Quotes About Beach

I run on the beach, surf, and bike.

The kids called me King of the Surf Guitar. I surfed sunup to sundown.

I'm at the beach all the time. I surf. I fish. I dive. These things on Instagram are really my life with my buddies doing my normal day-to-day stuff. I happen to be shirtless a lot.

Riding is my passion, but a very close second is sun, sand, and surf.

I'm a culture person when I'm working, so my downtime is beach time: sand, surf and a barbecue.

Many beach locales offer surf lessons, and you get a different perspective of the ocean when you're out on the water.

I was born and raised in Santa Cruz, California, and the whole lifestyle revolves around the beach. My parents met surfing, and the beach was a major part of our daily lives.

And where I grew up in Australia, surfing was a part of culture.

I've tried body surfing. It's nice.

I've been surfing since I was a kid.

I love the ocean; growing up around Laguna Beach, I spent my summers surfing, diving, and snorkeling.

I grew up in the Midwest, quite far from any ocean or any beach, a million miles. I think for kids who grew up where I did, the idea of California, surfing and beach life was so exotic and glamorous.

From the first time I heard Bob Marley or even Sublime, I wanted to move out to California and be near the ocean, start surfing, start being a part of that whole thing.

I grew up in Imperial Beach, surfing and going to the beach - my son plays baseball at the park.

I grew up surfing. My dad probably put me on a surfboard before I could walk.

I'll be honest - my buddies are always going round saying, 'Put a shirt on. Jeez,' but I grew up on the beach. I grew up surfing. I grew up outdoors. I've sort of always liked being shirtless.

Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness.

We drove away from Las Olindas through a series of little dank beach towns with shack-like houses built down on the sand close to the rumble of the surf and larger houses built back on the slopes behind. A yellow window shone here and there, but most of the houses were dark. A smell of kelp came in off the water and lay on the fog. The tires sang on the moist concrete of the boulevard. The world was a wet emptiness.

I say, sailor, we are both marooned on this beach.

Why at the beginning of things is there always light? Dorrigo Evans' earliest memories were of sun flooding a church hall in which he sat with his mother and grandmother. A wooden church hall. Blinding light and him toddling back and forth, in and out of its transcendent welcome, into the arms of women. Women who loved him. Like entering the sea and returning to the beach. Over and over.

From that woman on the beach, dusk pours out across the evening waves. ISSA

Old love is a row of beach huts in November.

the lap and luff of the sea on the ash-blue shore.

Nuevamente se volvió a mirar a la mujer, y sin embargo, no sintió ninguna tentación de acercarse más. Una mujer cubierta de arena podía resultar visualmente atractiva, pero no inspiraba el deseo de tocarla.