Quotes About Sea

Aside from what it teaches you, there is simply the indescribable degree of peace that can be achieved on a sailing vessel at sea. I guess a combination of hard work and the seemingly infinite expanse of the sea - the profound solitude - that does it for me.

Environmentalists aren't nearly sensitive enough to the fact that they are messing around with struggling people and their livelihoods. They forget that the fishermen are the people with the most immediate vested interest in having a healthy sea.

If not doing VICE, I probably would be selling Cokes on the beach in Vietnam. I like the sea.

The plane approaches Cape Town and, as always, I am astonished by the view of Table Mountain and the surrounding sea. It is so overwhelmingly beautiful that I feel the urge to belong - not necessarily to the people, but to the landscape.

What is this errand, and when will you come back?" "It's nothing for you to worry about." "Whenever someone says that," Pandora said, "it always means the opposite. Along with 'It's only a scratch' or 'Worse things happen at sea.'" "Or," Clara added glumly, 'I'm only going out for a pint.

His presence in my life is like the lighthouse in my stormy waters to a ship lost at sea.

Aginisi give me tales a the sea folk. Her mama's people come a that place." She slipped the bone necklace from beneath her blouse, held it reverently, allowing him to see. "This come a them, long time back. Come over the water as they come.

Moonlight and high wind. Dark poplars toss, insinuate the sea.

Where is his father? When will his mother be home? How is he going to explain the moon taken hostage, the sea risen to fill up all the mirrors? How is he going to explain the branches beginning to grow from his ribs and throat, the cries and trills starting in his own mouth? And now that ancient sorrow between his hips, his body's ripe listening; the planet knowing itself at last.

The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.

Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

O summer day beside the joyous sea! O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of pain! Forever and forever shalt thou be To some the gravestone of a dead delight, To some the landmark of a new domain.

A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life.

Devoutly the teachers point out huge fumigated domes; but beneath the statues there's no love, no love beneath the eyes set in crystal. Love is there, in flesh ripped by thirst, in the tiny hut struggling against the flood; love is there, in ditches where snakes of hunger wrestle, in the sad sea that rocks dead gulls, and in the darkest stinging kiss under pillows.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

There is no beauty or romance or mystery in the sea except for the men that sail abroad upon it, and those who stay at home and dream of them.

Ningún hombre que se muera sin haber llorado alguna vez frente al mar puede decir que ha vivido.

Myron fell silent, his mind seemingly drifting away on some sea of secret sorrow, buoyed by booze and painkillers.

She might be the Archive, but she's still a kid, Kincaid. He frowned and looked at me. So? So? Kids like cute. He blinked at me. Cute? Come on. I led him downstairs. On the lower level of the Oceanarium there's an inner ring of exhibits, too, containing both penguins and--wait for it--sea otters. I mean, come on, sea otters. They open abalone with rocks while floating on their backs. How much cuter does it get than small, fuzzy, floating, playful tool users with big, soft brown eyes?

The Fomor had released the freaking kraken.

When Rachel Carson accepted the National Book Award, she said, 'if there is poetry in my book about the sea it is not because I deliberately put it there but because no one could write truthfully about the sea and leave out poetry.

I wish a storm would come & blow this shit away. Or a bomb to burn the Town & scour the sea. I wish clean death would come to me.

Fence my sacred fire I want. To be simple, black & clean A dim nothingness Please The sea is green Smoke like the child's version of a Christmas dream w/no waking.