Quotes About Waves

Men in high levels of government seldom surf.

Love is an element which though physically unseen is as real as air or water. It is an acting, living, moving force... it moves in waves and currents like those of the ocean.

Thoughts are like an open ocean, they can either move you forward within its waves, or sink you under deep into its abyss.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. . . .

This is what I mean by quitting surfing. When you surf, as I then understood it, you live and breathe waves. You always know what the surf is doing. You cut school, lose jobs, lose girlfriends, if it's good.

Surfers have a perfection fetish. The perfect wave, etcetera. There is no such thing. Waves are not stationary objects in nature like roses or diamonds. They're quick, violent events at the end of a long chain of storm action and ocean reaction. Even the most symmetrical breaks have quirks and a totally specific, local character, changing with every shift in tide and wind and swell.

The newly emerging ideal was solitude, purity, perfect waves far from civilization. Robinson Crusoe, Endless Summer. This was a track that led away from citizenship, in the ancients sense of the word, toward a scratched-out frontier where we would live as latter-day barbarians. It went deeper that that. Chasing waves in a dedicated way was both profoundly egocentric and selfless, dynamic and ascetic, radical in its rejection of the values of duty and conventional achievement.

Our conversation changed. It usually had a busy, must-say-everything edge to it, even during the long, lazy days of waiting for waves on Tavarua. But out in the lineup, once the swells started pumping, large pools of awe seemed to collect around us, hushing us, or reducing us to code and murmurs, as though we were in church. There was too much to say, too much emotion, and therefore nothing to say.

Behold the stars and planets all making their grand patterns above while the waves beneath play others; then there are the patterns in and between the patterns. Are they all synchronistic. . . . Can such a thing as one pattern be distilled from all? . . . the patterns seem harmonic and chaotic, in mind as in matter.

Hardly had they rested when the waves carried them out again, like a nightmare that repeats itself over and over through the night, and over and over again through the years. Back and forth they went and he feared that her strength could not hold. He had no confidence, not in himself, nor in her. He felt like a helpless child, and Diane seemed helpless too, their long struggle getting them nowhere, only repeating itself--contraction, release, contraction again.

the barkeep carrying two beers in heavy glass mugs. He slammed the steins down so that waves of beer sloshed onto the table. Without a word he turned and trudged back to the bar. The outlaw hoisted his mug. "Cheers," he said

Cars they sound like waves that are breaking On some distant shore I gazed so hard into the great aching sky It seemed that I, I wasn't here no more That my rushing blood was a river My eyes two stars My blowing hair all a quiver A whispering field of grass That murmurs as you pass Oh my darlin' Kathleen That whispers out your name

The sale of indulgences is sometimes regarded as one of the first major waves of capitalist commodification. It certainly laid the basis for all that hoarded wealth in the Vatican. Talk about the commodification of conscience and honor!

Serdukov looked at the coast, assaulted by waves, rocks becoming sand.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?

Thank God for a few free waves.

Bliss is the ocean, a towel on the sand, the sun out, the chance to swim in waves or walk dragging a stick behind you, a good book, a cold drink.

From tiny, tiny waves of joy, one gets to the ocean of happiness, which is called bliss.

Being creative on the waves is challenging, but we each create art in our own way.

A wave is never found alone, but is mingled with as many other waves as there are uneven places in the object where the said wave is produced.

I sighed immersed in a sleeping sea. A ripple that turned into waves and then storm, stirring and blending our troubled waters

Aww, the sound of waves crashing along the ocean side and spraying back up to touch the wind only for a moment, then to fall back down becoming the ocean once more...

Over endless crystalline waves travelled the sparkling scent of triumph, of limitless possibilities, of strength and inspiration.

sit on the craggy cliffs of Ballyhock to the waves crashing on the beach. Strong. Powerful. Deadly. A combination so familiar to me it brings me comfort.