Walking is a form of climbing—one extremity should keep hold of the floor or ground at all times to prevent a fall.
(Feet are better for this than hands.)
You can try delegating it to others, but you have to hope they won’t do the same.
Someone must walk or the earth will forget about us and have other bad dreams instead.
Find a tree to coach you—trees spend their whole lives plotting their next step.
Be careful not to take root.
Every corner of terra firma requires a different walk, as well as every hour of the day.
A morning walk should never take the place of an evening or postprandial walk.
Saunter. Shuffle. Swagger. Stride. Plod.
Feet are like oxen bound in harness: they’re paired, but they’re not a couple.
However much they’re fetishized, their first and only mate is the ground.
Muscles are like batteries—simply walk backwards to recharge!
Try not to think about the ten little piggies with their discordant agendas.
Try not to think about those other two-legged animals, the birds.
At birth, you are allotted just so many steps. Choose them carefully.
Keep your eyes on the sidewalk—there are no dropped coins in the sky.