Quotes About Sea

a gigantic phantom rose suddenly out of the sea. I started backwards from a tall figure projected against a wall of ice. The wall was an iceberg—and the phantom, I slowly realised, was my own reflection, enormously enlarged.

The sea is a memory. It is mesmerising. Its beauty is intolerable. What it buries is vaster than what it reveals. Every so often you get a glimpse of what you forget, or you wade in and something snags you, a broken shell or a sea urchin the fishermen missed...No waves speak with the same voice, though they share the same elements and motion, the regular beating of the surf, their rippling heaves.

Il mare non ha paese nemmeno lui, ed è di tutti quelli che lo stanno ad ascoltare, di qua e di là dove nasce e muore il sole

Soltanto il mare gli brontolava la solita storia lì sotto, in mezzo ai faraglioni perché il mare non ha paese nemmeno lui, ed è di tutti quelli che lo stanno ad ascoltare, di qua e di là dove nasce e muore il sole, anzi ad Aci Trezza ha un modo tutto suo di brontolare, e si riconosce subito al gorgogliare che fa tra quegli scogli nei quali si rompe, e par la voce di un amico.

Le comari a poco a poco si erano diradate, e come il paese stesso andava addormentandosi, si udiva il mare che russava li vicino, in fondo alla straduccia, e ogni tanto sbuffava, come uno che si volti e rivolti nel letto.

The Malavoglia huddled together, clinging to the rail, hardly daring to breathe because when the sea roars no-one dares answer.

Why is the sea sometimes green and sometimes turquoise, sometimes white and sometimes as black as lava? Why is it never just the colour of water?' Alessi asked. ?'It's God's will,' his grandfather said. 'That way the sailor knows when he can go out to sea and when it's best to stay on shore.

Bacchus has drowned more men than Neptune.

With my wolf's hunger I haul my lamb's body down like a sail I am like the wretched boat and the lascivious sea

I was more interested in going to sea and the revolution than in staying home as the mother or the wife.

Countless as the sands of sea are human passions, and not all of them are alike, and all of them, base and noble alike, are at first obedient to man and only later on become his terrible masters.

All writers should be put in a box and thrown in the sea.

Clouds: Clusters of fluted sea-shells, Coral fringed, pearl centered; The glory of the setting sun caught in their fragile rims. Above clear-cut cliffs of alabaster whiteness Is the pale globe of the full moon; The changing clouds are bits of silvered fluff Adrift in a sea of intense blue.

Purple is the soul-lifter Red, the flame of passion Yellow, the light of warmth Green, vibrant stem of life Pink, a whisper of beauty Orange beckons, take a chance Blue is the sea tide in us all

We mourn for thee when blind, blank night The chamber fills; We pine for thee when morn's first light Reddens the hills; The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea, All, to the wall flower and wild pea, Are changed — we saw the world through thee...

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future...

Be as beneficent as the sun or the sea, but if your rights as a rational being are trenched on, die on the first inch of your territory.

If they will only hold their hands until the season is over, he promises them a royal carnival, when all grudges can he settled and the survivors may toss the non-survivors overboard and arrange a story as to how the missing men were lost at sea.

Miss West is never idle. Below, in the big after-room, she does her own laundering. Nor will she let the steward touch her father's fine linen. In the main cabin she has installed a sewing-machine. All hand-stitching, and embroidering, and fancy work she does in the deck-chair beside me. She avers that she loves the sea and the atmosphere of sea-life, yet, verily, she has brought her home-things and land-things along with her--even to her pretty china for afternoon tea.

a laugh that was as rough and harsh and frank as the sea itself; that arose out of coarse feelings and blunted sensibilities, from natures that knew neither courtesy nor gentleness.

Back to your ships and your sea—that's my advice to you, Martin Eden. What do you want in these sick and rotten cities of men? You are cutting your throat every day you waste in them trying to prostitute beauty to the needs of magazinedom.

We live along the shores of night, At the edge of the eternal sea.

The pre-dawn air was quiet and cool; the sky showed the colors of citron, pearl, and apricot, which were reflected from the sea. Out from the Tumbling River estuary drifted the black ship Smaadra, propelled across the water by its sweeps. A mile offshore, the sweeps were shipped. The yards were raised, sails sheeted taut and back-stays set up. With the sunrise came breeze; the ship glided quickly and quietly into the east, and presently Troicinet had become a shadow along the horizon.

Q: So then they desist? A: Usually. Q: And if not? A: I pitch them into the sea.