The reality is I'm kind of like an ocean. Everything is calm, calm, calm. I'm good. When the ball goes up in the air, the waves start rocking.
There are a lot of similarities between music and surfing. There's a rhythm to both of them and with sound waves and ocean waves, you see patterns, plus the breathing is all part of it.
Farewell, my great one, my own, farewell, my pride, farewell, my swift, deep, dear river, how I loved your daylong splashing, how I loved to plunge into your cold waves.
Be like the cliff against which the waves continually break; but it stands firm and tames the fury of the water around it.
I'm so alive. As I stand facing the beauty of the never-ending Pacific Ocean, a late afternoon breeze blows down from the hills behind. As always, it is a beautiful day. The sun is making its final descent. The magic is about to begin. The skies are ready to burn with brilliance, as it turns from a soft blue to a bright orange. Looking towards the West, I stare in awe at the hypnotic power of the waves. A giant curl begins to take form, then breaks with a thundering clap as it crashes on the shore.
I love surfing and bodysurfing. I love getting slammed by the waves - that makes me feel alive. The waves are a good reminder that I'm small and fragile.
We dance for the pure joy of it. In the kitchen to the record player. Because we've got it in us. All over. . . it's not just in the legs. It comes from inside and runs all through you. In waves. From down below to up above. All the way to the scalp.
The moon upon the ocean is swept around in motion but without ever knowing the reason for its flowing in motion on the ocean the moon still keeps on moving the waves still keep on waving and I still keep on going
The night before Atlantis sank beneath the waves forever, the members of the MysterySchool set sail from their doomed continent in twelve boats, headed for twelve different points on the globe.
Things break all the time. Day breaks, waves break, voices break. Promises break. Hearts break.
Art really has its source in the transcendent, the unmanifest field of pure consciousness, which is the non-changing, immortal field of all possibilities. . . When the awareness of the artist is in tune with this center of infinite creativity, his piece of art breathes fullness of life, nourishes the creator, the artist, and inspires his admirers with waves of bliss.
When the waves are crazy, the land is prettier!
For still the new transcends the old In signs and tokens manifold; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves, With roots deep set in battle graves!
Stand up for what you believe in even if it causes waves.
How the waves of the sea kiss the shore!
The surfing - the waves in Indonesia are amazing.
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
The waves of hatred-night can easily be dissolved in the sea of oneness-love.
I guess you're only as good as the waves.
My mum always says work goes in waves: you have a good spell and then it dips.