And over one more set of hills, along the sea, the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness and are giving it back to the world. If I had another life I would want to spend it all on some unstinting happiness.
The sea is the most beautiful face in our universe.
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
I am convinced that America's great sea of goodwill can be, in fact, a rising tide, a tide that could lift every veteran and every family of our wounded and fallen.
There must be something strangely sacred about salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.
Whoever commands the sea, commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.
Does anyone ask you why you stay, Sean Kendrick?" "They do. " "And why do you?" "The sky and the sand and the sea and Corr.
Between my potential and the deep blue sea, There's a rock and a diamond either side of me. Between our potential and the break of day, There is nothing at all in our way.
There is practically no sense that is not violated every time we return from the country or the sea to Paris or London or New York.
When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everthing in me that is bewildered and confused.
Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer's. For the sea is his; he owns it.
I'm from Holland and the history of "Admiral" is something you would read about when you're at school. Nobody knows about these stories and when you go to any museum in Holland, you will see these paintings of these 17th century sea beckels that the Dutch were in to, so it always intrigued me.
There is no more graceful and healthful accomplishment for a lady than fly-fishing, and there is no reason why a lady should not in every respect, rival a gentleman in the gentle art.
Accurately recalling an entire day of fishing is like trying to push smoke back down a chimney, so you settle on these specific moments.
The soul on earth is an immortal guest, Compelled to starve at an unreal feast: A spark, which upward tends by nature's force: A stream diverted from its parent source; A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea; A moment, parted from eternity; A pilgrim panting for the rest to come; An exile, anxious for his native home.
Along the iron veins that traverse the frame of our country, beat and flow the fiery pulses of its exertion, hotter and faster every hour. All vitality is concentrated through those throbbing arteries into the central cities; the country is passed over like a green sea by narrow bridges, and we are thrown back in continually closer crowds on the city gates.
If you pinch the sea of its liberty, though it be walls of stone or brass, it will beat them down.
Out of the choked Devonian waters emerged sight and sound and the music that rolls invisible through the composer's brain. They are there still in the ooze along the tideline, though no one notices. The world is fixed, we say: fish in the sea, birds in the air. But in the mangrove swamps by the Niger, fish climb trees and ogle uneasy naturalists who try unsuccessfully to chase them back to the water. There are things still coming ashore.
In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.
Ambition is a Dead Sea fruit, and the greatest peril to the soul is that one is likely to get precisely what he is seeking.