Quotes About Sea

There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway, a song that they sing when they take to the sea, a song that they sing of their home in the sky, maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep, but singing works just fine for me.

Lincoln was as calm and unruffled as the summer sea in moments of the gravest peril;

He'd always, all of his life, loved the sound of breaking water. Nothing that had happened had changed that. The crawling of water over sand, the hush of a word no … no … no … not even that had changed his love of the power of the sea.

You have not yet discovered what happens to Russians at sea.' 'The same thing, I suppose, that happens to Englishmen,' Chancellor said. 'Scots, I take it, are immune.' 'To sarcasm, yes,' Lymond said.

What to do when attacked at sea, lessons one to ten. They had spent their first morning at sea being trained, remorselessly, by Francis Crawford for this precise event. 'I know what to do,' said Philippa. 'Offer them the raspberry wine and keep them talking till Mother comes in.

I," said Lymond, in the voice unmistakably his which honeyed his most lethal thoughts, "I am a narwhal looking for my virgin. I have sucked up the sea like Charybdis and failing other entertainment will spew it three times daily, for a fee.

A long sea voyage with Jerott spewing drunk on every deck is not my idea of an adequate quid pro quo.

The sea demands a man who knows the sea and respects it. A man who is prepared to be lonely. There is no isolation like that of the helm in a storm, except the isolation when it is windless.

In his turn, Chancellor was looking into his tankard. "Cloth builds the vessel," he said. "And launches her; and pays for her crew." "But you do not travel by cloth," Lymond said. "But by sea card and compass and star.

No. I shall stay in Russia. I am too far away now from it all," Lymond said. "And if we are going to be metaphysical, I have no sea card, or compass, or star.

Lymond said, 'Have I been talking?' 'We all have, in nightmares. But yours have not been about the sea.

Miss Findlater spoke with the air of a disillusioned rake, who has sucked life's orange and found it dead sea fruit.

Penelope In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.

If all the tears you shed so lavishly Were gathered, as they left each brimming eye. And were collected in a crystal sea, The envious ocean would curl up and dry -

A fragrant breeze wandered up from the quiet sea, trailed along the beach, and drifted back to the sea again, wondering where to go next. On a mad impulse it went up to the beach again. It drifted back to sea.

Our favourite item was the balcony that overlooked the sea because it had an awning that you lowered by pressing an electric switch. The switch had two settings. You could either turn it to AUTO, in which case the awning lowered itself whenever the sun came out, or you could set it to MANUEL [sic], in which case, we assumed, a small, incompetent Spanish waiter came and did it for you.

Vogons are not above a little bribery and corruption in the same way that the sea is not above the clouds

None of them was entirely satisfactory: either the climate wasn't quite right in the latter part of the afternoon, or the day was half an hour too long, or the sea was exactly the wrong shade of pink.

It has been said that Vogons are not above a little bribery and corruption in the same way that the sea is not above the clouds

She picked up the book she was reading, Beyond the Ice Limit, found her dog-eared place at the beginning of chapter six, and began to read. The sea horizon lay against the sky, blue against perfect blue, and it seemed to beckon the ship southward, ever southward. She closed the book, put it down again. Not bad, but it lacked the punch of the original.

just adapted the process to the ocean, treating it mathematically like a sea of interacting particles and forces.

No one can count the terrors that the earth spawns, catastrophic, gruesome, and the vast arms of the sea swarm with brute monsters bent on harm, and everywhere between the sky and ground lights bloom by day in flares and sudden bolts; and birds and beasts alike can tell of the whirlwind's whirling wrath.

There is no such thing as a really calm sea. Always, always, there is motion.

Nature repeats herself more than one would imagine. The sea has infinitely more variety.