Best 135 quotes in «river quotes» category

The night. The stars. The river.

Then the vulture swooped down and away, racing the LeTort spring to the Conodoguinet Creek from there to the Susquehanna river and from there to the sea. Same river my ancestors took to reach the places where they hunted and farmed and buried their dead.

The only river i would like to be drown is the river filled with the blood of Jesus.

The other day, when I was deciding where to place a mountain range, how to make a river's flow detour around underground stalactite caves, and what precise color to give the sky at sunset, I realized I was God... or an artist and a writer.

There is a tray full of glass sundae dishes filled with brightly colored ice cream. Strawberry, pistachio, black raspberry. Pink, green, and purple. I like the colors next to each other and wonder what kind of impossible things I can draw about ice cream. Maybe melting rivers of it. And a man with a cone-shaped head sitting in a babana split dish rowing with a spoon.

There are no mighty mountains for the universe, because there are no mountains for the universe, no rivers, no sun and no clouds! There is only universe for the universe, just a single entity!

The river was glossy, narrow, and quick, a beautiful green color, with the white and maroon striped college punts strung along the near bank. .... The sun, westering, heavy, and hazy, was in those great final throes of energy before the sky whitens and clears, and evening comes. I stood and watched it. That immense body, dying trillions of feet away from me, still warming my face with its steady insensate chemistries.

THE RIVER OF A WOMAN Man is like a desert without the rain of a woman. Nothing can be born and grown without her nourishment. She is a life-giving river that gives and loves without holding anything back. And without her water, man would walk around aimlessly, feeling incomplete and hollow like an empty well. The longer he roams, the deeper the hole within his soul expands, growing bigger and bigger like a barren tree whose branches resemble the cracks on hard, dry soil. And he shall continue to feel incomplete and malnourished, until – he encounters a godly woman, to show him life and quench his thirst.

The rivers fight with each other with the only currency that they know water. We humans fight with the only currency that we know in this age violence.

The river asked me who I was to be gazing so longingly into her curving body of cascading dreams and shifting beauty.

The river was very real; it held him comfortably and gave him the time at last, the leisure, to consider this month, this year, and a lifetime of years.

The River', a poem from 'Profound Vers-A-Tales': Your perception of my exterior may not match what lies beneath the surface.

The river overflows, not the sun. (Déborde le fleuve, - Pas le soleil)

The way to the place you wish to go can always be found; just behave like a river, that is to say, firstly, move and secondly, move with no hesitation!

The spark of consciousness is reflected in the river, where a dance of infinite faces lined in profane lights.

The thing about love is that you will never run out of it. It's an ever-flowing river. So go ahead and LOVE. What are you saving all this love for — death?

The Tourist Office would put it back up again before somebody noticed and didn’t come to Deanna for a holiday on the white sandy beaches, where they could watch little marsupial Braking Dolphins swimming backwards through the tour boats’ propeller in the strong current, or to blow up Cocka Snoek in the Whatoosie River with a little help from the Skeggs Valley Dynamite Fishing Club.

They can stop a river by building a dam, but I will be damned if they can stop my river of blood flowing through my veins and heart.

They were relaxing at the top of a waterfall, in a small, still pool where the mountain waters hit an upward slope of folded granite. It was sort of a rounded bathtub, carved out of the rock throughout the centuries by the rushing river, a river so hidden that it was without a name. Just below were the falls, about a 30-foot drop into another, much larger pool of clearest water that was gathered for a respite, a compromise in the river's relentless schedule downward, between split-level decks of flat rock. Further on, the river reanimated and released into a sharp ravine, pulling westward, down through the rugged mountains and faceless forest--the Black Hills National Forest--gaining force until it joined with the rush of the Castle River, near the old Custer Trail, and was swallowed into the Deerfield Reservoir to collect and prepare for the touch of man.

Thinking of Rooie, he was not entirely alone. He'd even chosen a hotel that he thought Rooie would have liked. Although it was not the most expensive hotel in Zurich, it was too expensive for a cop. But Harry had traveled so little that he'd saved a fair amount of money. He didn't expect the 2nd District to pay for his room at the Hotel Zum Storchen, not even for one night, yet that was where he wanted to stay. It was a charmingly romantic hotel on the banks of the Limmat, and Harry chose a room that looked across the river at the floodlit Rathaus.

Todo o rio divide o planeta ao meio.

To say something great, you must first stop trying to say something great! Sometimes struggling is an obstacle to reach the target! Flow like a river, calmly, naturally, enjoying the present moment, without thinking of the ocean and finally you will be there!

We are all in the same boat, boat of life. Does not seem to be a rudder with oarsman. Perhaps my words may find a path, path through currents and water as we continue our journey on river of life. -River of Life

We can't always be the bridge. Sometimes we have to be the flooding river.

We steer the boat, we don’t alter the river.

Whenever a river reaches the ocean, it waits to go back..

When the river meets the sea, he dies! Because the character of the river is to flow and when the character dies, everything dies!

When the river of emotions bursts its banks and expectations go over the edges of reality, the brain creates hallucinations. Ringxiety-stricken people feel illusive vibrating alerts and hear phantom phone rings, since absence of ringing generates scaring emptiness and destroys their self-esteem. ("Kein Schwein ruft mich an" )

When we feel lost in time, with only shadows of the past living in our mind; when the moment, which “was", no longer "is” and when only silence remains, loads of questions arise. We can cry a river or we may wonder: “What went wrong?

When you stop beside a river, you get this message: Flow! And when you flow, you meet the never-seen and the never-lived parts of the life!

Where do songs go when you cease to hear them? Where does the turbulence of the air disappear after thousands of birds flap their wings homeward at eventide? Where are the cries of the Rajput women who spatter their red palm prints on the wall and leap into the flames of johar? Where is my childhood, my catapult, my broken slate, my first parrot, my youth and first sin and all those that followed, where is my old age and the first time I saw the woman from Merta? Ask Gambhiree. She knows it all.

WINTER'S GHOST: Autumn moon incautious in the dark river Winter’s ghost walks with a covered face and silver bones wait in all animals to be bone cloth upon her shoulder wait for her happiness in that they are silver

With heavy rainfall, the river will overflow its banks. This is spirit of gratitude; the more grateful you are, the more your life overflow with abundance.

Witnessing is not flowing with the current of the river but observing the flow from the bank of the river.

You are the ocean, let the rivers come to you. You are the flower, let the bees come to you.

You can no more read the same book again than you can step into the same river.

You cannot control the ocean, but you can guide the rivers that feed it.

You want to be a river? This is not necessary because you can be a river without being a river; just flow in your life, this is what the rivers are doing, they are flowing! Remember, you can be anything without giving up yourself. Never wish to be something else, always be yourself! You want to be a Sun? Just give warmth to everyone with kind words!

You whom my body longs for, where are you? In the stars, in the river, over the rainbow? Perhaps you hide in the shadows of the mountains, whistling in the wind through mighty peaks Just maybe you are in every corner of my being awaiting invocation Ô Manna Breath fill my life with your infinite power

The Thames here had a vastly different character to the wide, muddy tyrant that seethed through London. It was graceful and deft and remarkably light of heart. It skipped over stones and skimmed its banks, water so clear that one could see the reeds swaying deep down on her narrow bed. The river here was a she, he'd decided. For all its sunlit transparency, there were certain spots in which it was suddenly unfathomable.

Time itself is a thing, so it seems to me, that stands solidly like a fence of iron palings with its endless row of years; and we flow past like Gyoll, on our way to a sea from which we shall return only as rain.

Water is sagacious because it carries inside of itself the bottomless profundity of oceans, the cosmic looks of the clouds, subtle wits of the rivers, the inquisitive character of the rains and the silent meditation of the little lakes!

Anger was washed away in the river along with any obligation.

A book about books is like a poem about poetry: Books are knowledge, paid for, all. Readers - horses in a stall. Stallions should always run. Lest they stale become, in turn. Running waters are most clear. In some books, you disappear – lose yourself, and track of time. How I wish that one was mine... Mine, to have, to write, to read... Mine, just like a flying steed. Mine, forever, - to improve. Would I then, of me, approve? I would not, I can't... myself. I'm but dust, swept off a shelf. Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled, down, beside my flower, petalled.

A field which feeds you, a river which gives you water are much holier than all other so-called holy places!

And there I was at night, chasing after the full moon behind the clouds like a mad man in search of the reflection of the light of love in another person, without daring to light up the spark of light that I had left within myself. It was nowhere to be seen, but I felt it was out there somewhere. I've surely seen it a couple of days ago up in the sky and my eyes couldn't have lied to me, it was so beautiful, or so it appeared to be. I guess I have to stop stalking what can't be seen for awhile and let the light of the full moon find its way through my messed up soul. Maybe it's time to go to sleep and trust that another sunrise will renew what the full moon couldn't clear away tonight. During all that time, I might've not found the light of the moon, but I rested deeply with the sound of the raindrops, while gazing at the quiet river flowing slowly. What a crucial moment to be alive!

A night of exhilaration, of boredom and terror, in which the merest of sounds took on other forms - grew large in the expanse of darkness. After several hours the sheep gradually stopped calling to each other from accross the river banks, and a brittle quiet descended. I desperately wanted to walk down to the water's edge. To see the black river in the moonlight. But a mixture of reason and fear kept me locked along the safe paths high above.

A river doesn't just carry water, it carries life.

Are you watching the boats?" Cornelia guessed. She craned her neck to see if there was any excitement on the river. Heavens no, I'm spying on people," Virginia responded unrepentantly. -Cornelia E and Virginia Somerset

A river unneeded still finds its way down to the ocean...