Best 1173 quotes in «beach quotes» category

And maybe life isn't as hard as it seems to be Every day could be a mess , but darling, you see One of the few places you will always find peace Owes its breeze to the constant chaos in the sea...

...and you will hold me with your wondering eyes in the serenity of purest mind at the dreams edge of my quiet golden shores accompanied by the melodies of emerald blue rippling waves where I will always remain voicing harmony in the over the rainbow soothing memories of your heart...

A school of porpoises broke the surface of the water twenty feet from where we had sat down[...]Each individual porpoise made a sound slightly different from that of any other, so that the school, all twelve of them, flaring and sliding and dancing so near us, formed a kind of woodwind section on the sea's surface or even a single instrument, something unknown and astonishing to man, a celebration of breath itself, of oxygen and sea water and sunlight. They had the eyes of large dogs and their skin was the loveliest, silkiest green imaginable.

Are you taking us to the beach?" - Dan Cahill

A silent velvet footstep filled me, unwelcome yet so needed. You finally found my hidden shore with grains of time and ocean of the most secret secrets, violet and red; left a trail of deep blue footsteps on my glowing beach of soul, and no matter how many times tides wash the golden sand anew, your prints can never be erased. Each one a shining star in my quiet Universe...

As she always did, when she went over the dune and saw the waves crashing on the shore, her heart leapt inside her in excitement. She still had a love affair with the ocean.

Astor smiles back. “Well, you deserve all the compliments I can give you.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

At the end of the day…we are anchoring into the peaceful lagoon, smiling at the majestic sun and its flirting rays, slowly slipping into the glittering ballroom of immense night skies, sipping on the platinum moon liquor under the blues of rippling waves kissing my golden foot hanging over the board of gently rocking boat, and diving into the bed of galaxies whispering magical stories of their eternal lives connecting souls…till the dawn…

BAREFOOT BEACH Take off your shoes- You're on barefoot beach. Relax in the sunshine- Broken only by trees.

Be careful… not all are what they seem. Some people pretend to be the beach, but they’re actually quicksand.

And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense—no—but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channeled whelk, a moon shell, or even an argonaut.

Beach girls now, beach girls tomorrow, beach girls till the end of time.

Be yourself, and do what you think is right, or all the rest of it doesn’t mean much.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

But here I am in July, and why am I thinking about Christmas pudding? Probably because we always pine for what we do not have. The winter seems cozy and romantic in the hell of summer, but hot beaches and sunlight are what we yearn for all winter.

But during those two months of fog . . . the saddest and the heaviest thing was to stand beside the sea. To be upon the beach yourself, and see the long waves coming in; to know that they are long waves, but only see a piece of them. And to hear them lifting roundly, swelling over smooth green rocks, plashing down in the hollow corners, but bearing on all the same as ever, soft and sleek and sorrowful, till their little noise is over.

C'est une vie magnifique que d'être un baobab sur une plage.

Dear Matt, In less than a day, I’ ll be standing on the same sand you stood on so many times before. Well, not the same sand, with the tides and winds and erosion and all of that, but the same symbolic sand. I’m so excited and scared that I can’ t sleep – even though I have to wake up in five hours! You know, I saved every one of your postcards. They’re here in a box under my bed – all the little stories you sent, like little pieces of California. Like the beach glass you guys always brought me. Sometimes I dump it out on my desk and press my ear to the pieces, trying to hear the ocean. Trying to hear you. But you don’ t say anything. Remember how you’ d come back from your vacation on the beach and tell me what it really felt like? What the ocean sounded like at dawn when the beach was deserted? What your hair and skin tasted like after swimming in saltwater all day? How the sand could burn your feet as you walked on it, but if you stuck your toes in, it was cold and wet underneath? How you spent three hours sitting on Ocean Beach just to watch the sun sink into the water a million miles away? If I closed my eyes as you were talking, it was like I was there, like your stories were my stories. In many ways, I feel as if I have memories of you there, too. Do you think that’s crazy? Matt, please don’ t think badly about Frankie’s contest. It’s just a silly game. It’s so Frankie, you know? No, I guess you wouldn’ t. You’ d kill her if you did! She just misses you. We all do. I’ ll look out for her, though. I promise. Please watch over us tomorrow, and for the next few weeks while we’re away. You’ ll be in my thoughts the whole time, like always. I’m going to find some red sea glass for you. I miss you more than you could ever know. Love, Anna

Brian and Avis deliver their stacks and try to refuse dinner, but the waiters bring them glasses of burgundy, porcelain plates with thin, peppery steaks redolent of garlic, scoops of buttery grilled Brussels sprouts, and a salad of beets, walnuts, and Roquefort. They drag a couple of lawn chairs to a quiet spot on the street and they balance the plates on their laps. Some ingredient in the air reminds Avis of the rare delicious trips they used to make to the Keys. Ten years after they'd moved to Miami they'd left Stanley and Felice with family friends and Avis and Brian drove to Key West on a sort of second honeymoon. She remembers how the land dropped back into distance: wetlands, marsh, lazy-legged egrets flapping over the highway, tangled, sulfurous mangroves. And water. Steel-blue plains, celadon translucence. She and Brian had rented a vacation cottage in Old Town, ate small meals of fruit, cheese, olives, and crackers, swam in the warm, folding water. Each day stirring into the next, talking about nothing more complicated than the weather, spotting a shark off the pier, a mysterious constellation lowering in the west. Brian sheltered under a celery-green umbrella while Avis swam: the water formed pearls on the film of her sunscreen. They watched the night's rise, an immense black curtain from the ocean. Up and down the beach they hear the sounds of the outdoor bars, sandy patios switching on, distant strains of laughter, bursts of music. Someone played an instrument- quick runs of notes, arpeggios floating in soft ovals like soap bubbles over the darkening water.

Dear Waves, You have been restless all your life? Or maybe uneasy? I don't know quite. Oscillating between faiths, swinging between shores! Yet when we sit next to you on those sands, do you never feel like sharing what bothers you so much?

Each night they left the balcony door open so they could hear the surf lapping against the sand. And, once when the wind was high, and the waves pounded against the beach, he'd smoothed her hair and whispered, after having proved it so, 'Sex is like a storm; it gathers, it roars. And then it settles into stillness.

But I love you and I want you and I need you. Can’t you see that? This world has nothing to offer me if it doesn’t include you.

Endless ocean, blue water, dreamy sky, tranquil beach, love in the air, mind fly high.

Everything hurts right now and nothing is helping because as the pain is getting worse — so is the love.

Every time I stand before a beautiful beach, its waves seem to whisper to me: If you choose the simple things and find joy in nature’s simple treasures, life and living need not be so hard.

Gentle swells had replaced the angry waves of yesterday. The gentle breakers made their way to shore glinting with green as they somersaulted to shore. The waves showed an edge of lacy foam that caressed the sand. It was peaceful.

Había escuchado su voz, por primera vez, en la isla donde viajó después de abandonar la empresa; estaba en la playa, sufría pero intentaba desesperadamente creer que aquel dolor tendría un final, cuando vio la puesta de sol más hermosa de su vida. Entonces, la desesperación se abatió sobre él con más fuerza que nunca y descendió al abismo más profundo de su alma, porque aquel atardecer merecía ser visto por su mujer y las niñas. Lloró compulsivamente, y presintió que nunca saldría del fondo de aquel pozo.

En milieu de matinée, je suis allé à la plage. Seul. J'avais besoin de rassembler mes idées. Nous n'étions qu'à Pâques, mais il faisait chaud, et quelques personnes se baignaient. L'eau marronnasse ne me tentait absolument pas. Bon sang, on pourrait quand même changer ça avec un bon logiciel de retouche, ai-je pensé. Merde, ce n'était quand même pas compliqué de virer ce marron chiasseux et de le remplacer par du bleu-turquoise. C'est l'océan, m'a dit le graphiste, le mouvement des marrées brasse le fond, et ça donne cette couleur-là, mais c'est naturel, vous comprenez, ce n'est pas trafiqué, ouais, ça fait naturel ce marron-là, ça fait vrai. J'ai répliqué que le réel on s'en foutait, que ce qui comptait c'était ce qui faisait beau et pas forcément ce qui faisait naturel, que ces deux notions n'étaient pas forcément compatibles, qu'elles l'étaient même rarement, d'ailleurs, que le réel et le naturel étaient rarement ce qui y avait de plus beau.

Goodbye sunny Hawaiian beach, hello snowy Mauna Kea.

Goodbye snowy Mauna Kea, hello sunny hawaiian beach.

He felt more cheerful, revived by the journey, released from himself and his poor life, uplifted by thoughts of the infinite.

He is so beautiful that he makes a part of my soul weep. I don't understand those tears. They aren't like the ones I cry for Alina. They aren't made of water and salt. I think they're made of blood.

He looked at me, that first day, like he had just found something he’d lost a thousand years ago.

Her [Gilberte's] face, grown almost ugly, reminded me then of those dreary beaches where the sea, ebbing far out, wearies one with its faint shimmering, everywhere the same, encircled by an immutable low horizon.

Hey!” I wave my index finger in his face, “No shitting on pop music. Everyone needs some light, fun, sexy pop music. It’s summer, and that right there, is the perfect summer song. It’s hot.” “You’re right, it is hot,” he says, scanning my body with his eyes.

I can see why some people become “beach bunnies”: you don’t have to think about things or even talk when you’re on the beach. You just sit here and feel good about being alive.

He could pour himself into my little paper cup heart and my emptiness would finally have a meaning.

How is it that you always know what to do to cheer me up?” I shrug, not wanting to give her the real answer, which is simply that I love her.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

I could watch him do this until morning — never asking questions and never interrupting his work. I worship quietly — his intense focus and attention to detail and then, out of no where, I realize the inconvenient, inappropriate truth: ‘I love this man… and it has swallowed me.

I don’t ever want to hurt anyone, but I really wish there was something like a reset button on my life.

I fantasize the night sky to be like a cosmic blue print of my life as I close my eyes and unbutton my heart…. just in case anyone up there is listening.

I feel like a paper cut just waiting to bleed.

If ever I was running, it was towards you.

I cannot express how lordly and transfigured I felt at that moment. I was a prince of that harbor, a porpoise king - slim among the buoys and the water traffic.

If I had an .MP3 of your heartbeat… I might actually get some sleep.

I find myself thinking of you, and how meaningless anything with any girl who isn’t you is.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

If he were only interested in me for one thing, he’d have moved on when it didn’t go perfectly the first time.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

If Kumar had his way they would leave for Fiji every year just before Thanksgiving and not return until the New Year rang in and the decorations came down. They would swim with the fishes and lie on the beach eating papaya. On the years they were tired of Fiji they would go to Bali or Sydney or any sunny, sandy place whose name contained an equal number of consonants and vowels.

I feel a resurgence of my 6-year-old self… that little warrior, goddess of a girl reminding me of who I was when I was little, before the world got its hands on me.

If you think about it, finding true love is a lot like finding a particular grain of sand on the beach.

If you're stuck you could always double up with me at my place. It's the size of a postage stamp, but the roses are the size of poodles. So it sort of evens out." -Austin