Best 135 quotes in «river quotes» category

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

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

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.

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 does not go looking for water; water comes looking for it instead.

A river flow freely from its source.

A river continues to flow despite losing a few drops at each turn.

A river starts by longing for the ocean...

A river is easier to channel than to stop.

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.

Are those chocolate chip?'' Cole reaches her first and claims one. ''Oh, my godness.'' Nana sets the tray aside and coos the guy. ''Cole, dear, you have a boulder-size knot on your jaw.'' ''River did it.'' Cole smirks at the guy. ''And he insulted my mom. And my dad.'' ''River Marks.'' Nana shakes her head, as if her heart is acually breaking. ''How could you be so rough? And so insensitive!'' River glares at Cole before bowing his head. ''I'm sorry, Nana.'' ''The human body is like a flower. Treat it well, and it will bloom.'' She approaches the ring and extends two cookies. River and I accept with eager thanks. ''Let's be kind to each other and keep our punches away from the face and groin.'' ''Yes, ma'am,'' we say in unison. Then of course, we devour the offering as if we've never tasted sugar. ''Good, good.'' She brushes the crumbs from her fingers. ''I'll leave you kids to your practice.'' She kisses Ali, then Cole, and leaves. ''Are you a rose?'' River sneers at Cole. ''Or a lilly?'' ''Orchid. And your jealousy is showing.'' Cole responds.

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

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

A single poem, alone can turn tides scatter galaxies and burst forth with rivers from paradise.

ATOP THE STORK PAVILION LOOKOUT From the pavilion one sees the sun setting behind the mountains, Unrelentingly toward the sea the Yellow River flows; In order to see thousands of miles further afield, To a higher level one must go.

A woman's body is a sacred temple. A work of art, and a life-giving vessel. And once she becomes a mother, her body serves as a medicine cabinet for her infant. From her milk she can nourish and heal her own child from a variety of ailments. And though women come in a wide assortment as vast as the many different types of flowers and birds, she is to reflect divinity in her essence, care and wisdom. God created a woman's heart to be a river of love, not to become a killing machine.

Being all alone is like the feeling you get when you stand at the mouth of a large river on a rainy evening and watch the water flow into the sea. Have you ever done that? Stand at the mouth of a large river and watch the water flow into the sea?

As watercourse is replaced by watercourse, So no river allows itself to be concealed. It breaks the channel in which it was hidden.

Avoid hating people because you might have destroyed the bridge you have just used to cross the river; you'll need that bridge to cross again when returning!

Become a river and then nothing is needed. That’s what The Secret of the Golden Flower says: Achieve inaction through action, achieve effortlessness through effort. But first comes the effort, the action—it will melt you—and then the river starts flowing. In that very flow it has reached the ocean.

Beside the river there are two things you never forget, that the moment you look at a river that moment has already passed, and that everything is on its way somewhere else.

But faith is not necessarily, or not soon, a resting place. Faith puts you out on a wide river in a boat, in the fog, in the dark. Even a man of faith knows that (as Burley Coulter used to say) we've all got to go through enough to kill us.

Bridges take people across rivers. Leaders take people across ignorance. With a leader, the destination of a journey is sure.

Break every chain of mediocrity that confines you. You may have begun at a level below average, but dare to leave that side and paddle your steps to cross the river with honours.

Fill this city of mine with people as, You filled the river with fishes O Lord.

Daybreak has extraordinary hypnotizing influence, On us, idealistic observers. When red sun slowly reveals on the rivers surface, like in a mirror, It reminds of two lovers embracing, Just by looking into each others eyes. In such deep and serious commitment, Without unnecessary words, That spoil the instant of confidence. Water is not stopping it's course, Neither does the sun. That's what makes it so exceptional, So magnificent. The only tie is their gentle admiration, As their love is greater than space separating. And who ever had the chance, to witness that, just once, Shouldn't say he haven't found God.

Every man has a river on his mind: The River of Thoughts! But not every man has a holy river on his mind: The River of Right Thoughts!

From the top of the bus she could see the vast bowl of London spreading out to the horizon: splendid shops with mannequins in the window, interesting people and already a much bigger world.

Glitterdust across a broad expanse of blue. Before me, the water unfurled like dark swaths of shadowed silk, colors muted, reflections cast by the lamps hanging from the prows of the gondolas rippling, and my heart swelled at the beauty and the romance of it.

Denial isn't just a river in Egypt.

First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.

Hail the sun! the brightest of all that ever Dawned on the City of Seven Gates, City of Thebes! Hail the golden dawn over Dirce's river Rising to speed the flight of the white invaders Homeward in full retreat!" - Chorus

Here is a good message from the ocean: You will be an ocean too if you let every river, every rain, every flood and every stream flow to you freely!

Hope is a continuous flowing river.

How do you know you love her?' His friend asked. 'Because I would cross a hundred rivers and die a thousand suns just to be with her,' He said.

…how it would be nice if, for every sea waiting for us, there would be a river, for us. And someone -a father, a lover, someone- able to take us by the hand and find that river -imagine it, invent it- and put us on its stream, with the lightness of one only word, goodbye. This, really, would be wonderful. It would be sweet, life, every life. And things wouldn’t hurt, but they would get near taken by stream, one could first shave and then touch them and only finally be touched. Be wounded, also. Die because of them. Doesn’t matter. But everything would be, finally, human. It would be enough someone’s fancy -a father, a lover, someone- could invent a way, here in the middle of the silence, in this land which don’t wanna talk. Clement way, and beautiful. A way from here to the sea.

I am in love, and the river is beginning to ice over. I’d better go drown myself before I freeze to death.

I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins.

If a stone hits a river, the river will treat it as yet another commotion in its already tumultuous course. Nothing unusual. Nothing unmanageable. If a stone hits a lake, however, the lake will never be the same again.

He gave each wolf its own name, and he told me that they were crossing the Moon River, a place that he said, “Is where all wolves go when they die.

Hope is a flowing stream.

How divine the coming of the morning,—the coming of the Sun,—exorcising the shadowy terrors of the night with infinite restoration of color! I look upon the woods, and they are not the same: the palms have vanished; the cypresses have fled away; trees young and comely and brightly green replace them. A hand is laid upon my shoulder,—the hand of the gray Captain: 'Go forward, and see what you have never seen before.' Even as he speaks, our boat, turning sharply, steams out of the green water into—what can I call it?—a flood of fluid crystal,—a river of molten diamond,—a current of liquid light?

I ‘am shaggy as rivers, forests and mountains My eyes see the universe natural and super My mind is of many cuts Non-identical I have fought demons Half-horse, half alligator I ‘am victorious, I bled

I do not know if he had a name, but I called him North, an appellation I think Beck would have approved of, for it was the name the Dutch called the Hudson River when they first came here, when men set to changing the world in their image, and gave all the wild things their own names.

If the earth is a mother then rivers are her veins.

If you have learnt enjoying life without purpose, like a flowing river, you have learnt the art of living.

If you love another person, you have to become a no-self, a nothing. When you love, you have to become a nobody. When you are a nobody, love happens. If you remain somebody, love never happens. One becomes afraid of love, because love opens the inner emptiness. Love is not an effort. If love is an effort, it is not love. It is the same case with the ultimate experience, it happens when you do not make an effort. Then you can simply float with the river to the Ocean.

If you pour more water into a river, it will not drown the fish.

I had no plans of any destination. I wish to flow like a river.