Best 56 quotes in «maine quotes» category

It wasn’t until the ship returned to Castine that my infraction came up as an issue to be dealt with. Once again, I sought out the council of my friendly advisor, Commander Jameson, who surprisingly had a few choice words to say and then advised that I write a statement blaming this mess on my youth and immaturity. I personally didn’t like the idea but followed his advice, along with a plea for clemency. Two long weeks later, I found myself in front of RearAdmiral William W. Warlick USN Ret. I really didn’t know what to expect. The two midshipmen that preceded me into his office were both expelled, for what seemed a minor infraction. I guess that when my turn came, he just gave up on being a hardnosed admiral. Looking me in the eye, he asked if I had learned my lesson. When I said, “Yes sir,” he waved me off with a “Don’t let me see you again.” I later learned that Jameson had talked to him, paving the way for me….

I’ve never been to a real Irish wake,” said Lucy. “Just visiting hours at the funeral home.” “You think this’ll be different?” “I’m no expert, but from what I’ve heard, they’re pretty lively affairs. Sometimes they even sit the dead person’s body up and put a drink in its hand.” “That’d be a problem for Old Dan,” said Brian, thoughtfully. “I mean, he could hold the drink, but you sort of need a head to complete the image. Not that he could actually drink it, of course, being dead and all, but you know what I mean.” Lucy did. How could you have a wake with a body that had no head?

Susan Margaret Collins was born on December 7, 1952 in Caribou, Maine and is presently the senior United States Senator from Maine. Senator Collins has served in the Senate since 1997 and chaired the Senate Committee on Homeland Security from 2003 to 2007. She now is the Chairwoman of the Senate Special Committee on Aging. Collins is a graduate of St. Lawrence University, a liberal arts college, in Canton, New York. Considered a moderate Republican, she became the only Republican in the U.S. Senate currently representing a state in New England. Her vote was one of three republican votes in the Senate that helped to defeat a bill designed to destroy the Affordable Health Care Program presently in effect. John McCain's heroic stand only mattered because Susan Collins and Lisa Murkowski bravely stood by him! It was their courage that saved health care for approximately 22 million people.

My attachment to the state is that of a barnacle to a ledge, the pull of the moon to the earth. Maine, because of its singular and profound beauty, is a place of worship without walls. I love it so.

Our laughter became more raucous as our fooling around intensified. All this suddenly ended when we heard a loud intense knocking on the door. Once again, the doctor had had enough and came up to complain about the noise we were making. These old houses didn’t have any insulation between the walls to dampen the noise. Instead, it was kind of like being inside a drum. In a way, I could understand why he was upset and we could have been more considerate, but on the other hand, we just didn’t give a damn! It might also have been that he knew what we were doing and didn’t like it. In the puritanical 1950’s this sort of thing was frequently frowned upon and perhaps still is, but inconsiderate as it may have been, we didn’t care! Es tut mir leid! (German for I’m sorry! Said in a sarcastic way.) Laughing, Ann told the doctor that we would behave. As he started back down the stairs, she turned to me and said, “Let’s go down to the basement.

Most local cooks have two ideas about what to do with food. They either fry it, or else they make chowder out of it.

On March 12, 2015, the AIM Development Company, that deals in scrap metal, met to discuss demolishing the now defunct Verso Paper Mill in Bucksport, located at the head of Penobscot Bay. The paper mill was first built by the Maine Seaboard Paper Company in 1930. Demolition of the mill is expected to be completed in 2016. However, company representatives and town officials did not discuss what AIM might do with the 250-acre waterfront site once the demolition work is complete. Originally it was believed that a recycling facility, using the deep-water port access to export salvaged metals, would be the most likely thing to be built on this site; however this plan has now been scrapped. In 1980 this mill employed more than 1,350 workers and was the largest employer in Bucksport, a town of about 5,000 residents. The demolition and removal took much longer than anyone expected and as salvage crews continued working, a fire broke out on March 19, 2017. Apparently the fire erupted at about 8:30 a,m. as workers using cutting torches, cut into the metal exterior wall of the mill. Spreading to the roof of the building, it was debated as to the feasibility of allowing the fire to destroy the remaining structure. Considering the safety involved firefighters from Bucksport and surrounding towns extinguished the fire. It is expected that the remaining remnants will be demolished by the middle of 2017 in fact the company has open rail cars in position, waiting to remove whatever is left of the mill.

On the Penobscot River, on the opposite bank from the once-upon-a-time paper mill, stands Fort Knox, proudly named after the nation’s first Secretary of State Henry Knox, who lived in Thomaston, Maine. It was built between 1844 and 1869 to guard against the British in a border dispute with Canada. The fear was that if this part of Maine fell, the British would take over some of the best lumber-producing areas on the East Coast and this would cost the United States a most valued natural resource in the building of ships. Other than training recruits during the Civil War, the fort was never used and is now a scenic location overlooking the new bridge, crossing the Penobscot River.

Remember the first time you ever came? Tell the truth. You were dreading it." His brown eyes laughed warmly. "What wasn't to dread? A godforsaken island in the middle of the Atlantic-" "It's only eleven miles out." "Same difference. If it didn't have a hospital, it wasn't on my radar screen." "You thought there'd be dirt roads and nothing to do." He gave a wry chuckle. Between lobstering, clamming, and sailing, then movie nights at the church and mornings at the cafe, not to mention dinners at home, in town, or at the homes of friends, Nicole had kept him busy. "You loved it," she dared. "I did," he admitted. "It was perfect. A world away.

The color of the ocean certainly looked different as we steamed north, using the Gulf Stream to give us an additional 3 knots of headway. The beautiful green sea gave way to a steel-colored blue-gray frigid foam. It was early spring now and although the weather in New England still had the feeling of winter, the migratory birds knew better. The cold wind hummed as it blew through the ships rigging and with every turn of the screw, we relentlessly inched farther North. After three months of tropical weather, we now welcomed the dryer frosty air. We represented Maine, this was our environment, and this year, March did not disappoint us. We knew enough to expect that in this changeable weather it could snow well into April. In fact the farmers in the Northeast call a late snow “Poor man’s fertilizer.

The bus continued on to its last stop before Bangor. In the mid-nineteenth century, Belfast became known for its production of large five-masted schooners. This was due to the abundance of tall pines in the proximity that were used as masts. There were fortunes made in shipbuilding and some of the larger homes, which are still in existence, are testimony to that. Unfortunately, this all ended with the advent of iron ships and the steam engine. Even the labor-intensive shoe manufacturing industry, which followed shipbuilding, faltered. Belfast still had its poultry business in 1952, and once a year held a popular Broiler Festival that brought in many people.

Their conversation ceased abruptly with the entry of an oddly-shaped man whose body resembled a certain vegetable. He was a thickset fellow with calloused and jaundiced skin and a patch of brown hair, a frizzy upheaval. We will call him Bell Pepper. Bell Pepper sidled up beside The Drippy Man and looked at the grilled cheese in his hand. The Drippy Man, a bit uncomfortable at the heaviness of the gaze, politely apologized and asked Bell Pepper if he would like one. “Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?” asked Bell Pepper. The Drippy Man realized Bell Pepper was not looking at his sandwich but towards the inconsistency of his leg sizes. “You always get your kicks pointing out defects?” retorted The Drippy Man. “Just curious. Never seen anything like it before.” “I was raised not to feel shame and hide my legs in baggy pants.” “So you flaunt your deformity by wearing short shorts?” “Like you flaunt your pockmarks by not wearing a mask?” Bell Pepper backed away, kicking wide the screen door, making an exit to a porch over hanging a dune of sand that curved into a jagged upward jab of rock. “He is quite sensitive,” commented The Dry Advisor. “Who is he?” “A fellow who once manipulated the money in your wallet but now curses the fellow who does.

The dead don’t give up anything, but the living do.

The doctor was a frequent visitor at Miss Trumball's establishment, preferring it to the Lanchester house, whose girls had a saturnine disposition in his opinion, as if imported from Maine or other gloom-loving provinces.

There, on the far side of of the Atlantic, would be Maine, but despite the shared ocean, her island and this one were worlds apart. Where Inishmaan was gray and brown, its fragile man-made soil supporting only the hardiest of low-growing plants, the fertile Quinnipeague invited tall pines in droves, not to mention vegetables, flowers, and improbable, irrepressible herbs. Lifting her head, eyes closed now, she breathed in the damp Irish air and the bit of wood smoke that drifted on the cold ocean wind. Quinnipeague smelled of wood smoke, too, since early mornings there could be chilly, even in summer. But the wood smoke would clear by noon, giving way to the smell of lavender, balsam, and grass. If the winds were from the west, there would be fry smells from the Chowder House; if from the south, the earthiness of the clam flats; if from the northeast, the purity of sweet salt air.

There was a young lady from Gloucester Who complained that her parents both bossed her, So she ran off to Maine. Did her parents complain? Not at all -- they were glad to have lost her.

These steel monstrosities screamed night and day, blotted out the starlit skies and Northern Lights with flashing red strobes, slaughtered thousands of bats and entire flocks of birds banished tourism and wildlife, made people sick and drove them from their now-valueless homes.

What do you mean 'has to be?' and what are you smiling at?" I stopped contributing to this ridiculous dance. I grabbed the teapot and began to fill it with water in the sink. Suddenly I felt the slight weight of his body against my back and the corner of his mouth brushed against my ear. "How human you are," he whispered.

We sat bathed in luscious darkness, Casco Bay's thousand islands spread out before us like a diamond quilt. 'I don't get enough of this,' she said.

What do you mean 'has to be?' and what are you smiling at?" I stopped contributing to this ridiculous dance. I grabbed the teapot and began to fill it with water in the sink. Suddenly I felt the slight weight go this body against my back and the corner of his mouth brushed adjacent my ear. "How human you are," he whispered.

Though at opposite ends of our country, Maine and Hawaii are, other than climate, much alike. Places where you say who you are, be who you are, keep your word, and don't cheat or lie to take advantage of each other. Where you protect other folks because they are your tribe.

I felt like I'd been misplaced in the cosmos and I belonged in Maine.

E.B. White's essays are the best things I've read about Maine - especially the one in which he's not sure if he can go out sailing any more in his sloop.

Her imperturbable self-confidence (Duchesse de Maine) caused Madame de Stael to write that the Duchesse believed in herself the same way she believed in God, without explanation or discussion.

I don't have time to have friends come and stay, except on weekends in Maine. I invite a lot of people to come to Maine.

Elwyn Brooks White was a very Maine personality which is, "I hate everyone and everyone stay away from me.

I'm working for the people of Maine, not the whales of Maine.

I'm living life right now, maine and this what Imma do til it's over, til it's over.. but it's far from over.

In the fall term of 1933-34 I was on my family farm in Maine.

I went to this very disorganized Jewish summer camp in Maine called Camp Modin.

Maine is wonderful. It can be very hard. I mean, if you look at the profile maps it doesn't look it, but somehow when you get out there it's really steep and hard.

In Maine we have a saying that there's no point in speaking unless you can improve on silence.

Maine Road was a great football stadium but as time moved on it stayed where it is.

Reading newspapers in the state of Maine is like paying somebody to tell you lies.

The jobless recovery in Maine is much more of a reality than we thought it was.

The people of Maine were tired of being in debt and tired of being overtaxed.

This country needs room to grow and expand. In all my own newspapers I read frightful tales of the shameful atrocities being perpetrated on our Democratic minorities in Maine and Vermont. My patience is almost at an end, and if provoked much further I will place both countries under American protection, even if I have to send in my tourists to start trouble so I'll have to send in a force to restore order.

Captain Hank Bracker’s book, Salty and Saucy Maine, should have been titled Salty and Saucy Hank Bracker. Yup, Hank’s stories are definitely saucy and salty. The book is full of stories about Hank’s time at Maine Maritime Academy. There are plenty of tales that will make you laugh, a lot of interesting history, and then there are those stories I’d label ribald. Hank worked for many years, after graduating from Maine Maritime, in the maritime industry, including the navy. And he’s written four other books, with lots more stories. “More than anything,” writes Hank, “it was my time at the Academy that built the foundation for what evolved into an adventurous, exciting career and life.” He describes this book as “a young man’s coming-of-age book,” and it is surely that. “Not surprising, by nature I am a free spirit, who loves the company of most animals and some people. You might say that I love to laugh, hold center stage, and tell my yarns the way I remember them. For years, friends have encouraged me to write these tales as short stories. This is part of that effort! All I can add is that Hank’s wife of almost 60 years, Ursula, must be a saint!

Mr Michener, as timeless as a stack of 'National Geographics,' is the ultimate Summer Writer. Just as one goes back to the cottage in Maine, so one goes back to one's Michener.

Ye who made war that your ships Should lay to at the beck of no nation, Make war now on Murder, that slips The leash of her hounds of damnation; Ye who remembered the Alamo, Remember the Maine!

All my life I had thought that if you worked hard you would be rewarded. If you worked your ass off, there would be some reward for you. But now I knew that the reward was just the chance to work your ass off.

A postcard and I'm pining for New England. . .

Castine predates the Plymouth Colony by 7 years and, being one of the oldest settlements in America, has a rich history. Founded during the winter of 1613 as Fort Pentagöet, named after the French Baron of Pentagöet, Castine is located in eastern Maine or “Down East,” as it is now popularly called. During much of the 17th and 18th centuries, the French Parish of Acadia included parts of eastern Quebec and the Maritime Provinces. The pine-forested land of French controlled Maine extended as far south as Fort Pentagöet and the Kennebec River. That same year, 1613, English Captain Samuel Argall raided Mount Desert Island, the largest island to be found in present-day Maine, thus starting a long-running dispute over the boundary between French Acadia and the English colonies lying to the south. In 1654, Major General Robert Sedgwick led 100 New England volunteers and 200 of Oliver Cromwell's soldiers on an expedition against French Acadia. Sedgwick captured and plundered Fort Pentagöet and occupied Acadia for the next 16 years. This relatively short period ended when the Dutch bombarded the French garrison defending Penobscot Bay and the Bagaduce River, thereby dominating Castine in 1674 and again in 1676. It was during this time that they completely destroyed Fort Pentagöet. After the Treaty of Breda brought peace to the region in 1667, French authorities dispatched Baron Jean-Vincent de Saint- Castin to take command of Fort Pentagöet. The community surrounding the fort served as the capital of this French colony from 1670 to 1674, and was named Castine after him.

Catawamteak,” meaning “the great landing,” is what the Abenaki Indians called the early settlement that became Rockland, Maine. Thomaston and Rockland can be bypassed by Route 90, an eight-mile shortcut which I frequently used as a midshipman, but our bus stayed on the main road and stopped to let passengers on and off in both places. At one time Rockland was part of Thomaston, called East Thomaston, but the two towns have long since separated, having very little in common. In the beginning, Rockland developed quickly because of shipbuilding and limestone production. It was, and still is, an important fishing port. Lobsters are the main export and the five-day Maine Lobster Festival is celebrated here annually. The red, three-story brick buildings lining the main street of Rockland, give it the image of an old working town. I have always been impressed by the appearance of these small towns, because to me this is what I had expected Maine to look like. When I first went through the center of Rockland on the bus, I was impressed by the obvious ties the community had with the sea. The fishing and lobster industry was evident by the number of commercial fishing and lobster boats. Rockland was, and still is, the commercial hub of the mid-coastal region of the state. The local radio station WRKD was an important source of local news and weather reports. This was also the radio station that opened each day’s broadcasting with Hal Lone Pine’s song, recorded on Toronto's Arc Records label: “There’s a winding lane on the Coast of Maine that is wound around my heart....” The United States Coast Guard still maintains a base in Rockland, which is reassuring to the families of those who go fishing out on the open waters of Penobscot Bay and the Gulf of Maine. Rockland remains the home of the Farnsworth Art Museum, which has an art gallery displaying paintings by Andrew Wyeth, as well as other New England artists. The Bay Point Hotel that was founded in 1889 had a compelling view of the breakwater and Penobscot Bay. The Victorian style hotel, later known as the Samoset Hotel, had seen better days by 1952 and was closed in 1969. On October 13, 1972, the four-story hotel caught fire in the dining area due to an undetermined cause. Fanned by 20-mile-an-hour north winds, the structure burned to the ground within an hour. However, five years later a new Samoset Resort was founded.

Chebeague Island is the largest of the islands in Casco Bay, near Portland Maine. Everyone knew everybody else on the island, and if they were not related, they were friends, or at the very least knew everything there was to know about each other, including what they had in their stew pot at any given time. Most of the islanders, including the Kimberly family, were descendants of the “Stone Sloopers.” On Chebeague Island they built three wharves. The Stone Wharf, or Hamilton Landing as it was known, is still in use today. The one masted sloops, sometimes known as Chebacco Boats, sailed along the rocky Maine coast transporting granite and stone from Maine’s coastal quarries, to east coast cities as far south as Chesapeake Bay. The Washington Monument and many of the governmental buildings in Washington, D.C., were built of granite brought up the Potomac River by the Stone Sloopers. During the 19th Century, they also supplied rock ballast for the sailing ships that came into New England ports. The Stone Sloopers are also remembered for building Greek revival homes, which can still be seen on the island.

In spite of all that is said, and more especially written, about the crabbed New Englander, New Englanders, like all ordinary people, are nice. Their manner of proffering a favor is sometimes on the crusty side, but that is much more often diffidence than surliness.

Harry, the security guard, was way too old and overweight for his job, but he was well liked by everyone, and best of all, he let us use his telephone to make local calls. I sometimes brought him a sandwich and some fruit from the galley, for which he was always grateful. His job didn’t pay much and from the looks of his attire, I don’t believe there was a woman looking after him. He didn’t talk much about things, other than to tell stories about his seafaring life so long ago. His shaggy dog lay sleeping next to a big, glowing potbelly stove. Occasionally some scruffy friends joined him to play cards under a bare light bulb hanging over a sad looking card table. It was a trip into the distant past, when I heard him tell some of his sea stories. After the perfunctory greeting and some remarks about the miserable weather, I asked if I could use his telephone. “Anytime,” Harry said, as I picked up the receiver from its cradle. I started to dial the prefix, when I noticed a movement on the wooden shelf behind the phone. At first I thought it was my imagination but there, I saw it again, and this time I could tell what it was… It was a rodent! It wasn’t just a small rodent; it was a huge Norwegian Rat! Gasping, I jumped back, letting the receiver drop. Whoa, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck tingling! “What the hell is this?” I exclaimed. The damn thing did not scurry away as I would have expected but just sat there with its nose twitching. It didn’t seem at all afraid…. I knew that it could have attacked me, but instead it just sat there looking at me, as a cat would, except with small, black, beady eyes. “Harry,” I shouted. “Get over here and look at this beast. It looks bigger than your dog!” “Keep your shirt on, sonny,” he said. “You're looking at Nibbles.” Sure enough, I now saw Nibble's milk and food dish. The damn rat was Harry's pet! I guess everyone needs somebody, but a pet rat and a shaggy dog? That was just too much! I left without making my call…. I don’t even recall putting the phone back into its cradle, although I’m certain I did. I figured that it wouldn’t take me all that long to walk the steep incline from the docks, past the warehouses, up to Congress Street and then down to State Street. I was on my way to my girlfriend’s apartment, snow or no snow, rat be damned!

I could not believe how fast the night went. It wasn’t anywhere near dawn when the blaring sound of Reveille was piped throughout the building over the PA system. At first, I wasn’t certain of my surroundings and couldn’t understand the shouting that followed the bugle call, but it took only a few seconds before the full meaning of this hit home. I scrambled to get out of the bunk and my feet had barely hit the deck when our door flew open again. The beet red face of an upperclassman appeared, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Let go of your c--ks and grab your socks!” My first full day at Maine Maritime Academy had begun.…

I’m a mother. You name it, I’ve seen it and probably had to mop it up,” said Lucy.

In 1939, a poet and author, Robert P. Tristram Coffin, recorded and put his version of this bizarre story to paper, as prose. I presume that he changed the name from Bucksport to Tucksport, to allow it to be considered fiction. In this rendition, Colonel Buck, being a Justice of the Peace and the highest civil authority, took it upon himself to have the woman nailed to the door of her home and then callously had the house set on fire. In this interpretation, her last words were that she would haunt the Colonel forever. In Robert P. Tristram Coffin’s version, it almost seems that the story of Robert Trim was commingled with the story of Jonathan Buck. The story continues that after the roar of the fire subsided, the woman’s son pulled his mother’s only remaining limb out of the fire and struck Colonel Buck on his back with his mother’s barbequed leg, thereby crippling Colonel Buck for life. Bad as the story was before, it became even more macabre under the pen of Robert P. Tristram Coffin.