Every person who wins in any undertaking must be willing to cut all sources of retreat. Only by doing so can one be sure of maintaining that state of mind known as a burning desire to win - essential to success.

I'm happy that I have my family, and I'm happy that I had Virginia, where I grew up, to retreat to any time I felt overwhelmed. Whenever there were times when I felt like the rug was being pulled out from under me and I was floating in this crazy space, I would stop and go back to that neighborhood and realize nothing's changed, really.

There is only one way left to escape the alienation of present day society: to retreat ahead of it.

I don't feel the need for religion. But I went on a yoga retreat last year and I do believe slightly in the karma thing and just being good and true unto yourself. And I slightly believe that you can attract good and bad to you.

The wild Indian power of escaping observation, even where there is little or no cover to hide in, was probably slowly acquired in hard hunting and fighting lessons while trying to approach game, take enemies by surprise, or get safely away when compelled to retreat.

More and more I think of privatisation as being not just about the takeover of resources and power by corporate interests, but as the retreat of citizens to private life and private space, screened from solidarity with strangers and increasingly afraid or even unable to imagine acting in public.

Peace is purchased from strength. It's not purchased from weakness or unilateral retreats.

Nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.

I'm hosting weekend retreats all over America. It is like a 24-hour slumber party for moms. We laugh, eat, play games, get massages, win prizes, talk about parenting and even cry a bit.

I never stopped studying Buddhism. In the past few years, in between movies, I do a retreat.

Never retreat. Never explain. Get it done and let them howl.

My countrymen: we have reached a turning point in our history. The choice is yours. Shall we venture into this brave new world, bright with possibilities, or retreat to the safety of our familiar but sterile past? I am for crossing the frontier.

As I got older, my life become a whirlwind of homework and responsibilities. The hospital became my retreat, a place to gather my thoughts and focus on my health. The nurses are my friends as well as my caretakers. The doctors are my parents as well as my physicians.

Part of the happiness of life consists not in fighting battles, but in avoiding them. A masterly retreat is in itself a victory.

The general who advances without coveting fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do good service for his sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom.

Books, I found, had the power to make time stand still, retreat or fly into the future.

We can't solve modern problems by going back in time. Retreating to the safety of the familiar is an understandable response, but God has called us to a life of faith. And faith requires us to face the unknown while trusting Him completely.

In the Soviet army it takes more courage to retreat than advance.

Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.

My life is the land, the dogs, the car, the motorcycle, the pond, the canoe, going to pick up mail. It's just a rural retreat that I enjoy.

We are looking for happiness and running after it in such a way that creates anger, fear and discrimination. So when you attend a retreat, you have a chance to look at the deep roots of this pollution of the collective energy that is unwholesome.

... time is a master of ceremonies who always ends up putting us in our rightful place, we advance, stop, and retreat according to his orders, our mistake lies in imagining that we can catch him out.

I hunched under that table wondering how I got to this point. Wasn't I supposed to be a writer, rubbing elbows at poetry conferences with Mary Ruefle and Kim Addonizio? Wasn't I supposed to be spending these late spring months at retreats wearing woven island commune hippie clothes designed by women named Star? Having Evan changed all that. This was a direction I never expected. This is supposed to be the meantime-teaching in a public school so that I could make money, get my graduate degrees, and move on to my real calling. The one where I learn, create, and pub- lish. The one where I'm not huddled under standard issue cafeteria tables contemplating the best place to run when gunfire broke out. The one where somebody else is responsible for the welfare of these children surrounding me. The one where I don't give a shit.

First of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.