Best 23 quotes in «tsunami quotes» category

Sometimes the words come like a tsunami; tidal and windswept they blind you to your weaknesses and it is difficult to keep up with the process. The poet often questions where this 'voice' comes from. Who lifted the visor that covered this once locked Pandora's Box that gave rise to this flight of manic panic? When it feels as if there is too much going on and it is hard to put a stop to it; go with it; go with the incessant flow and ebb although it is not always posed gracefully. There will be enough time afterwards to vet everything, get through your nonsensical thoughts, every void and every streak of dissonance left behind with a fine tooth comb. Poets must always strive to dismantle frantically omens and discover fitting miracles to create an opus of thoughts and feelings. It is easy for a poet to become imperious. This will always show up in the writing. It is unavoidable. Truths must marry godheads on the page. No poet is inexhaustible. When fatigue comes as it must, it must be diagnosed. We must always strive towards the glorified.

Most of the parents who came to the school were full-time mothers and housewives; most of the villagers offering their opinions were retired, elderly and male. It was another enactment of the ancient dialogue, its lines written centuries ago, between the entreating voices of women, and the oblivious, overbearing dismissiveness of old men.

Tak akan sempat nisan terpahat; ribuan nama memesan bersama-sama. Sementara, mayat-mayat yang belum berangkat, terbaring berselimut puing-puing... O, Tsunami, airmu bermuara di mata kami!

these raindrops make me feel the sky is crying when the whole world goes up in flames may be she will not have any more tears to cry rivers are drying up tsunamis come uninvited acid rain has made inroads of what chemicals are tears made of why do I cry every time it rains...

Sophisticated human beings were on hand to see this volcano's convulsions, they were able to investigate the event, and they were able to attempt to understand the processes that had caused such dreadful violence...their observations, painstaking and precise as science demanded, collided head-on with a most discomfiting reality: that while in 1883 the world was becoming ever more scientifically advanced, it was in part because of these same advances that its people found themselves in a strangely febrile and delicately balanced condition...

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.

Sometimes it can be as brutally overwhelming as a tidal wave flooding every orifice, the suffocation, the pressure, the immensity of this damnable depression like an ocean, unsurmountable. It swallows me whole and gnaws at my very bones. It floods me over and over, drowning me over and over... It is a torturous broken record player with a scratched disc on repeat, the wailing disrupting any possible good remaining after the tsunami. It wails and wails inside my ribcage and inside my skull. I cannot make it stop.

What struck me, in reading the reports from Sri Lanka, was the mild disgrace of belonging to our imperfectly evolved species in the first place. People who had just seen their neighbors swept away would tell the reporters that they knew a judgment had been coming, because the Christians had used alcohol and meat at Christmas or because ... well, yet again you can fill in the blanks for yourself. It was interesting, though, to notice that the Buddhists were often the worst. Contentedly patting an image of the chubby lord on her fencepost, a woman told the New York Times that those who were not similarly protected had been erased, while her house was still standing. There were enough such comments, almost identically phrased, to make it seem certain that the Buddhist authorities had been promulgating this consoling and insane and nasty view. That would not surprise me.

Britain can be proud of its response to the tsunami appeal.

It’s been a tsunami of media and I’ve been riding it on a mercury surfboard.

I'd turn and run but I'm anchored by two dudes that could hold the Titanic during a tsunami.

I would say the damage here is much more [than the tsunami], the magnitude of the calamity here is much more

The criteria for architecture after the tsunami is humbleness

The only hope of transforming the world from the 'tsunami of violence' is for each of us to become the change we wish to see in the world.

It can happen like that. It can build slowly. It can come like a gentle rainfall, or it can slam into you like a tsunami. You are my tsunami, love.

Sarah Palin finally heard what happened in Japan and she's demanding that we invade 'Tsunami.'

A wave formed, swelling around Ariel's body. It lifted her up higher and higher- or maybe she herself was growing: it was hard to tell. She held the trident aloft. Storm clouds raced to her from all directions like a lost school of cichlid babies flicking to their father's mouth for protection. Lightning coursed through the sky and danced between the trident's tines. Ariel sang a song of rage. Notes rose and fell discordantly, her voice screeching at times like a banshee from the far north. She sang, and the wind sang with her. It whipped her hair out of its braids and pulled tresses into tentacles that billowed around her head. She sang of the unfairness of Eric's fate and her own, of her father's torture as a polyp, even of Scuttle's mortal life, slowly but visibly slipping away. Mostly she sang about Ursula. She sang about everyone whose lives had been touched and destroyed by evil like coral being killed and bleached, like dead spots in the ocean from algae blooms, like scale rot. She sang about what she would do to anyone who threatened those she loved and protected. And then, with her final note, she made a quick thrust as if to throw the trident toward the boats in the bay, pulling it back at the last moment. A clap louder than thunder echoed across the ocean. A wave even larger than the one she rode roared up from the depths of the open sea. It smashed through and around her, leaving her hair and body white with foam. She grinned fiercely at the power of the moment. The tsunami continued on, making straight for Tirulia. But... despite her rage... underneath it all the queen was still Ariel. Her momentary urge to destroy everything came and went like a single flash of summer lightning.

What do Japanese Jews love to eat? Hebrew National Tsunami.

Compassion and Empathy for each other is what can wash away The Tsunami of Suffering in the world

He [Riptide] sighed. "I said, 'What are you doing all the way out here?' and you said, 'Hey, sparkling teeth, I totally love three of your claws but not the others, and I wish your nose was a herrig so I could eat it, and also your wings sound like sharks snoring.'" Tsunami burst out laughing.

A major lesson in risk management is that a 'receding sea' is not a lucky offer of an extra piece of free beach, but the warning sign of an upcoming tsunami.

Even the most intense aerial bombing leaves the walls and foundations of burned-out buildings, as well as parks and woods, roads and tracks, fields and cemeteries. The tsunami spared nothing, and achieved feats of surreal juxtaposition that no explosion could match. It plucked forests up by their roots, and scattered them miles inland. It peeled the macadam off the roads, and cast it hither and thither in buckled ribbons. It stripped houses to their foundations, and lifted cars, lorries, ships and corpses onto the top of tall buildings.

I guess I was lucky I didn't drown, or smother in the thick, black, icy mud that the river left behind in its slow withdrawal back within its banks. I didn't feel lucky. When I regained consciousness, my head and ribs winning the battle with the rest of my body for sharp, almost unbearable pain, my first thought was Chrissy. Chrissy, pulled away from me by the merciless power of the water. Chrissy, lost somewhere, maybe injured, calling for me and I wasn't there for her. Chrissy, beautiful, wonderful Chrissy, quite probably lying in the mud, dead! My scream of anguish, of pain and loss, echoed through the empty Liverpool streets. There was no shame or embarrassment in that shout, that bellow of emotion. I had lost the woman I loved. Nothing I’d ever felt compared to the agony, the gut-wrenching loss of that moment. I cried. I sat there in the middle of a street I didn't recognise, not knowing how far the wave had carried me, and cried.