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Boat Quotes

“Fake friends; those who only drill holes under your boat to get it leaking; those who discredit your ambitions and those who pretend they love you, but behind their backs they know they are in to destroy your legacies.”

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Book:Shaping the dream
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“As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a leaky boat. Well, except for that fact that boats are not generally round, orange and on fire. Hmm. Come to think of it, in no way whatsoever did the sun, in this instance, resemble a leaky boat. My apologies. That was a dreadful attempt at simile. Please allow me to try again. As the station wagon pulled back onto the highway, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon like a self-luminous, gaseous sphere comprised mainly of of hydrogen and helium.”

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Book:A Whole Nother Story
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“Now just no sane person could describe my boat as a rowing boat. It has a cabin, there are no oars, and even if there were, they couldn't be used becasue The Seeker isn't fitted with rowlocks. And what was a "floating" petrol bomb? The whole idea of petrol bombs is to cause as much spreading of the fire as possible. So a glass bottle is used which will shatter on impact and spray the burning petrol over a wide area. Shine said that the "bomb" had been in a plastic bottle, which had floated on the water. This must have been the biggest load of rubbish that he ever came out with. A plastic bottle wouldn't have shattered - it would have most likely bounced off the target. As for floating, the waves on the loch that morning were about two feet high. Shine's "bomb" would surely have been extinguished very quickly. Despite all this, the police seemed to be pursuing the matter. They asked me if I would go on a voluntary identification parade to see if one of Shine's team could pick me out. What a joke! Of course they would have picked me out. I am even more well known than my boat. Twenty thousand visitors a year for the past ten years, two hundred and thirty T.V. documentaries, my picture must have appeared in at least five hundred newspapers and magazines ... I declined the offer. In fact, I began to wonder if the police were helping Shine to set me up. The one consolation I got from all this was that it proved how desperate these people were. How badly they wanted to stop - or hold up the production of this story. Even if the British media won't touch it, I'm sure that certain publications on the Continent will, and I have many contacts. Over the past twenty years one small group of people have taken more than half-a-million pounds out of the Loch Ness scene under the guise of investigation. It's time that they were exposed - and stopped.”

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Author:Frank Searle
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“Don't only learn from the rich and successful men, also learn from the poor and those that failed woefully, for in their failures lies the secret of success as well.”

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Book:Great Reflections on Success
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“Never forget a man who weathered and rescued you from the storm just because you can see the shores.”

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Book:Great Reflections on Success
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“Don't cheat the foundation of a house because you want to save for the roofing for at the end, you will have only roofed rubbles.”

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Book:Great Reflections on Success
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“Don't sell the warmer for an air conditioner just because its summer, for in winter, you will have to do the reverse.”

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Book:Great Reflections on Success
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“Faced with growing dissent, he turned the boat around, heading back the way they had come. One marine began to go mad, laughing hysterically, until he slumped over in silence, dead. Another man died shortly after, and then another. Their bodies were tossed into the sea. It took the surviving party close to two weeks to retrace its path, only to then realize that they had found the strait [of Magellan] all along. Now they had to start east all over again.”

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Book:The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder
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“If the sky has turned a darkened grey and the sea threatens to spill the occupants in the boat, know that the Lord God made the storm still, and though you shall face storms in your life the Lord God will still them with his hand. When you are alone, Jesus will have his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly, the angels shall call out your name when you feel that you have been deaf, and you shall see the light of Heaven when you think you are blind. When you feel your dreams are broken it does not do well to cast yourself into misery but look at the brighter side of life, and see all the Lord has blessed you with!”

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Book:Little Man
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“Poetry isn’t an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn’t a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn’t swimming. Poetry is water.”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri
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“the presence of an old salt aboard the Elizabeth Seaman was profoundly reassuring. “Iron men in wooden boats,” they were called, as opposed to the wooden men in iron boats of today, like Kittredge, Farmingdale, and Eddie himself. Old salts partook of an origin myth, being close to the root of all things, including language. Eddie had never noticed how much of his own speech derived from the sea, from “keeled over” to “learning the ropes” to “catching the drift” to “freeloader” to “gripe” to “brace up” to “taken aback” to “leeway” to “low profile” to “the bitter end,” or the very last link on a chain. Using these expressions in a practical way made him feel close to something fundamental—a deeper truth whose contours he believed he’d sensed, allegorically, even while still on land. Being at sea had brought Eddie nearer that truth. And the old salts were nearer still.”

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Author:Jennifer Egan
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“The ideal of explication differs not only from previous philosophy, and from Carnap’s own previous framework of rational reconstruction, but also from most present analytic philosophy. It differs from Quine’s influential programme, for instance, encapsulated in Neurath’s metaphor of reconstructing the boat of our conceptual scheme on the open sea, without being able to put it in dry-dock and reconstruct it from new materials. In Carnap’s framework, our collective mental life is not – to adopt the metaphor – all in the same boat. It consists rather of a give and take between two kinds of communicative devices that operate in different ways. Carnap’s boat is only one of these two parts, not both. It is the medium of action and practical decisions, in which vague concepts of ordinary language have a continuing, perhaps essential, role. This is not, in Carnap’s terms, a proper linguistic ‘framework’ at all. It is a medium not for the pursuit of truth but for getting things done, and it is well adapted to this purpose. To improve it further, we chip away at it and replace its components, a few at a time, with better ones – and this reconstruction, it is true, we carry out at sea. But the better components we acquire from the ports we call at, where we go shopping for proper linguistic frameworks. We take on board better materials and better navigational instruments that help us to reach whatever ports we hope to visit in future – where we can again bring on new and improved materials and instruments. Sometimes, the improved instruments will so influence our knowledge of where we are going that the whole plan of the journey will be revised, and we will change course. But the decision what port to head for next we have to make on board, in our pragmatic vernacular, with whatever improvements we have incorporated up to that point.”

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Book:Carnap and Twentieth-Century Thought: Explication as Enlightenment
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“Ишап, морето е голямо, а лодката ми - малка. Имай милост към мен.”

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Book:Magician: Master
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“The calm skies that drifted above us lulled us into thinking this traversée would be smooth, but after several hours, the unsteady sea had taken its toll on me and after a light lunch and a brief swim in the open sea failed to do so, I attempted to remedy my mal de mer with rest. When I awoke, the sun had already set and the cool air and soft light of twilight helped recalibrate my disoriented thoughts. Although my seasickness had subsided, I lay starboard side facing the heavens - that were now a deep shade of purple - so as to not provoke another episode. We set to anchoring behind several large volcanic pillars just a stone’s-throw away from where the Tyrrhenian Sea kissed the east of the island. A handful of wishes scattered the skies as we approached the shores of Aci Trezza. As these stars traced their dying song across the void above, part of me felt ashamed for even entertaining the notion of wishing upon a star, but that voice was speedily silenced by words He had once shared with me in Scotland: “There is always some truth to fiction.”

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Author:RJ Arkhipov
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“I was there long before you were born, he wanted to say. I've known this kanamaluka [River Tamar] longer than I've known your mother. And as he cast around for what that meant, how important his connection to the river was, his mind snagged on the little boat he'd once owned. How he'd freed it from a prison of thick lead paint. He wanted to tell is daughters about the glory he'd restored it to. How intoxicating the sight of it had been. How the scent of its timber had put him under a spell he had never truly recovered from. What discovering Huon pine does to a person. How it had rode the river so cleanly, so joyously, like a wish come true. How short his time with it was, how hard the summer had been, how he'd sold the boat to a rich little man, a stranger whose name he soon forgot. How it never carried him to the river mouth. I didn't get to go back, he wanted to tell his daughters. I didn't get to return to the place my father took us, your uncles and me, where the mad whale - do you remember the mad whale, do you remember the stories, did anyone ever tell you? - raised its twelve-foot tail above our borrowed boat, hiding the moon's light, poised to smash us into red flotsam. Only it didn't, he wanted to say. It could've, but it didn't. With colossal gentleness it lowered its flukes into the water beside us. Loosed a spray of vapour from its blowhole. Rolled onto its back and exposed to us the creamy striations of its belly. Twisted through the water so that the hugeness of its eye was close to us, a couple of yards from the boat. An eye shockingly familiar in its mammalian warmth. An eye filled with starlight: an eye lit by a half-dark heaven. (p.199)”

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Book:Limberlost
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“The wind was fresh, and the sky was blue and crossed with fresh white clouds like crisp pillowcases hung out to dry. Their boat was at the head of the three others they’d seen the night before, all of them as shabby as Daisy remembered, with peeling gold paint around their portholes. They looked like canal boats, except that they also had beautiful sails that snapped in the wind.”

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Book:The City Beyond the Sea
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“A RIB is a rigid inflatable boat, and this has an engine at the rear which pushes the nose up and out of the water as it bounces along at a great speed. This was a good-sized one and I realised that it must have an antigrav component because it never sank in the water though the team of Neptunians got on with us. The marine engineer steering it took us out to the dive boat, a large – to our eyes – vessel over a mile offshore. We sat back and gripped the rope lacings along the sides and breathed in salt spray air, grinning foolishly at our friends and each other. The RIB engine was so noisy that we couldn’t really talk but we were relishing being right down at water level, streaking across the Thames estuary, heading for the most dangerous boat in the world.”

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Book:Dining Out Around The Solar System
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“Butler snapped his fingers. "Focus, Artemis! Time enough for your Atlantis Complex later. We have the Atlantis Trench outside that door and six miles of water above it. If you want to stay alive, you need to stay alert." He turned to Holly. "This is ridiculous. I'm pulling the plug." Holly's mouth was a tight line as she shook her head. "Navy rules, Butler. You're on my boat, you follow my orders." "As I remember, I brought the boat." "Yes, thanks for bringing my boat.”

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Book:The Atlantis Complex
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“Get me in here. Get me in here now!" I order. I have to get out of the swamp before it happens again. But it does. I feel it before I see it. Dozens of thick, razor-sharp needles pierce my right leg, sinking into my skin. It hurts like nothing I've felt before, and a strangled scream of pain escapes me. Babette whips her head around, the motor forgotten. "Rylan! What is it!" "Get me out! GET ME OUT!" I scream. Fearfully, I look over my shoulder, but seconds later I wish I hadn't as the attacker comes to the surface. It has a scaly body, sharp claws, feral eyes, and a long, ugly, sneering snout that's clamped around my leg. Melanie identifies it with a shriek. "GATOR!”

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Book:Swamp Angel
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“Bad, or good, as it happens to be, that is what it is to exist! . . . It is as though I have been silent and fuddled with sleep all my life. In spite of all, I know now that at least it is better to go always towards the summer, towards those burning seas of light; to sit at night in the forecastle lost in an unfamiliar dream, when the spirit becomes filled with stars, instead of wounds, and good and compassionate and tender. To sail into an unknown spring, or receive one's baptism on storm's promontory, where the solitary albatross heels over in the gale, and at last come to land. To know the earth under one's foot and go, in wild delight, ways where there is water.”

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Book:Ultramarine
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“I have a hunch the world is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.”

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Book:At the Waterline
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“You're one to talk about talking crap, Forester." Dunstan's voice interrupts the memory, and I can't help but feel a little grateful. "Accusing my dad of poisoning the swamp? What a bunch of bull." "It's not bull,"I snarl. "Your dad's dumping trash into the swamp and you know it!" Dunstan finally loses it and stands up. The boat tilts dangerously. Melanie and the twins shriek, grasping the sides like they're glued to them. "You two sit down this minute!" Babette bellows. She's holding onto the motor for dear life. Neither of us listens. "You wanna run that by me again?" Dunstan growls. His fingers curl into fists. "Your. Dad. Is. Poisoning. The. Swamp." I let each word out slowly like Dunstan's a dumb little kid who needs help understanding.”

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Book:Swamp Angel
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“If you are a boat and your lake is frozen, what can you do? You will wait for the spring! We are lucky that we are humans, we don’t have to wait for the spring; we can break the ice if necessary, we can use fire to open our way! Nothing can stop the mind if the mind decides to move to his target!”

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Author:Mehmet Murat Ildan
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