Best 64 quotes in «shore quotes» category

On Sunday, something washed up on shore.

Savages!' he echoed, ironically. 'You set foot on one of the shores of this globe, professor, and you’re surprised to find savages? Where aren’t there savages? Besides, are they any worse than others, these whom you call savages?

Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.

Our plants had now increased to 252: as they were all kept on shore at the tent I augmented the guard there, though from the general conduct of the natives there did not appear the least occasion for so much caution.

Now I felt like I was drifting, sucked down by an undertow, and too far out to swim back to the shore.

Spain- a great whale stranded on the shores of Europe.

The Japanese have hit the shores like dead fish. They're just like dead fish washing up on the shores.

Seeing occurs, of course, through stopping thought. Thought is the fog. When thought stops in meditation, at any point, when there's no thought, we see the other shore.

The issue for me is American competitiveness, and how do we best create a climate here that allows international capital to come to these shores to create jobs.

Time has told me not to ask for more, someday our ocean will find its shore.

The only person I've had sex with on Jersey Shore is my boyfriend

The working people are bound to their native shores.

Tis pleasant to stand on shore and watch others labouring in a stormy sea.

This universe is the wreckage of the infinite on the shores of the finite.

Where Napoleon failed, I shall succeed, I shall land on the shores of Britain.

...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 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.

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?

Time is an ocean, but it ends at the shore.

To discover new continents, you must be willing to lose sight of the shore.

When I go to the shore, I take along the poems of Pablo Neruda. I suppose it's because the poems are simultaneously lush and ripe and kind of lazy, yet throbbing with life - like summer itself.

You can't push a wave onto the shore any faster than the ocean brings it in.

Your presence was shore where I rested/ released from the hoodoo of that dance, where I spoke/ with my true voice again.

and nothing can be more captivating than the waves hitting the shore

I feel a new era coming in, standing on the shore, waiting for it to slowly greet me.

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.

Had I told the sea What I felt for you, It would have left its shores, Its shells, Its fish, And followed me.

How I long to be the shore and feel your waves crash upon me over and over again.

If you never lose sight of the shore, you’re not on a voyage of discovery. You’re on a day cruise.

In a sea of strangers, you've longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores.

In the Bay, whenever I got depressed, I always drove out to the Ocean Beach. Just to sit. And, I don't know, something about looking at water, how it just goes and goes and goes, something about that I found very soothing. As if somehow I were connected to every ripple that was sending itself out and out until it reached another shore.

My dream, I have faith in you! Tell me that reality won't vanquish you; it won't crush my lively spirit into wafts of sorrowful aches, that's what you should vow. I remember you, you used to make me smile for a hope I have always desired, it made my pain worth its dreadfulness. I waited for the sunshine and it made me love and enjoy the rain. We were trapped by dense clouds, now I think I am free.. to breathe again. Like the sea waves, hope visits my shore carrying the light for the frozen heart and the darkened soul.

What can we expect from an empty shell Where many hearts of pearl once beat to dwell Waves fail to break hard layer's bond of love Wailing shore sends memoir to the sky above

Oblong stones sink slow and sideways. Shaped by the weight of waves, dutifully vibrating nature’s lunar-bound graces, they wash ashore only for closed palms to forsake them. The cheerful will cherish them, place them on windowsills, or on graves.

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.

Time is the wave upon the shore. It takes some things away, but it brings other things.

The amazing face of the motherly mammal of a seal near the oceanic shore has more honesty to offer to our world than the unreliable feature of a two-faced politician.

The other side of shore is always the success

The sea loved the moon When she was supposed to love the shore. The moon knew And hence made his intentions known. That she should love the shore Who was destined for her. Yet his protests seemed weak. And even when he pushed her towards the shore- She always retreated back. To want, to need, to love the moon For all she's worth. Everyone said, it wasn't meant to happen. Yet, the Tsunami rose that night for their union.

This is my fundamental teaching: that there is no division between this and that. That is contained in this, the other shore is contained in this shore. You need not go anywhere. If you can be joyous, flowing, alive, sensitive, orgasmic, this very shore immediately is transformed into the other shore . . . this very world the paradise, this very body the Buddha.

Tipani flower skies blazing rapture of color laced tree crowns silhouettes along the ocean diamond necklaced beach...of my heart in fragrance of love spilled by caressing kisses of the sun opening the gates to dive deep through away to horizons with no return...

when i look at the waves i realize not every time it meets the shore, sometimes it even end before reaching it's destination.

Without Psychological Evolution there cannot be any form of revolution. The self is constantly changing. Be involved, be evolved, be revolutionized as lucent and fresh as the new wave hitting at the shore. Become the Sea of Changes. It starts from within.

When the tidal waves wildly behaving My bare feet on the shore busy saving The calm warmth leaking out of the sand To let my heart feel peacefully tanned!

Why a wise man is wise? The answer is simple: Because he has left his own shore!

White-crested waves crash on the shore. The masts sway violently, every which way. In the gray sky the gulls are circling like white flakes. Rain squalls blow past like gray slanting sails, and blue gaps open in the sky. The air brightens. A cold silvery evening. The moon is overhead, and down below, in the water; and all around it-a wide frame of old, hammered, scaly silver. Etched on the silver-silent black fishing boats, tiny black needles of masts, little black men casting invisible lines into the silver. And the only sounds are the occasional plashing of an oar, the creaking of an oarlock, the springlike leap and flip-flop of a fish. ("The North")

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Anyone who's grown up or lived on the Jersey Shore knows the place is unique.

You don’t need to be the tide to rise and fall, you don’t have to be a wave to touch the shore; just be a little sand-grain and feel them all