One foot in front of the other, One more step, and then one more.

Jack's only
thoughts were to keep moving no matter how much his body screamed to stop and rest.
He's lost almost all his energy and his entire body ached beyond belief, but he
forced himself to take another step. Then another. And then one more.
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in
pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the
vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation
of parsimony that such close dealing implied. One dollar and eighty-seven cents.
And the next day would be Christmas...
I recollect that my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall
walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at
noontime, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my
own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and
reverberated by the angry echoes.
She looked at her student wondering if she could ever get through. "You need to
learn to think for yourself," she wanted to tell him. "Your friends are holding you
back and bringing you down." But she didn't because she knew his friends were all
that he had and even if that meant a life of misery, he would never give them up.
Was it enough? That was the question he kept asking himself. Was being satisfied
enough? He looked around him at everyone yearning to just be satisfied in their
daily life and he had reached that goal. He knew that he was satisfied and he also
knew it wasn't going to be enough.