Quotes About Sea

Behind the depressing silence of the sea, the silence of God …. the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent.

Before dance unleashes its rage, there must be inward calm, for movement of the sea must be silent to hear the call of the storm

She found half of a sea biscuit and offered it to Sus. The young girl held it between two fingers and licked a corner. "It tastes like dirt." "And how would you know?" Felissa said, putting her fists on her hips. "You eat dirt often, do you? Snacking on mud pies when our backs are turned?" "It tastes how dirt smells," Sus said.

Her grief for both of them was flavored with guilt the way salt flavors the sea; she could taste it in the tears.

The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolled and rolled and called to me. Come in, it said, come in.

How could the waves do it, through each and every moment, and so naturally, as if it was for the first time, as if it was for the last time, as if it was for the middle time, as if it would go on forever, and as if it would one day end. The sea moved forward and back with all of these possibilities, and all of them were true.

The sea and wind can at the same time convey my neighbour's vessel and my own.

I was very conscious of race as I was writing. I was lucky to have spent real time in Portuguese Africa, but I am white and my main characters are white, outsiders at sea in the "Dark Continent."

The last time Earth was 1°C warmer than today, sea levels were 20 feet higher.

Bad cooking is responsible for more trouble at sea than all other things put together.

Don't forget, Riddler, how I love thee. Or all we shared together. Or that this sea and all other seas can lead you back to me.

I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange.

I shared a dorm room with a beautiful neurotic who clung to her beauty as if it were a chance piece of debris keeping her afloat on a violent sea.

My family, I thought them to be, for such was my quest—a family I could stand alongside pondering the sea. We stood as the blue water surged toward us in six-foot coils.

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky, how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you, even your eyes, even your imagination.

This is a poem about death, about the heart blanching in its fold of shadows because it knows someday it will be the fish and the wave and no longer itself— it will be those white wings, flying in and out of the darkness but not knowing it— this is a poem about loving the world and everything in it: the self, the perpetual muscle, the passage in and out, the bristling swing of the sea.

Suddenly, the front of the ship dipped down into the sea. Deck chairs started to slide past Jack and Annie.

We picked up a pilot outside the Lewes breakwater a man of few words.

I looked upon the sea, it was to be my grave

There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand. I am practically industrious - pain-staking; - a workman to execute with perseverance and labour: - but besides this, there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.

He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.

The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits;- on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.