Quotes About Seaward

Let's sum up... a little house, white and green or to be made so... with trees, preferably birch and spruce... a window looking seaward... on a hill. That sounds very possible... but there is one other requirement. There must be magic about it, Jane... lashings of magic... and magic houses are scarce, even on the Island. Have you any idea at all what I mean, Jane? Jane reflected. You want to feel that the house is yours before you buy it, she said. Jane, said dad, you are too good to be true.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black.

We were standing where there was a fine view of the harbor and its long stretches of shore all covered by the great army of the pointed firs, darkly cloaked and standing as if they waited to embark. As we looked far seaward among the outer islands, the trees seemed to march seaward still, going steadily over the heights and down to the water's edge.

The coast of Maine was in former years brought so near to foreign shores by its busy fleet of ships that among the older men and women one still finds a surprising proportion of travelers. Each seaward-stretching headland with its high-set houses

I to the sandy shore and seaward slope Will go, and try with murmured song to bend The cruel Galatea. My sweet hope I'll cast away--when life itself doth end.

She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.

Integrated coastal zone management procedures involving concurrent attention to both the landward and seaward site of the ocean and to coastal forestry and agro-forestry as well as capture and culture fisheries are urgently needed.

turned to gaze seaward at the grounded vessel that had carried them from home to the forlorn beach, the vessel that looked like nothing more than a dying creature, parts of its skeleton already exposed, in the waning day.

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flyingUnbroken wings.And the lost heart stiffens and rejoicesIn the lost lilac and the lost sea voicesAnd the weak spirit quickens to rebelFor the bent goldenrod and the lost sea smell.

The twilight is the morning of his day, While sleep drops seaward from the fading shore, With purpling sail and dip of silver oar, He cheers the shadowed time with roundelay, Until the dark east softens into gray...