Quotes About Lake

I grew up in Albany Park in Chicago and then went to Lake View High School.

Growing up, I remember taking trips with my family to Kentucky Lake and visiting Lake Cumberland, and camping with friends at Red River Gorge.

Growing up, some of my best memories are visiting my grandparents who had a house on a lake not too far from Waukesha.

I have these vivid - some fabulous, some not so fabulous - childhood memories of driving to Lake Tahoe.

In the hush of the emptied campus, he could faintly hear the mightiness of Illinois, the rumble of a freight train, the moan of eighteen-wheelers, coal transported from the south, car parts from the north, fattened livestock and staggering corn yields from the middle, all roads leading to the broad-shouldered city on the lake.

A derelict windmill stood at the top. The tower was covered with a thick layer of rust and most of the blades were missing, the remaining ones twisted and distorted. Just below it was the massive storage tank, steel bands on wood, now collapsing inward. Ma crossed the ridge and looked out at Lake Michigan.

We went to a small lake, Bass Lake. It was beautiful. It was perfectly still when we got there in the morning. The fog was lifting off the water. It was just magical. And we did catch some fish, 13 fish.

I remember going out alone in a canoe. Somebody told me to lie in the bottom of the canoe and just drift. It was a small lake and I was perfectly safe. So I did that, and I drifted. It was quiet and peaceful. Suddenly, I heard a loon cry the first time I ever heard that marvelous sound.

I swam across Skaneateles Lake, about a mile, when I was 11 years old. I remember feeling when I was in the middle of the lake that I would be there forever, and having no idea where on shore I'd end up. I made it, and I'm proud of the determination and persistence that took.

MAIDEN, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth.

The enormous lake stretched flat and smooth and white all the way to the edge of the gray sky. Wagon tracks went away across it, so far that you could not see where they went; they ended in nothing at all.

I am not a city guy; I like peaceful surroundings and maybe a walk around a lake.

Boating on the lake is one of my favorite summer activities.

But I love Chicago summers on Lake Michigan, Philly cheesesteaks on South Street, falling in love in Brooklyn, street fairs in Asheville, North Carolina.

I grew up in kind of a resort community. I lived on a big lake. It was really cool growing up there. But a lot of people come there in the summertime, especially Seahawks guys.

Es war eine kleine Stadt an einem kleinen Fluß und einem kleinen See in einem kleinen Teil eines Staates im mittleren Westen.

Warm summer twilight here in upper Illinois country in this little town deep far away from everything, kept to itself by a river and a forest and a meadow and a lake. The sidewalks still scorched. The stores closing and the streets shadowed. And there were two moons; the clock moon with four ' faces in four night directions above the solemn black courthouse, and the real moon rising in vanilla whiteness from the dark east.

Midnight, said the clock. Time, it said, Darkness. Flights of night birds flew up to carry the final peal away, out over the lake and into the night country, gone.

All the little Indians in a half circle around Aunt Emily are getting an imprinting that will last for life. The sound of her voice reading will condition how they look upon themselves and the world. It will become part of the loved ambience of Battell Pond, a glint in the chromatic wonder of childhood. These small sensibilities will never lose the images of dark woods and bright lake. Nature to them will always be beneficent and female.

Beneath me lay the Lake of Oblivion, above me loomed Insanity.

TEN MINUTES LATER, we were at the door of "Lake Expectations," the Monroes' cabin retreat, named after Mr. Monroe's favorite book.

Still cool out by the cabin when I reached it, early-morning sunlight skipping bright coins across the lake.

We had so many happy days in the country that fall that from this vantage they merge into a sweet and indistinct blur. Around Halloween the last, stubborn wildflowers died away and the wind became sharp and gusty, blowing sbowers of yellow leaves on the gray, wrinkled surface of the lake. On those chill afternoons when the sky was like lead and the clouds were racing, we stayed in the library, banking huge fires to keep warm. Bare willows clicked on the windowpanes like skeleton fingers.

Sometimes, if you wander long enough out-of-doors, you look up and find yourself in a suddenly devastating place: on a glittering slab of granite, say, hanging a thousand feet above a mountain lake.