march


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march to (the beat of) (one's) own drum

To do something, act, or behave in a manner that does not conform to the standard, prevalent, or popular societal norm. My brother's eschewed the idea of a full-time career and has had every oddball job you could think of, but then he's always been happy marching to the beat of his own drum. Look, I respect the fact that you like to march to your own drum, but do you have to make a point of doing everything in a counter-cultural way?
See also: beat, drum, march, own, to
Farlex Dictionary of Idioms. © 2015 Farlex, Inc, all rights reserved.

march (from some place) (to some place)

to move along, walking with purposeful steps, from some place to some place. The army marched from one town to another. They marched to the battlefield from town.
McGraw-Hill Dictionary of American Idioms and Phrasal Verbs. © 2002 by The McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc.
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References in classic literature ?
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare.
"You seem to know all about him," observed March, with a rather bewildered laugh, "and about a good many other people."
They had walked along the straight road for nearly a mile, conversing at intervals in this fashion; and March had a singular sense of the whole world being turned inside out.
They reached the great lodge gates of the park, and, to March's surprise, passed them and continued along the interminable white, straight road.
March remarked that it looked like a tavern for vinegar instead of wine.
March followed him to the bar parlor with some wonder, and his dim sense of repugnance was not dismissed by the first sight of the innkeeper, who was widely different from the genial innkeepers of romance, a bony man, very silent behind a black mustache, but with black, restless eyes.
"If you come to that," answered March, "it isn't very usual for a man to buy a packet of sandwiches when he's just outside the door of a grand house he's going to stop at."
There was a silence, and then March started with irrational nervousness as the door of the inn was flung open and another man walked rapidly to the counter.
Harold March had imagined many things about his meeting with the great political reformer, but he had never pictured him with a gun under his arm, drinking brandy in a public house.
March fancied he had been a little upset or impatient when he called for the brandy; but he had talked himself back into a satisfactory state, if the talk had not been quite what his literary visitor had expected.
"But wouldn't the shot be heard at the inn or somewhere?" asked March.
March plodded after him with the same idle perseverance, and found him staring through a gap in giant weeds and thorns at the flat face of a painted paling.
And before his companion could reply he had managed to swing himself up and over the fence; March followed without much bodily effort, but with considerable mental disturbance.
It was a sort of tripod supporting a large disk like the round top of a table tipped sideways, and it was not until they had dropped on to the lawn and walked across to look at it that March realized that it was a target.
"Yes, and it looks as if it still wanted improving," answered March, laughing.