Please find below a curated list of 286 of The Best Bicycle Quotes by notable women and men. Please consider sharing with others any of the Bicycle Quotes that resonate.
First dentistry was painless.Then bicycles were chainless,Carriages were horseless,And many laws enforceless.Next cookery was fireless,Telegraphy was wireless,Cigars were nicotineless,And coffee caffeineless.Soon oranges were seedless,The putting green was weedless,The college boy was hatless,The proper diet fatless.New motor roads are dustless,The latest steel is rustless,Our tennis courts are sodless,Our new religion–godless.
But what is work and what is not work? Is it work to dig, to carpenter, to plant trees, to fell trees, to ride, to fish, to hunt, to feed chickens, to play the piano, to take photographs, to build a house, to cook, to sew, to trim hats, to mend motor bicycles? All of these things are work to somebody, and all of them are play to somebody. There are in fact very few activities which cannot be classed either as work or play according as you choose to regard them.
Some days,’ I say, ‘I feel like I don’t belong anywhere in that world. That world out there. ‘I point to Grant. ‘People walk down our street and people drive down it and people ride their bicycles down it and all of them, even the ones I know, could be from another planet. And I’m a visiting alien.’ And aliens don’t belong anywhere,’ Adam finishes for me, ‘except in their own little corners of the universe.’ Right,’ I say. ~pgs 57-58 Hattie and Adam on alienation
Upscale people are fixated with food simply because they are now able to eat so much of it without getting fat, and the reason they don’t get fat is that they maintain a profligate level of calorie expenditure. The very same people whose evenings begin with melted goats cheese… get up at dawn to run, break for a mid-morning aerobics class, and watch the evening news while racing on a stationary bicycle.
I was in the hospital for a month and a half of my first-grade year, so I missed a lot of school. I remember that I returned home from the hospital and there was a bicycle waiting for me in front of the house, a yellow and red bicycle with a big banana seat on it. This was 1980, and it’s still my favorite bike.
Holland is a dream, Monsieur, a dream of gold and smoke-smokier by day, more gilded by night. And night and day that dream is peopled with Lohengrins like these, dreamily riding their black bicycles with high handle-bars, funereal swans constantly drifting throughout the whole country, around the seas, along the canals.