The average millionaire can't tell you who got thrown off the island last night.
From time to time, it is worth wandering around the fuzzy border regions of what you do, if only to remind yourself that no human activity is an island.
Both of my parents were born into poor families on the island of Cuba. They came to America because it was the only place where people like them could have a chance. My father was a bartender. And the journey from the back of that bar to the [election 2016], to me, that is the essence of the American dream.
An island of surety in a changing world.
James loved Rhode Island,. . . He loved the ocean. He would sit in his beach chair for hours and look out at the ocean.
If September 11th has taught us anything, it's certainly that the world has never been so interdependent. It is impossible now to be an island of prosperity in a sea of despair.
[Puerto Rico] losing not just taxpayers, but professionals, people who are vital to their communities. I don't think that is good. So undoubtedly, if what we are facing in Puerto Rico in terms of budget and debt goes on, if it continues, it would be a disaster for the island.
What is the good of being an island, if you are not a volcanic island?
There ain't much future for a man who works the sea, there ain't no island left for islanders like me.
An island can be dreadful for someone from outside. Everything is complete, and everyone has his obstinate, sure and self-sufficient place. Within their shores, everything functions according to rituals that are as hard as rock from repetition, and at the same time they amble through their days as whimsically and casually as if the world ended at the horizon.
The battle of Iwo Island has been won. The United States Marines by their individual and collective courage have conquered a base which is as necessary to us in our continuing forward movement toward final victory as it was vital to the enemy in staving off ultimate defeat.
I'm not a big Austen reader. I wouldn't say I dislike her, but if I had to choose between her and Eliot to bring to a desert island, it would definitely be Eliot.
England that little gray island in the clouds where governments don't fall overnight and children don't sell themselves in the street and my money is safe.
A child raised on a desert island, alone, without social interaction, without language, and thus lacking empathy, is still a sentient being.
The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough. Actually, I know different. And it's still enough.
I come from the small island of Antigua and I always wanted to write; I just didn't know that it was possible.
The ego is an island in the ocean of Hell. You want to get rid of the Hell but you don't want to get rid of that island. Then there is trouble.
The writing of solid, instructive stuff fortified by facts and figures is easy enough. There is no trouble in writing a scientific treatise on the folk-lore of Central China, or a statistical enquiry into the declining population of Prince Edward Island. But to write something out of one's own mind, worth reading for its own sake, is an arduous contrivance only to be achieved in fortunate moments, few and far in between. Personally, I would sooner have written Alice in Wonderland than the whole Encyclopedia Britannica.
Who gives an island as a gift? I frowned. I hadn’t realized Edward’s extreme generosity was a learned behavior. Bella
A big island of library, in the middle of an ocean, away from all the fools of the world, would this place not be a real paradise?