Best 31 quotes in «fisherman quotes» category

Feast for the Fisherman, the ultimate emo band. Said to be sold with a complimentary prescription for antidepressants and a free flatiron.

Everyone gives what he has. The soldier gives strength, the merchant goods, the teacher instruction, the farmer rice, the fisherman fish.

If the gospel was of a nature to be propagated or maintained by the power of the world, God would not have intrusted it to fishermen. To defend the gospel appertains not to the princes and pontiffs of this world.

However far I gaze Neither cherry blossoms nor Crimson leaves are in sight. Only a fisherman's hut on the shore In the autumnal evening.

I don't know what's on the other side.

It is good even to be a fisherman in summer and in winter.

I have seen one shrike occupy himself for hours in sticking up on thorns, a number of small fishes that the fishermen had thrown on the shore. The fishes dried up and decayed.

I'm a passionate, hardcore fisherman. Biggest fish I caught? A 200-pound tarpon.

In the past, when I shot films about fishermen and hunters, I always had to admire their ability to perceive time in its entirety. The present was always temporary.

I grew up in Scotland, and everyone wore Barbour. It's very practical, it's very outdoorsy. It's what the gamekeepers and the fishermen and the farmers would wear.

I'm more of a fisherman as opposed to a scientist perhaps and chasing the whale. But I've had some success.

The gods do not deduct from man's allotted span the hours spent in fishing.

Retire to what? I'm a golfer and a fisherman. I've got no place to retire to.

The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.

The fish, Even in the fisherman's net, Still carries, The smell of the sea.

We as songwriters are in the same position as a professional fisherman. Our fishing grounds are kind of fished out.

There are many good fishermen and some great ones. But there is only one you.

The creative act is a letting down of the net of human imagination into the ocean of chaos on which we are suspended, and the attempt to bring out of it ideas. It is the night sea journey, the lone fisherman on a tropical sea with his nets, and you let these nets down - sometimes, something tears through them that leaves them in shreds and you just row for shore, and put your head under your bed and pray. At other times what slips through are the minutiae, the minnows of this ichthyological metaphor of idea chasing. But, sometimes, you can actually bring home something that is food, food for the human community that we can sustain ourselves on and go forward.

When I get in the sun I get very tanned. You can't tell me from the native fishermen in Hawaii or Mexico.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.

Du Steenbid, hvi griner saa ilde din Flab, Hvi est du saa skubbet, og fuld utav Skab, Siig, est du befængt med Frantzoser.

Sea and fisherman are not good friends because fisherman takes the good treasures of the sea without giving something good in return!

What did Christ really do? He hung out with hard-drinking fishermen.

My brother William is a fisherman, and he tells me that when he is in the middle of a fogbound sea the water is a color for which there is no name.

A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.

The water is a dark flower and a fisherman is a bee in the heart of her.

This is the story of a boy named Pete Coutinho, who had a spell put on him. Some people might have called it a curse. I don't know. It depends on a lot of things, on whether you've got gipsy blood, like old Beatriz Sousa, who learned a lot about magic from the wild gitana tribe in the mountains beyond Lisbon, and whether you're satisfied with a fisherman's life in Cabrillo. Not that a fisherman's life is a bad one, far from it. By day you go out in the boats that rock smoothly across the blue Gulf waters, and at night you can listen to music and drink wine at the Shore Haven or the Castle or any of the other taverns on Front Street. What more do you want? What more is there? And what does any sensible man, or any sensible boy, want with that sorcerous sort of glamor that can make everything incredibly bright and shining, deepening colors till they hurt, while wild music swings down from stars that have turned strange and alive? Pete shouldn't have wanted that, I suppose, but he did, and probably that's why there happened to him - what did happen. And the trouble began long before the actual magic started working. ("Before I Wake...")

We made love again. This time it was me who asked. Lying there again, on the bed, this time with heat, almost an oven heat, coming through the screen, and sweat instead of tears, I wondered how simple we really are. That we can do the same things again and again and again and find them interesting, even fascinating and seek the repetition with a hunger as avid. How fishing was like that, and painting.

A good fisherman can secure many regenerative hours in winter, polishing up the rods and reels.

All you need to be a fisherman is patience and a worm.

Bought the Vegematic and Pocket Fisherman, too, illuminated illustrated history of Life, and Boxcar Willie.