Quotes About River

Mississippi abajo en un barco de

I think of the separation between life and paradise as a river. If there are many bridges that cross the river, should it be of great concern to God which bridge the traveler chooses - Mirdin

Vejo a separação entre a vida e o paraíso como um rio. Se muitas pontes cruzam o rio, será que Deus se importa qual delas escolheremos?

Creo que la separación entre la vida y el Paraíso es un río —dijo Mirdin—. Si hay muchos puentes que lo cruzan, ¿puede importarle mucho a Dios qué puente elige el viajero?

What a beautiful world it was once. At least a river of it was.

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached from across the river, and the trees took the river in their arms. The shadows continued up the bank, until they included us

Some say that time is like water that flows around us (like a stone in the river) and some say we flow with time (like a twig floating on the surface of the water).

All I do is track a profane route to something (I hope) profound. Like swimming a river of shit for a kiss.

As are all living things. All are caught in the river of power that is the Force, trapped by its currents. Only those who wield the dark side of the Force are capable of changing those currents; they are riverbreakers. They do not surrender to fate. They are its foes.) The

Soon the smoke will drift over the river, and with it, the shepherds' first exposure to that smell: a smell like sick pork cooked slow, a smell that some would describe as having a taste, too, one that lingered in the back of the nose, at the base of the tongue, a taste not unlike licking a very old library book.

But five men had died, three humans and two androids, beside a river that flowed on Aldebaran XII, just a few short miles from Andrelon, the

In my mind the river flows both ways. Forward, to the explanation of things; to a destination which will justify the agonies of travel. And back, back to a time when the river was real, and those who wandered along its banks had little interest in visions.

I know already that I will return to this day whenever I want to. I can bid it alive. Preserve it. There is a still point where the present, the now, winds around itself, and nothing is tangled. The river is not where it begins or ends, but right in the middle point, anchored by what has happened and what is to arrive.

Gods whose dominion is over the Souls, Shades without sound, Void, and you, Burning River, and you, broad Spaces voiceless beneath the Night, may I remain sinless in telling what has been told to me, and, by your divine assent, reveal truth sunk in depths of earth and gloom.

Now when these souls have trodden the full circle of a thousand years, God call's all of them forth in long procession to the Lethe River, and this he does so that when they again visit the sky's vault they may be without memory, and a wish to re-enter bodily life may dawn.

The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.

The past only comes back when the present runs so smoothly that it is like the sliding surface of a deep river. Then one sees through the surface to the depths. In those moments I find one of my greatest satisfactions, not that I am thinking of the past; but that it is then that I am living most fully in the present. For the present when backed by the past is a thousand times deeper...

With dispassionate despair, with entire disillusionment, I surveyed the dust dance; my life, my friends' lives, and those fabulous presences, men with brooms, women writing, the willow tree by the river — clouds and phantoms made of dust too, of dust that changed, as clouds lose and gain and take gold or red and lose their summits and billow this way and that, mutable, vain.

As a plant on the river-bed feels the shock of a passing oar and shivers: so she rocked: so she shivered.

The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.

Be still like a mountain and flow like a great river.

My early childhood years were during the final phase of World War II. My earliest memories were happy ones of a large family (I was the fourth child; later, two more were born) in a nice house with a large yard on a river, the Eger, in the town of Eger (now Cheb, a city

She was all-out, delighted enthusiasm, like a stupid, bubbling stream, and the guy would just cup that in his hands for the hell of it, splash his face with it, and drop the leftovers back into the river.