Quotes About Marsh

Locus tristis et palustris

Well, ain't you the clam's cuticle!" said Mr. Ogden.

Once upon a time there was a young lady who lived in a marsh, and her name was Poison.

The Marsh King raised himself up and ushered me out the door with the air of a host who has just realized he is one guest away from a comfortable nap.

Living in a stupid country is living in a marsh! You are surrounded by the reptiles and the alligators! Refusing hell is the best path to eliminate the hell!

When the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where I lie in the ditch unregarded I need no words.

He had liked her enormously, and he loved Krug with the same passion that a big sleek long-flewed hound feels for the high-booted hunter who reeks of the marsh as he leans towards the red fire. Krug could take aim at a flock of the most popular and sublime human thoughts and bring down a wild goose any time. But he could not kill death.

He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round us, and often stopping—even stopping his jaws—to listen. Some real or fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,—

To us—those who seek the solace of the marsh—it is a stage where God paints—yellow in the morning, green toward noon, brownish in the afternoon, and blood red toward evening. It is the sentinel that stands guard at the ocean's edge, protecting the sea from the runoff that would kill it. It is a selfless and sacrificial place. And when I close my eyes, it is also the smell of home.

I loved these salt rivers more than I loved the sea; I loved the movement of tides more than I loved the fury of surf. Something in me was congruent with this land, something affirmed when I witnessed the startled, piping rush of shrimp or the flash of starlight on the scales of mullet. I could feel myself relax and change whenever I returned to the lowcountry and saw the vast green expanses of marsh, feminine as lace, delicate as calligraphy. The lowcountry had its own special ache and sting.

I was afforded a glimpse of the marsh at ease, a glimpse of the land at rest from the penetration and mindless barbarisms of man.

I' am a transient electrochemical dance, made of myriad bits of information; and information, as the physicists tell us, is physical.

There's nothing better for kids than a bucket and shovel at the beach. I grew up across the marsh from The Citadel. We loved buying chicken necks at the Piggly Wiggly, tying them to a string on a stick and catching blue crabs.

Clouds of mosquitoes and gnats blow through the hot, wet air of the marsh where the Thistlewitch lives. My boots sink into the gluey mud. The trees are draped heavily in creeper and poisonous trumpet vine, swaths of it blocking the path. In the brown water, things move.

I rose from marsh mud algae, equisetum, willows, sweet green, noisy birds and frogs.

I had never liked, even feared a little, this wild reach of marsh and mud flats where everything seemed turned away from the land, looking off desperately toward the horizon as if in mute search for a sign of rescue.

The tides surged through the marsh and each wave that hit the beach came light-struck and broad-shouldered, with all the raw power the moon could bestow.

There has been failure, particularly with the effort to protect our coast and our marsh. And that was the biggest topic of discussion in a very frank meeting we had with the president.

Once upon a time there was a young lady who lived in a marsh, and her name was Poison.

Besides, the fact that Marsh would refer to a lady as 'the prettiest little vertebrate' probably wasn't the sort of poetry that would win hearts.

Queerditch Marsh

In late summer, when sprays of purple loosestrife, goldenrod, and ripening cranberries burst into color along the old road cutting through the Great Marsh of West Barnstable on Cape Cod, the air vibrated with the drumbeat of cicadas, the caws of seagulls and geese.

A third possibility open to the duke was the flooding of Romney Marsh.

Does papyrus grow where there is no marsh? Do reeds flourish without water?