. And how mean."

It's funny the way she smiles when she talks about him. Saying he's mean has a perverse joy for her, as if she can stick her tongue out at him and his hands are tied so he can't slap her for doing it. She's right, though. There's no lingering smile, no potential for mirth in the burlap of his skin. I notice snow on the ground at his feet, but he's wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt, showing no sign of cold. — Laurie Perez

It was almost painful to watch,that kite of mine.
Tethered to the string in my hand. Dancing in the sky all alone.
My breath caught in my throat, my pulse beating wild and crazy on my chest. My heart soaring with every dip and turn of the kite,as if I were flying along,instead of standing with my two feet on the ground, squinting against the sun to see the dance.
What if it fell?
What if the breeze took it away?
I counted the seconds until I could reel it back in.
I was that kite.
Fragile against the wind. Soaring one minute. Spiraling straight down next. Just looking for something to hold me up.
Before I spun out of control and flew away.
Dissappearing fron sight. — Jenny B. Jones

It took several moments before Izzy dared open her eyes. When she did, she saw the beast that might have killed her lying lifeless on the ground. Standing over it in silent contemplation, bloodied sword in hand, was a golden-haired, lanky boy. He glanced over his shoulder as Izzy approached. Striking green-gold eyes met her astonished gaze. 'You saved my life.' Izzy came up beside him, finding it difficult to keep from staring at the felled beast, which was frightful even in death. 'That was the bravest deed I've ever seen,' she whispered. 'You might have been killed in my place.' 'A man must be willing to face danger,' he told her as he cleaned and resheathed his sword. He turned a solemn gaze on her. 'Tis a knight's duty to protect a lady in need, whatever the risk.'
-Izzy and Griffin — Lara Adrian

What I recall is this: this native people he lived with, deep in the jungle - their language had dozens of words for rain. Because it was so common to them, you see. Where they lived, it rained almost constantly. Several times a day. So they had words for light rain, and heavy rain, and pounding rain. Something like eighteen different terms for storms, and a whole classification system for mist."
"Why are you telling me this?"
His touch skimmed lightly down her arm. "Because I'm standing here, wanting to give you fitting compliment, but my paltry vocabulary fails me. I think what I need is a scientific excursion. I need to venture deep into some jungle where beauty takes the place of rain. Where loveliness itself falls from the sky at regular intervals. Dots every surface, saturates the ground, hangs like vapor in the air. Because the way you look right now ... " His gaze cought hers in the reflection. "They'd have a word for it there. — Tessa Dare

Ground rules, Tanner," he growled. Tanner paled. More good. "No alcohol. No smoking. No drugs. No looking at other girls. You can dance with my daughter. Your hands will avoid the danger zones, which are here, here and here." Liam gestured to his chest, groin and ass. "You can kiss her. Once. At 10:59 p.m. tonight, when you'll be standing here once again. I will be on the other side of this door, waiting for her. Am I clear?" "Yes, sir," Tanner whispered. "I was your age once, too," Liam said. "I'm aware of that, sir." "I know what you think about." "I'm sorry." "You can think it. You can't do it." "Okay." "I have many sharp tools in my garage." "Yes, sir." "We're clear, then?" "Very, sir." "Good!" Liam smiled, then grabbed the boy by the shoulder and dragged him in. "Nicole! Your date's here. — Kristan Higgins

The soul of a true christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared like such a little white flower as we see in the spring of the year; low and humble on the ground, opening its bosom
to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly, in the midst of other
flowers round about; all in like manner opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the sun. — Jonathan Edwards

But then I'm distracted by movement in the Forest, a glimpse of red at the edge of my vision. She's no longer running, no longer even walking or standing, but crawling now. Dragging her broken body across the ground toward me, her fingers clawing at the dirt. Her progress is slow, unbearably so. Such that it's almost sad to see her reduced to this. Her body has used up it's stores of energy and has begun collapsing in on itself. — Carrie Ryan

My resolution, standing with the vast majority of Americans who know we can and must be safer, is to cede no ground to those who would convince us the path is too steep, or we too weak. — Gabrielle Giffords

Standing in the nordic nook of the kitchen, I can gaze down at the flimsy-limbed joggers heading south towards the Park. It's nearly as bad as New York. Some of these gasping fatsos, these too-little-too-late artists, they look as though they're running up rising ground, climbing ground. My generation, we started all this. Before, everyone was presumably content to feel like death the whole time. Now they want to feel terrific for ever. — Martin Amis

By being human, I was actually being inhumane. My hesitation to embrace my new abilities was causing needless suffering. Once you cross that moral threshold - once you decide to kill a man who hasn't threatened or wronged you - better to do it quickly, or whatever moral high ground you're standing on gets washed away by their blood. — Seth Grahame-Smith

As I walked in the woods I felt what I often feel that nothing can befall me in life, no calamity, no disgrace (leaving me my eyes) to which Nature will not offer a sweet consolation. Standing on the bare ground with my head bathed by the blithe air, & uplifted into the infinite space, I become happy in my universal relations. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign & accidental. I am the heir of uncontained beauty and power. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

I never really feel like just standing there and telling jokes. I want to move around. In fact, it's hard for me to write a joke where I don't end up on the ground for some reason. Hey, at least that way, I know no comics will steal my jokes. Too many bruises. — Chris D'Elia

Recently I have been attacked in newspapers by two 'fabulist' writers, as far as I can make out for the ordinariness of the worlds I portray. To which the most obvious reply is that it's all very well writing about elves and dragons and goddesses rising out of the ground and the rest of it--who couldn't do that and make it colorful? (Readable, of course, is another matter...) But writing about pubs and struggling singer-songwriters--well, that's hard work. Nothing happens. Nothing happens, and yet, somehow, I have to persuade you that something is happening somewhere in the hearts and minds of my characters, even though they're just standing there drinking beer and making jokes about Peter Frampton. — Nick Hornby

Whenever I teach writing I tell them to never revise as you go. Finish the first draft. This is my writing advice. I can't do that myself. I'm lying to everybody. I write a paragraph, and then I rewrite that paragraph. I want to feel like I'm standing on firm ground before I move on to the next paragraph. Mentally, I have to do that. — Matt De La Pena

And suddenly I was lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling, my face numb. At least, numb until the adrenaline vanished and pain flooded into every nerve of my skull. I blinked away stars and Tweety Birds, to see Dec and Abe standing above me and looking down, both of their faces frozen in different ways:
DECLAN / ABE
Worry / Worry
Shock / Shock
Anger / Mortification
Rage / Guilt
hating seeing loved one hurt / hating having hurt a friend
about to go Hulk-like / wanting to run, but standing his ground — Sean Kennedy

It really is important you say these words out loud. "I AM A FEMINIST." If you feel you cannot say it - not even standing on the ground - I would be alarmed. It's probably one of the most important things a woman will ever say: the equal of "I love you," Is it a boy or a girl?" or "No! I've changed my mind! I don't want bangs! — Caitlin Moran

I jerked my hand back and looked up, horrified. "The ground feels like skin!"
A slow smile crept onto Hades' face. "Zeus got bored with the whole rock and eagle bit."
Rock and eagle bit ... ? Then it hit me. "Prometheus?"
"You're standing on him," Hades remarked.
My stomach turned. "Oh gods, I think I'm going to vomit."
"Perfect," the god said. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The funny thing about my procrastination was that I was almost done with the screenplay. I was like a person who had fought dragons and lost limbs and crawled through swamps and now, finally, the castle was visible. I could see tiny children waving flags on the balcony; all I had to do was walk across a field to get to them. But all of a sudden I was very, very sleepy. And the children couldn't believe their eyes as I folded down to my knees and fell to the ground face-first, with my eyes open. Motionless, I watched ants hurry in and out of a hole and I knew that standing up again would be a thousand times harder than the dragon or the swamp and so I did not even try. I just clicked on one thing after another after another. — Miranda July

I'm standing by the cereal, reaching for a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, when I feel my chest clenching but not unclenching. It clenches tighter and tighter, like someone has wrapped a corset around it. My palms are wet. My head is compressing, growing and shrinking at the same time. I can hear my breathing, and it's so amplified that, to my own ears, I sound like Darth Vader. A woman at the end of the aisle is frozen as she watches me. She looks scared...My breathing is getting louder, and I cover my ears to block it out. And that's when the ceiling starts to spin and the air disappears and my lungs won't stop working and I can't breathe at all. I drop everything and run away from the cart and all that food until I'm out the door. I stand in the parking lot, bent over at the waist, breathing in the fresh night air, and then I lie flat on the ground, as if this will open my lungs wider and make them work again, only the breath won't come. — Jennifer Niven

Standing on the bare ground,
my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space,
all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Take me to my new trailer," Ezra ordered Dennis.
Dennis didn't move.
"What, did you not hear me?" Ezra raged. "I'm standing on your deaf ear?"
Dennis just stood there calmly.
Ezra slapped his own forehead with his right hand and sighed - civility didn't come easy. And here Dennis was standing his ground and demanding he be treated right.
"Please," Ezra said, defeated.
Dennis turned away from Elton and walked confidently toward the new RV the U.S. government had brought in for Ezra.
"Some people and their inflated egos," Ezra sniffed.
Dennis just smiled. — Obert Skye

I want to run. To do what I always do, have always done, for the last five years of my life. Escape, flee into the shadows. But this time, I stand my ground. I'm tired of running. — Marie Lu

I don't believe in true love and I certainly don't believe in love at first sight. Insta-love isn't something that happens in real life. It happens in the books I read, but not in the world I live. Though here stands this beautiful, sexy, funny, sweet and amazing guy who has done everything short of professing love at first sight to me and I'm still standing here like a pair of lungs suffocating, needing him in order to breathe. I'm not running, I'm here, submerged in all of my vulnerability, taking the biggest chance I ever have with my heart and soul. I hope I'm choosing wisely. I stared at the ground and felt his eyes on the top of my head. — Kathryn Perez

I see the tragedy in living an all-or-nothing existence, in teetering on top of that skyscraper and feeling forced to choose between standing paralyzed in fear or hurling myself over the edge in ecstasy. I recognize the pain of white-knuckling my way through life. I recognize the internal chaos of barreling through life in bouts of mania and depression. The alternative, the middle ground, is balance. It's not wishing to stay or fall; its remaining upright, respecting the boundary of the rooftop and admiring exhilaration, the strength, of standing so high. — Andie Mitchell

I Sungazed on the beach with my 13-y.o. Niece. Seems she enjoyed it too, just about 15 secs. I explained it all to her, it takes only 5-10 mins to explain, it's so simple. Relax and look at the Sun while standing on the ground with bare feet. The rest is more the wherefores.
I did around 6 mins, which will be my max for awhile.
My feet are getting a little better for the barefoot walking. — Sienna McQuillen

"Hi, Isaiah. How are you doing, Beth?" Echo asked.
Beth took a long draw off her cigarette, glaring at Echo. Standing her ground, Echo stared back, pretending Beth's fury didn't matter to her. Pride flooded my body. — Katie McGarry

When the boat had gone a few oar-strokes away from land they were still standing on the beach, gazing after the boy whom an unknown woman had left naked in their arms. They were holding hands, and other people gave way before them, and I could see no one except them. Or were they perhaps so extraordinary that other people melted away and vanished into thin air around them?
When I had clambered up with my bag onto the deck of the mail-boat North Star, I saw them walking back together on their way home: on the way to our turnstile-gate; home to Brekkukot, our house which was to be razed to the ground tomorrow. They were walking hand in hand, like children. — Halldor Laxness

I settled on the floor and whispered to Sam, "I want you to listen to me, if you can." I leaned the side of my face against his ruff and remembered the golden wood he had shown me so long ago. I remembered the way the yellow leaves, the color of Sam's eyes, fluttered and twisted, crashing butterflies, on their way to the ground. The slender white trunks of the birches, creamy and smooth as human skin. I remembered Sam standing in the middle of the wood, his arms stretched out, a dark, solid form in the dream of the trees. His coming to me, me punching his chest, the soft kiss. I remembered every kiss we'd ever had, and I remembered every time I'd curled in his human arms. I remembered the soft warmth of his breath on the back of my neck while we slept.
I remembered Sam. — Maggie Stiefvater