Best 120 quotes in «drowning quotes» category

Coincidences undeniably imply meaning. I am rereading Hart Crane. I notice the date On which he stepped off that boat Was April 26. Tomorrow is April 26. The year of his suicide was 1932. I was four. I am now fifty-one. One undeniable implication in this case then Is that the year, today, Is 1979. Afterward, Crane’s mother scrubbed floors. Eventually, I may or may not Jump overboard. Are there questions?

Drowning, Drowning on the land, Drowning, It doesn't end.

Drowning in silence; for in silence I shall never be disappointed …

Each night he would give up on sleeping in his pain and drowning in his silence; he would watch the few stars that were in the sky that night, but he would never be living them. Something has taken his warmth and replaced it with a starless sky.

He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud.

He gave a sudden shake as if he couldn't stand to feel his life still holding on to him.

He stops rocking and looks into my eyes. We’re inches apart and I’m mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes. A girl could drown in those eyes. And it wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

He danced across my heart like a pirate, Constantly discovering my secrets, Turning over every hidden treasure, Drowning me in his fantasy.

I am drowning in an infinite sea.

If misery were water, he thinks as he climbs into his car and turns the key, I could just drown or let it wash me away entirely.

If someone drowned at sea a couple of hundred years ago they’d either start to decompose immediately or they’d get eaten by fish or other scavengers. The bones would eventually sink down to the seabed and either be slowly buried by marine silt or broken down further over the years, but the flesh would one way or another eventually become water, which would evaporate into clouds and then rain down upon the earth once again to become plants and flowers. The flowers in your garden could once have been famous pirates such as Blackbeard or Calico Jack.

Few people paid much attention to the importance of eyes when it came to seduction, he thought. It took a Bene Gesserit upbringing to make that point. Big breasts in a woman and hard loins in a man (that tightly muscular look to the buttocks) – these were naturally important in sexual matchings. But without the eyes, the rest of it could go for nothing. Eyes were essential. You could drown in the right kind of eyes, he had learned, sink right into them and be unaware of what was being done to you [...].

His eyesight was possessed by the colours of trauma, cracking and bubbling like an old Super Eight film to remind him of his near-death drowning some two months ago in that very moment when he needed to act.

How great inexperience and innocence is. On the authority of their parents they go to a place where they could meet their death; for the Zirder in flood is very dangerous and, given the ignorance of the children, can be incalculably dangerous. But they know nothing of death. Even if they speak its name, they do not know its essence and their aspiring life has no feeling for annihilation. If they were on the brink of death themselves, they would not know it and they would die before they found it out.

If someone drowned at sea 300 years ago, or they died elsewhere but their remains were disposed of in the ocean, they’d either start to decompose immediately or they’d get eaten by fish or other scavengers. Their bones would eventually sink down to the seabed and be slowly buried by marine silt or broken down further over the years, but the flesh would one way or another eventually become water, which would evaporate into clouds and then rain down upon the earth once again to become plants and flowers. The flowers in your garden could once have been Anne Bonny and Mary Read.

If you're a sailor, best not know how to swim. Swimming only prolongs the inevitable—if the sea wants you and your time has come.

I hit him on the back of the neck. He submerged. Help. I've drowned the Beast Lord.

I lost my heart Under the bridge To that little girl – So much to me. And now I moan, And now I holler... She'll never know Just what I found. That blue eyed girl – She said "no more"; That blue eyed girl Became blue eyed whore. Down by the water, I took her hand. Just like my daughter, I'll see her again Oh, help me, Jesus. Come through this storm. I had to lose her To do her harm; I heard her holler, I heard her moan, My lovely daughter... I took her home. Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water, Come back here, man, give me my daughter. Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water. Come back here, man, give me my daughter.

I nodded, unsure if Ted sounded admiring or angry. 'I waded in but I couldn't find him. I mean, is it possible - the water wasn't deep enough for him to drown. It doesn't make any sense.' 'My band made four brilliant albums and never had a single goddamn hit. We were supposed to be the American Rolling Stones, and we couldn't get more than five minutes of airplay. Does that make sense?' Ted stubbed out his cigarette.

It's not the current that will drown you. It's the exhaustion from fighting it.

If we found a ticket to Disneyland would you think we should arrest Mickey Mouse?

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.

I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer today.

May you have all the pleasure you've always craved. Nay, may you drown in it!

I think we ought to find something else to do,” said Mandy. “But Alecto my love, you’re the first person to notice my retro diner kitchen. When my parents saw it, they thought I was creating a weird art project.” “I like it. It's got that let’s-drown-ourselves-in-better-days type ambiance,” Alecto declared, his gray eyes narrowed.

Most of us believe we can spot a drowning person when we see one. But we always make the mistake of thinking that drowning only involves what. believe it or not, you have missed quite a number of drowned and drowning people. Some of us are thought to save some one drowning in water, most of us can spot that too, but none of us has been thought to see the other kinds of drowners, nor how to save them.

Saa kan hver Fornuftig vel dømme ved sig, Naar Mennisker friske maa legges i Liig; Hvad Ynk da maa være paa færde! En Broder ey anden at frelse formaar, Den stercke, den svage, har ligedan Kaar, Dem hielper ey Læg eller Lærde.

It's not easy trying to stay afloat when the current keeps pulling you under.

She imagined herself drowning along the tides of Sumendu Lake, down own into the depths of solemn solitude, splashing into the serenity of forever silence.

Some eyes are as deep as the sea! And you only feel like drowning in them.

Someone opened up the floodgates and now I'm drowning.

She stooped for a stone and dropped it down. 'Fancy being where that is now,' she said, peering into the blackness; 'fancy going round and round like a mouse in a pail, clutching at the slimy sides, with the water filling your mouth, and looking up to the little patch of sky above.' 'You had better come in,' said Benson, very quietly. 'You are developing a taste for the morbid and horrible.' ("The Well")

Sometimes, a child will go under while their parent is watching, and they don’t even know anything is wrong. My mom asks if everything’s okay, and I say of course. Drowning is a quiet, desperate thing.

People drown, quietly, before our eyes, all the time.

Sometimes you're drowning yourself in your own words.

That poem you like, how does it end?” He knows how it ends. He’s looked it up by now, that’s why he asks. But I answer him anyway. “‘We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown, till human voices wake us, and we drown.’” Eliot shakes his head. “It does not need the last three words. The last three words are wrong.” I laugh at his correcting a Nobel prize-winning poet, but I agree. I know what drowning feels like. It doesn’t need water. And human voices, if they say the right things, can save you. “Eliot, do you have a pen I can borrow?” I can feel him smiling in the dark, and we watch the sea caress the sand. “That man in the poem, Mr. Prufrock, he was a coward, wasn’t he?” Eliot says. My answer to his question is the same as his answer to mine.

The people's need to share has turned into a massive disease. It has taken them to the most private meaningless part of their lives. In such circumstance, values become redefined and what has been worthless in the past, has become the core value of the new age. The disaster starts where the essence of the discourse changes. The modern age, with all its technological advances, has taken human to the fast fall. We are going down faster than being trapped into a mire. The transition of the discourse has also given us a great gift, senselessness. Therefore, we have transitioned into piles of senseless machines, drained of human essentiality and drowning into a giant mire. The sad part is, due to the lack of true sense, we don't even feel it. Our only safety guard, which is entirely absurd and phantasmagoric, comes from following the majority of the world's population. As long as we feel belonged to preponderancy, our nonsense will absolutely make sense.

There are too many ways to drown even if you don’t want to drown.

There is a tidal wave of ignorance, Mma Ramotswe. It is a great tidal wave and it will drown all of us if we are not careful.

There will be a sea of tears, You'll gasp for your breath at times, You'll drag your heavy heart And drown your soul in the sea. But sooner or later, The sea will dry up, There won't be any savior ship But you'll learn to embrace The wet sand revealed.

The experience of drowning, through the lens of faith, is what Christians call "baptism." But no matter what you call it, the sensation of going under is entirely the same.

The only thing wrong with Southern Baptists was they didn't hold them underwater long enough.

The Sun is never alone as the light remains with him always. Even when he goes down sinking...sinking, the light drowns with him

They all seemed hungry, happy, and healthy enough in their buzzing—oh the days were hot, and the noise of bees filled the air that was dusty with pollen and sun haze, and there were tiny black flies stuck to one another crowded by the creek and a creek stink rising from the deep pool under the willow tree where a wheat sack of new kittens had been drowned, and their tiny terrible struggling had shot like an electric current through the confusion of muddy water and up the arm of the person who had tied the stone around the mouth of the sack and thrust it into the water; and the culprit had not been able to brush away the current; it penetrated her body and made her heart beat with fear and pity. I was the culprit.

They say that when a man is going to drown, when he finally gives up the struggle - it's sort of blissful, for a moment. And then he drowns.

They clung to her like leeches, draining her spirit & dragging her down a dark world

Underwater madness slipping into a haze, drowning and choking in repugnant nostalgic thoughts.

The stars are brilliant at this time of night and I wander these streets like a ritual I don’t dare to break for darling, the times are quite glorious. I left him by the water’s edge, still waving long after the ship was gone and if someone would have screamed my name I wouldn’t have heard for I’ve said goodbye so many times in my short life that farewells are a muscular task and I’ve taught them well. There’s a place by the side of the railway near the lake where I grew up and I used to go there to burry things and start anew. I used to go there to say goodbye. I was young and did not know many people but I had hidden things inside that I never dared to show and in silence I tried to kill them, one way or the other, leaving sin on my body scrubbing tears off with salt and I built my rituals in farewells. Endings I still cling to. So I go to the ocean to say goodbye. He left that morning, the last words still echoing in my head and though he said he’d come back one day I know a broken promise from a right one for I have used them myself and there is no coming back. Minds like ours are can’t be tamed and the price for freedom is the price we pay. I turned away from the ocean as not to fall for its plea for it used to seduce and consume me and there was this one night a few years back and I was not yet accustomed to farewells and just like now I stood waving long after the ship was gone. But I was younger then and easily fooled and the ocean was deep and dark and blue and I took my shoes off to let the water freeze my bones. I waded until I could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still I kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for I could not tell the difference between the ocean and the lack of someone I loved and I had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival. Then days passed by and I spent them with my work and now I’m writing letters I will never dare to send. But there is this one day every year or so when the burden gets too heavy and I collect my belongings I no longer need and make my way to the ocean to burn and drown and start anew and it is quite wonderful, setting fire to my chains and flames on written words and I stand there, starring deep into the heat until they’re all gone. Nothing left to hold me back. You kissed me that morning as if you’d never done it before and never would again and now I write another letter that I will never dare to send, collecting memories of loss like chains wrapped around my veins, and if you see a fire from the shore tonight it’s my chains going up in flames. The time of moon i quite glorious. We could have been so glorious.

we met one strange summer in a regular tangle of sticky webs you had the air of angels sweet but I-- drowned with the damned spirits in lava oceans fearing your-- foreign static frequency and grey-green eyes (I swear they are even if you-- think otherwise): storms calm ones, calmer than my-- raging coals, empty and dead you speak of souls like you believe always an optimist in pessimistic skin of ivory and titanium mesh...

What . . . fellow?” The wind was cool, but I could see sweat trickling down the back of Jamie’s neck, dampening his collar and plastering the linen between his shoulders. Duff didn’t answer immediately. A look of speculation flickered in his small, deep-set eyes. “Don’t think about it, Duff,” Roger said, softly, but with great assurance. “I can reach ye from here with an oar, ken?” “Aye?” Duff glanced thoughtfully from Jamie, to Roger, and then to me. “Aye, reckon ye might. But allowin’ for the sake for argyment as how you can swim, MacKenzie—and even that Mr. Fraser might keep afloat—I dinna think that’s true of the lady, is it? Skirts and petticoats . . .” He shook his head, pursing thin lips in speculation as he looked at me. “Go to the bottom like a stone, she would.” Peter shifted ever so slightly, bringing his feet under him. “Claire?” Jamie said. I saw his fingers curl tight round the oars, and heard the note of strain in his voice. I sighed and drew the pistol out from under the coat across my lap. “Right,” I said. “Which one shall I shoot?