Quotes About River

We have that illusion that we are 'deciding' what to make a character do, in order to 'convey our message' or something like that. But, at least in my experience, you are often more like a river-rafting guide who's been paid a bonus to purposely steer your clients into the roughest possible water.

Now Borluut tried to work out how this had happened to him. Passion flows like a river and it is very difficult to go back to its source. It began imperceptibly.

Time is a river without banks.

Time is a flowing river. Happy those who allow themselves to be carried, unresisting, with the current. They float through easy days. They live, unquestioning, in the moment.

Así en la kapija, entre el cielo, el río y las montañas, generación tras otra aprendió a no lamentar sobremanera lo que el agua turbia se llevaba. Ahí les penetró la filosofía inconsciente de la kasaba: que la vida es un prodigio incomprensible porque se gasta y derrocha sin cesar y, sin embargo, dura y perdura firmemente como <>

Waking At Night The blue river is grey at morning and evening. There is twilight at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark wondering if this quiet in me now is a beginning or an end.

poor examples because of mechanical needs of typing, of the flow of river sounds, words, dark, leading to the future and attesting to the madness, hollowness, ring and roar of my mind which blessed or unblessed is where trees sing -- in a funny wind -- well-being believes he'll go to heaven -- a word to the wise is enough -- 'Smart went Crazy

here we are, by the side of the river - once upon a time we had a notion we were Romeo's.

And here for the first time in my life I saw my beloved Mississippi River, dry in the summer haze, low water, with its big rank smell that smells like the raw body of America itself because it washes it up.

The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas; and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and the mud and the molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.

Port Allen – onde o rio é todo chuva e rosas sob uma escuridão nebulosa e insignificante, onde entramos numa estrada sinuosa sob a luminosidade amarelada da neblina, e, de repente, numa volta, vislumbramos o viscoso vulto volátil escoando suas águas sob a ponte e cruzamos outra vez a eternidade.

Then Indiana fields again, and St. Louis as ever in its great valley clouds of afternoon. The muddy cobbles and the Montana logs, the broken steamboats, the ancient signs, the grass and the ropes by the river. The endless poem.

The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas; and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter. We bounced in our seats.

and as the river poured down from mid-America by starlight I knew, I knew like mad that everything I had ever known and would ever know was One.

On rails we leaned and looked at the great brown father of waters rolling down from mid-America like the torrent of broken souls

If you drop a rose in the Hudson River at its mysterious source in the Adirondacks, think of all the places it journeys by as it goes out to sea forever—think of that wonderful Hudson Valley.

Paris's neighborhoods, the arrondissements, are organized like a twist. They spiral from the river like toilet water flushing in reverse and erupting out of the bowl - a corkscrew or what have you, a flattened pig's tail, a whorling braid notched one to 20.

The blues is a mighty long road. Or it could be a river, one that twists and turns and flows into a sea of limitless musical potential.

The most fascinating and satisfying encounter so far was the goliath tigerfish of the Congo. I first caught one in 1991, and then again while filming the second season of 'River Monsters' in 2009. Its appearance is quite unbelievable, like a giant piranha, with inch-long interlocking teeth.

While Pickstown may not be what it once was, it still is framed by the natural beauty of the ancient river, the sweep of the Great Plains, and the long, unbroken shoreline of the lake behind the dam. It gave me a 19th-century childhood in a modern mid-20th-century town, and for that I will always be grateful.

Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?

Time flows away like the water in the river.

Silence is an ocean. Speech is a river.

But now the giant heads of Plato and Socrates, each with an expression of penetrating wisdom carved on his white features, surveyed the river and the melon beds beyond.