Johnny Rivers. . . returned to L. A. to accept a lucrative offer from Elmer Valentine to open at his lavish new nightclub based upon the popular European discotheque concept. Johnny Rivers at the Whisky A Go-Go turned Hollywood upside down. His first Imperial album, "Johnny Rivers At The Whisky A Go-Go," (produced by Lou Adler) was high in the charts for 45 weeks in 1964.
I keep drawing the trees, the rocks, the river, I'm still learning how to see them; I'm still discovering how to render their forms. I will spend a lifetime doing that. Maybe someday I'll get it right.
The climate change movement is a river overflowing seeping into every nook and cranny.
I spend as much time as I can sketching from nature, Dartmoor contains such a rich variety of landscape, as many boulders, foaming rivers and twisted trees as my heart could ever desire. . . . When I look into a river, I feel I could spend a whole lifetime just painting that river.
You need a certain amount of nerve to be a writer, an almost physical nerve, the kind you need to walk a log across a river.
Between the banks of pain and pleasure the river of life flows. It is only when the mind refuses to flow with life, and gets stuck at the banks, that it becomes a problem.
Now when I had mastered the language of this water, and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never be restored me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry, had gone out of the majestic river!
As you swim the river of live, do the breast stroke. It helps to clear the turds from your path.
Far below ran the silver ribbon of the East River, braceleted by shining bridges, flecked by boats as small as flyspecks, splitting the shining banks of light that were Manhattan and Brooklyn on either side.
Rattlesnakes are only too plentiful everywhere; along the river bottoms, in the broken, hilly ground, and on the prairies and the great desert wastes alike. . . If it can it will get out of the way, and only coils up in its attitude of defence when it believes that it is actually menaced.
Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament.
It is the gifted, unorthodox individual, in the laboratory, or the study, or the walk by the river at twilight, who has always brought to us, and must continue to bring to us, all the basic resources by which we live.
We may be floating on Tao, but there is nothing wrong with steering. If Tao is like a river, it is certainly good to know where the rocks are.
Trees have about them something beautiful and attractive even to the fancy, since they cannot change their places, are witnesses of all the changes that take place around them; and as some reach a great age, they become, as it were, historical monuments, and like ourselves they have a life, growing and passing away, --not being inanimate and unvarying like the fields and rivers. One sees them passing through various stages, and at last step by step approaching death, which makes them look still more like ourselves.
When the aggregate amount of solid matter transported by rivers in a given number of centuries from a large continent, shall be reduced to arithmetical computation, the result will appear most astonishing to those. . . not in the habit of reflecting how many of the mightiest of operations in nature are effected insensibly, without noise or disorder.
One man watches a river flow by. If he does not wish it to flow, to change ceaselessly in accord with its nature, he will suffer great pain. Another man understands that nature of the river is to change constantly, regardless of his likes and dislikes, and therefore he does not suffer. To know existence as this flow, empty of lasting pleasure, void of self, is to find that which is stable and free of suffering, to find true peace in the world.
Some beings will walk with you for the duration of this bodily existence, up to the very end. Some will come with bright promises, bright lights, but they fade quickly. Others come, they don’t look like they will go very far, but they are marathon runners; they’re there with you all the time. You cannot determine this. . . Somehow in the flow of your own unique river, you will see that everything is as it should be.
The study of an idea is, of necessity, the story of many things. Ideas, like large rivers, never have just one source. Just as the water of a river near its mouth, in its final form, is composed largely of many tributaries, so an idea, in its final form, is composed largely of later additions.
What does a river like the Vistula carry away with it? Everything that goes to pieces: wood, glass, pencils, pacts. . . chairs, bones, and sunsets too. What had long been forgotten rose to memory, floating on its back or stomach, with the help of the Vistula.
. . . there was another, gorier parturition, when two nations incarnated out of one. A foreigner drew a magic line on a map and called it the new border; it became a river of blood upon the earth. And the orchards, fields, factories, businesses, all on the wrong side of that line, vanished with a wave of the pale conjuror's wand.
