Works? Works? A man get to heaven by works? I would as soon think of climbing to the moon on a rope of sand!
And to stick our head in the sand and pretend that we are somehow safer if we do not know or to pretend we are somehow safer if we limit our options seems to me not only foolish but actually dangerous.
You walk for days among trees and among stones. Rarely does the eye light on a thing, and then only when it has recognized that thing as the sign of another thing: a print in the sand indicates the tiger's passage; a marsh announces a vein of water; the hibiscus flower, the end of winter. All the rest is silent and interchangeable; trees and stones are only what they are.
Death has shaken out the sands of thy glass.
On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
My role in life is that of the grain of sand to the oyster-it irritates the oyster and out comes a pearl.
When the beginnings of self destruction enter the heart, it seems no bigger than a grain of sand.
In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.
Sticking your head in the sand might make you feel safer, but it's not going to protect you from the coming storm.
I give myself the luxury of time in shaping a song. It's very common for me to work three months or more on a single song. Plotting takes time and effort, for there are many false turns. I fill up pages and pages with my mistakes, thereby eliminating them. Eventually a trail is broken through this mountain of mistakes. Sometimes it's as easy as putting eggs in a basket; other times it's like trying to pound a ton of sand into a diamond.
The house that is built upon the sand will crumble at the first sign of a windstorm.
Fish have water, the bushmen of the Kalahari have sand, and Houstonians have interior décor.
The desert is cold early in the morning. Laying down on that sand is like laying on a block of ice.
The sand stones had fragments of charcoal on some surfaces but found no recognisable fossils.
Can we find "The Universe in a grain of sand"? Well perhaps, but a stone seems easier to visualize.
If we sit by and become complacent and put our heads in the sand, we're complicit.
There is but one fountain of comfort for a man drawing near to his end, and that is the Bible. . . . All comfort from any other source is a house built upon sand.
Infinity is present in each part. A loving smile contains all art. The motes of starlight spark and dart. A grain of sand holds power and might.
I was talking to somebody about the L. A. hardcore scene, and they were saying that it was hard for them to picture punk rock at the beach. Like, the aesthetic didn't mix or something - black forms in the sand.
It's elevating and humbling at the same time. Running along a beach at sunrise with no other footprints in the sand, you realize the vastness of creation, your own insignificant space in the plan, how tiny you really are, your own creatureliness and how much you owe to the supreme body, the God that brought all this beauty and harmony into being.