Quotes About Driftwood

Tall bird stalking. Every five minutes, half a step. The bird was a piece of standing driftwood. Even the fish forgot. When the heron at last jabbed out, Robin shrieked. The strike crossed two meters with barely a lean-in from the bird. It came back upright, a meal the size of astonishment dangling from its mouth. The fish seemed too big to slip down the bird's throat. But that baggy gullet opened, and in another moment, not even a bulge betrayed what had happened.

Nice creepy reptile," Frank said, very aware of the driftwood in his coat pocket. "Nice poisonous, fire-breathing reptile.

never enjoyed a meal more than their supper in the cave. The driftwood blazed and crackled, casting a cheerful glow which illuminated the rocky ceiling and walls of the underground chamber. With crisp bacon, bread toasted brown before the fire, hot chocolate, and jam, they ate ravenously, and at last sat back with deep sighs of sheer content.

vast expanse of modern gray driftwood flooring—the kind favored by Californians and the decorators of cancer centers.

I could feel my limbs disconnecting, floating nearby like driftwood on an oily lake.

I doubted whether driftwood has the right to say, "I win," when the tide throws it on to the beach it seeks.

I doubted whether driftwood has the right to say, "I win," when the tide throws it on to the beach it seeks.

La inmensa mayoría son hombres de sociedad. Viven en la superficie, les interesa lo transitorio y lo breve. Son como madera de deriva en al riada. Sólo piden las novedades: la espuma y la cochambre del mar eterno.

Sculptures created from found materials like ice and thorns, driftwood, and even bleached kangaroo bones all presuppose that artistic design will yield to the cycles of time and climate, whether over an hour or a decade.

Bone-white driftwood maroons on the sand. Dunes wall in the strand. An island offshore is an overturned teacup. The gulls have abandoned the sea for the roof of the Surf Club.

City Point is so beautiful, she says. In the night they cannot see the garbage that litters the beach, the seaweed and driftwood, the condoms that wallow sluggishly on the foam's edge, discarded on the shore like the minuscule loathsome animals of the sea. Yeah, it's something, he says slowly.

Each person seemed to have a destination, but Val was a piece of driftwood, spinning down a river, not even sure in what direction she was moving. But she knew how to make herself spin faster.