Quotes About River

Cold didn't worry him unduly. Given that his normal body temperature was way below human levels, the dip in the river had been no more than refreshing, certainly not deadly.

Time was a river, not a log to be sawed into lengths.

Past the village flowed the river, like time, like life itself, waiting for the swimmer to come again on his way to the climax of his adventurous life, and to the end for which he had been made.

I went upstairs to my room. Momentarily I felt a sense of calm, almost acceptance. Rest beyond the river. I knew now what that meant. It meant Nothing. It meant only silence forever.

His older compatriot Friedrich Nietzsche had entertained no such hopes: "For long now our entire European culture has been moving with a tormenting tension that grows greater from decade to decade, as if towards a catastrophe: restless, violent, precipitate, like a river that wants to reach its end."23

The champagne was flowing like the Potomac in flood.

The point is this: that the stream of memory may lead you to the river of understanding. And understanding, in turn, may be a tributary to the river of forgiveness.

The government is a giant logjam in the eternal river of human potential.

Mujer de sal y rocío tu corazón sigue en celo y tu voz está de duelo como la tierra y el río.

He wrote: Dear ollever; yor ol twinkk has dun gode up the rivver. im gladd. yor friend jody.

The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning and the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

There are no other Everglades in the world…. The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning of the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

A good river is nature's life work in song.

Thick mist swirled up from the river. Someone, Who claimed to have known me years before, Approached, saying there were many poets Wandering around who wished to be alive again. They were ready to say the words they had been unable to say— Words whose absence had been the silence of love, Of pain, and even of pleasure. —Mark Strand, from "XLV," Dark Harbor: A Poem (Alfred A. Knopf, 1994)

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

Your true pilot cares nothing about anything on earth but the river, and his pride in his occupation surpasses the pride of kings.

It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed, only a little kind of a low chuckle. We had mighty good weather, as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all, that night, nor the next, nor the next.

It was a monstrous big river down there.

I can picture that old time to myself now, just as it was then: the white town drowsing in the sunshine of a summer's morning… the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun.

We saw a faraway town sleeping in a valley by a winding river; and beyond it, on a hill, a vast gray fortress, with towers and turrets, the first I had ever seen, out of a picture."Bridgeport?" said I, pointing."Camelot," said he.

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

And let it be said that love is like a river that flows deep into the heart of the soul. For in every man and woman true love should be the ultimate goal.

It's the Cuyahoga River that puts the cleave in Cleveland, separating East from Midwest, integration from segregation, a place that sees itself as America's westernmost Eastern city from a place that sees itself as the easternmost midwestern city. The rest of the country sees it as neither, though it must be said that the rest of the country is perversely wont to misunderstand Cleveland.

Early one seasonably cold morning, the first day of November, in the year of our lord 1952...the Cuyahoga River caught fire. The river burned. It wasn't so much the river, but a huge oil slick *on* the river, though distinguishing one from the other was more a job for a chemist than a lay observer.