I sat down in the sand, breathless with shame and failure. God, I thought, some defender of the weak. Some freedom fighter: Joan of Arc in sunscreen.
Never, never pin your whole faith on any human being: not if he is the best and wisest in the whole world. There are lots of nice things you can do with sand; but do not try building a house on it.
A handful of sand is an anthology of the universe.
In my job you can't just put your head in the sand and throw partisan bombshells. You have to get results.
She finds tales everywhere, in grains of sand she picks up from the garden, in puffs of smoke that drift out from the chimneys of the village, in fragments of smooth timber or glass in the jetsam. She will ask them, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" And they will answer her in voices very like her own, but with new lilts and squeaks and splashes in them that show they are their own.
He who, having lost one ideal, refuses to give his heart and soul to another and nobler, is like a man who declines to build a house on the rock because the wind and rain have ruined his house on the sand.
When your head is firmly in the sand, another part of your anatomy is fully exposed.
The total number of stars in the Universe is larger than all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the planet Earth.
Whisper to the flashing water your real name, write your signature in the sand, and shout your identity to the sky until it answers to you in thunder.
When obedience is in the ascendant, He will tax the remotest star and the last grain of sand to assist you with all His Almighty power.
Fish have water, the bushmen of the Kalahari have sand, and Houstonians have interior décor.
Estate taxes make every one of us nervous. If there’s an owner who isn’t, he has his head in the sand.
The sand dunes look like two tits.
Those who consume animals not only harm those animals and endanger themselves, but they also threaten the well-being of other humans who currently or will later inhabit the planet. . . . It is time for humans to remove their heads from the sand and recognize the risk to themselves that can arise from their maltreatment of other species.
Most newspaper companies still have their heads in the sand, but other media companies are aggressive.
With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.
The magic of property turns sand to gold.
I always thought that in modern history Chinese people are like a dish of sand, never really close together. But I think a dish of sand is a good metaphor because we have the Internet. We don't have to be physically united. You can be an individual and have your own set of values but join others in certain struggles. There is nothing more powerful than that.
One day you will hear the sound of time rustling as it slips through your fingers like sand. Remember me then. I wish you luck.
If all the circumstances of acting are made to easy, then there's no grain of sand to make the pearl.