Swing Quotes

“When life hasn’t got a swing anymore, people may give in to obsessive oniomaniac compulsions, in as much as they are going out of their way to construct a flamboyant life style and change their identity from “don’t-need” to “must-have” consumers, so as to satisfy their gripping buying desire. ("Buying now. Dying later")”
― Erik Pevernagie

“If people challenge the vagaries of life, in a world where conflicting powers are outlining our fate, it may be ill-advised to actuate wrecking high-wire acts without a safety net. If they need a new swing in their reality, they cannot count on sheer luck. Whatever their exploit may be, reflection and action must be ingrained allies, on all accounts.("Ruling the waves" )”
― Erik Pevernagie

“Fairy tales can come true
It can happen to you
If you're young at heart”
― Frank Sinatra

“I do not have a home.I swing on a continuum between ridiculous and sublime.”
― Amit K Ghosh

“WHAT A CONCUBINE SHOULD NEVER SAY: You wanna swing? Fine! See that tree branch? The one with the rope...”
― Robin Glasser

“I stare mesmerized at the photo
that you have sent,
pushing your child on the swing...
a precious moment captured
and I am reminded
of the distance separating us
and how it seems like yesterday
when I was swinging you, dear son”
― Vijaya Gowrisankar

“And beside the slides and the monkey bars of youth, the eternity of the swing lay like a forgotten child.”
― Gina Marinello-Sweeney, Peter

“My golf swing is like a James Cagney smile. It curves with sincerity, but it's also slightly sinister.”
― Jarod Kintz, To be good at golf you must go full koala bear

“Manny has swung with many men, but many men never seen Manny's blissful swing.”
― Anthony Liccione

“The COVID-19 lottery is in full swing...are you feeling lucky?”
― Steven Magee

“Meet the bonobos, the rare and marvelous “make love not war” great apes who swing through the trees as well as with each other.”
― Susan Block, The Bonobo Way

“When you get to the end of your rope... Tie a knot and swing!”
― Nitya Prakash

“The old tire swing would hurl me out over the creek on one side of the oak tree, fling me up into blue skies on the other, and allow me to effortlessly soar over the ground that lay in-between. But to take such a glorious ride I had to trust the tree to hold me, and the rope to secure me. Yet much like life itself, I had to trust that the disappointment of missing such an exhilarating ride as this would cast the concerns of both tree and rope as the incidental risk required of any great journey. Otherwise, creek and sky and soaring between both would have been a hope of the old tire swing, but never a reality.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Unlike Roberta, which is Kern's creation all the way, Swing Time is Astaire's turf. Fred had uniquely mastered the art of swinging tastefully, without entirely tipping into the down and dirty. He could be hot and cool at the same time. So if Kern was ever going to get hot himself, clearly this was the man to do it with.”
― Wilfrid Sheed, The House That George Built: With a Little Help from Irving, Cole, and a Crew of About Fifty

“A lush clematis vine, its sweet vanilla scent calming and comforting, climbs over tented bamboo poles to form her reading fort. White jasmine flowers along the fence, as bright as stars in a night sky. A flower bed brims with chocolate cosmos, lemon balm, and spearmint, lending the air the aroma of a candy shop, with leaves ready to be plucked for cooking and teas an imaginative play. Throughout the garden: lily of the valley, its fresh, hopeful scent inspiring a return to happiness, its blooms as light and pretty as fairy bells. Fuzzy lamb's ear plants burst with the purple flowers that hummingbirds love. Frothy drifts of yarrow fill the air with their healing fragrance, their flat sprays of blossoms the perfect resting spot for butterflies.
On the yard's upper terrace, a white gravel path glows in the moonlight, cutting through feathery stalks of fennel and happy purple globes of blooming chives that are both edible and playful. A wooden swing hangs from the oak tree, rainbows of ribbons fluttering from its knots. California poppies glow golden even in the shadows, their citrus scent carrying a message of hope.”
― Meg Donohue, The Memory Gardener