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Waters Quotes

Browse 32 quotes about Waters.

Waters Quotes

“If we come from the water, I conclude that we come from different kinds of it. I will meet a person and in his eyes see an ocean, deep and never ending; then I will meet another person and feel as though I have stepped into a shallow puddle on the street, there is nothing in it. Or maybe some of us come from the water, and some of us come from somewhere else; then it's all a matter of finding those who are the same as us.”

“My Floating Sea" "Pastel colors reflect in my opening eyes and draw my gaze to a horizon where the waters both begin and end. This early in the day I can easily stare without blinking. The pale sea appears calm, but it is stormy just as often. I awe at the grandeur, how it expands beyond my sight to immeasurable depths. In every direction that I twist my neck, a beauteous blue is there to console me. Flowing, floating ribbons of mist form on these pale waters. In harmony they pirouette, creating a stretch of attractive, soft swirls. Swoosh! The wind, its strength in eddies and twisters, smears the art of dancing clouds, and the white disperses like startled fairies fleeing into the forest. Suddenly all is brilliant blue. The waters calm and clear. It warms me. Pleases me. Forces my eyes to close at such vast radiance. My day is spent surrounded by this ethereal sea, but soon enough the light in its belly subsides. Rich colors draw my gaze to the opposite horizon where the waters both begin and end. I watch the colors bleed and deepen. They fade into black. Yawning, I cast my eyes at tiny gleams of life that drift within the darkened waters. I extend my reach as if I could will my arm to stretch the expanse between me and eons. How I would love to brush a finger over a ray of living light, but I know I cannot. Distance deceives me. These little breathing lights floating in blackness would truly reduce me to the tiniest size, like a mountain stands majestic over a single wild flower. I am overwhelmed by it all and stare up, in love with the floating sea above my head.”

“My waters rise from the source, deep in the earth, from secret caverns, hidden pockets of spirit. A rumble of bass moves through limestone tunnels, upward and onward, around curves, gathering chords, minor and major, until out flows a song, azure and cerulean, plucked from sunshine and moonbeam. Some say my music echoes your soul, harmonizes with fears and longings, calls forth your own song, until it spills out in liquid jewels. If, of course, you are worthy. My waters sing of death too, a low drumbeat that rattles the bones. There are those of you who bring out the river dragon in me. And my gaping mouth swallows you whole.”

“There's a saying: those who do not swim deep in the waters from which they came cannot arrive in the oceans they hope to go. My parents began an ocean away and arrived in a land of lakes and snow. I've been back to their waters (is it mine, too?) but, wasn't a good swimmer. Everyone spoke underwater; I could only hold my breath to listen for so long. I did learn the water carries its own song.”

“Deep You, you’re deep water And I’m scared because I can’t defaulter I don’t know how to swim, So, if I jump in, I’ll be consumed by your waves. I’ll try to keep my head above the rage. But you’ll just swallow up my whole. My entire being will be controlled. If I were to dive, I could no longer thrive. You would consume my being; Leaving me breathless, not breathing. Is there a medium I can prescribe? That would allow me to disguise The fear I gather in my bones. I just can’t swim in the water of morone. Do you possess a life support To hold me up? My last resort. If I jump in, I’ll drown in bends. Your love is suffocating, nothing can amend. November 20, 2011”

“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.”

“With his release imminent, Knight seems more unsettled than ever. He scratches furiously at his knees. Jail, he's realized, might not be all bad. There's routine and order in jail, and he's able to click into a survival mode that is not too dissimilar, in terms of steeliness of mental state, to the one he'd perfected during winters in the woods. "I'm surrounded in here by less than desirable people," he says, "but at least I wasn't thrown into the waters of society and expected to swim.”

“People who swim very well in troubled waters are respected and celebrated than those who swim excellently in calm waters.”