Quotes About Waves

To understand life, people look at mountains and waves - this is romanticism. To understand life, you need to look at a busy intersection - this is realism. You look at the crossroads and think where they are all in a hurry, after all, they do not have time to live, they are in a hurry to do stupid things, they hurry to their graves.

There is no love without loss. I hear the drums that vibrate to the heartbeat of the earth. They set me dancing. I see the clouds that wreathe the summits. They set me dreaming. I know the wonder of waves that shake the headlands. They awaken my soul. I hear the screams of eagles on the wind. And I ponder, what are these things to me who loves and does not reckon loss? Do I not keep the earth?

The walk to the exit brought him into contact with several changelings. That wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the response his presence elicited. Smiles, waves, shouted hellos and even slaps on the back when he didn't move away fast enough.

The Great Point lighthouse rose at the far end of the barrier beach, a tall white steeple to the sky, with a working light flashing at the top. Here was the end of the island, the great point where the Atlantic Ocean met Nantucket Sound in a froth of waves. All along the point, enormous fat seals lolled on the sand, occasionally lumbering in and out of the water, grunting and lounging like a tribe of overfed Roman emperors.

The skies we slept under were too uncertain for forecasts. They came and went on the moody gusts of the Atlantic, bringing half a dozen weathers in an afternoon and playing all four movements of a wind symphony, allegro, andante, scherzo and adagio on the broken backs of white waves.

When I open the door, the cold rushes immediately into the lodge, as though it had been pounding there the whole time, fighting desperately to smash through the windows—to tear the frames from their hinges—to come flooding in—to drown us all in icy seas—snowcapped waves. As though our world inside should never have existed at all.

America was a land of machines, and it was through machines, the miraculous handmaidens of mob culture, that the muses of illiteracy brought America her voice and vision during the years of the immigrants' waves. Centuries ago, movable type had given literacy to the common man. Now, through these wondrous newer machines, he would give it back.

Thenike laughed, and Marghe listened to that laugh: rich, smoky, warm, it rolled like breaking waves on a flat beach, as if it could go on forever, changeless.

Gods were like the flotsam that washed up with the waves, always coming and going, and those big enough to remain gradually were worn away by wind and water and time.

Our minds are just waves on the ocean of consciousness. As waves, they come and go. As ocean, they are infinite and eternal. Know yourself as the ocean of being, the womb of all existence.

Pain and pleasure are the crests and valleys of the waves in the ocean of bliss. Deep down there is utter fullness.

The rhythm of the chant often corresponds to the respiration of a calm, unstressed person, and it has an immediate calming effect—probably by entrainment. Entrainment is a process in which one rhythmic frequency influences another, until they synchronize, or approach synchronization, or have a strong influence on each other. In a somewhat different way, waves of water influence one another when they intersect.*

Les vagues déferlaient sur la digue, se brisaient et venaient lécher les vitres du bar en grandes gerbes d'écume mousseuse. On se serait cru dans une bagnole pendant le lavage automatique.

Les vagues sont hautes ce soir. Elles me frappent, me rouent de coups, s'abattent sur moi avec toute la brutalité nécessaire. À cet instant c'est exactement ce que j'attends d'elles. Qu'elles m'assomment. Me foutent la tête sous l'eau.

A sensation of helplessness, as if it were utterly impossible to go on living. Painful waves beat relentlessly on my heart, as after a thunderstorm the white clouds frantically scud across the sky. A terrible emotion — shall I call it an apprehension — wrings my heart only to release it, makes my pulse falter, and chokes my breath. At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.

There was a gentle swell to the land here. Not so much that you'd call it rolling—hell, when the land rolled in Minnesota, they called it a mountain range—this was more like the lazy waves on the Pacific when it was bedding down for the night.

Se Meaume fosse a natureza, teria feito apenas os relâmpagos ou a Lua ou as vagas cheias de espuma do oceano na tormenta embatendo nos rochedos negros da costa. Ou a nudez desvelada por acaso por baixo de um pano. Ou um osso de animal ou um caroço de sílex encontrado na terra.

I listened and let it soothe me, that ceaseless ebb and flow, the crash of the breaking waves, the grating sigh of its retreat. It was like lying on the chest of somebody who loves you, somebody you know you can trust—though the sea loves nobody and can never be trusted. I was immediately aware of a new desire, to be part of it, to dissolve into it: the sea that feels nothing and can never be hurt.

It was not for the piano-tuner to know that in this still, grey, winter-gripped dining-room, this apparent mortuary of desire and passion (in which the lift rumbled and knives and forks scraped upon plates), waves were flowing forward and backward, and through and through, of hellish revulsion and unquenchable hatred!

Ah, well, then you've never stood on a beach as the waves came crashing in, the water stretching out from you until it's beyond sight, moving and blue and alive and so much bigger than even the black beyond seems because the ocean hides what it contains.

Other studies have measured the electrical activity in brain waves to explore differences in the processing of language input. Some of this research has shown that as an L2 learner's proficiency increases, the brain activity looks more like that of first language processing.

It had been many months since I'd shed tears for Tomaso, but grief is like that. It's not a continuous process; it comes in waves. You can keep it at bay for a time, like a dam holding back a lake, but them something triggers an explosion inside of you, shattering the wall and letting loose a flood.

Rutherford showed how radio waves could travel long distances, penetrate walls, and magnetize iron.

The sea, the ever renewing sea!