Superstition is a quality that seems indigenous to the ocean.
The impulse of humanity toward social progress is like the movement in the currents of a great water system, from myriad sources and under myriad circumstances and conditions, beating onward, ever onward toward its eternity, the Ocean.
If you want to build a ship, don't summon people to buy wood, prepare tools, distribute jobs, and organize the work; teach people the yearning for the wide, boundless ocean.
How much do I love you? I'll tell you no lie. How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?
Don Juan speaks of the island of the tonal as something that's in the middle of the ocean ... the nagual.
Celebration is without any cause. Celebration is simply because we are. We are made out of the stuff called celebration.That's our natural state - to celebrate - as natural as it is for the trees to bloom, for birds to sing, for rivers to flow to the ocean. Celebration is a natural state.
If you should take the human heart and listen to it, it would be like listening to a sea-shell; you would hear in it the hollow murmur of the infinite ocean to which it belongs, from which it draws its profoundest inspiration, and for which it yearns.
Twas in heaven pronounced - it was muttered in hell, / And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell; / On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, / And the depth of the ocean its presence confessed. / Yet in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower, / Ah, breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.
An ellipsis is a giant ocean of possibilities.
Outside is the joy of the drop. Inside is the joy of the ocean.
I'm trying to paint an underwater ocean scene. It's just not working. My queen angelfish is supposed to have these bright yellow eyes and electric-blue stripes along the edge of her fin. Instead, it looks like I'm trying to paint a fried egg with some blue bacon. Maybe I can pass it off as postmodern.
I see my tweets as a current joining a bunch of other currents in the world's craziest ocean.
We hail the return of the day of thy birth, Fair Columbia! washed by the waves of two oceans Where men from the farthest dominions of earth Rear altars to Freedom, and pay their devotions; Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight; Through the long lapse of ages, that so there might be An asylum for all in the Land of the Free.
Participation is bliss because the whole universe is celebrating. Every moment it is celebrating. It is a great celebration, a constant celebration. Only we are not part of it. We have detached ourselves and are in misery. Man is in misery because of the mind. The flowers are participating in the celebration, the moon is participating, the stars are participating, the earth is participating, the oceans are participating, the air and the clouds - everything is participating in that continuous, eternal celebration.
An ocean which thinks there is nothing to learn from a lake is not a wise ocean!
It is impossible for the mind which is not totally destitute of piety, to behold the sublime, the awful, the amazing works of creation and providence - the heavens with their luminaries, the mountains, the ocean, the storm, the earthquake, the volcano, the circuit of the seasons, and the revolutions of empires - without marking in them all the mighty hand of God, and feeling strong emotions of reverence toward the Author of these stupendous works.
The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms.
For some time there was a widely held notion (zealously fostered by the daily press) to the effect that the 'thinking ocean' of Solaris was a gigantic brain, prodigiously well-developed and several million years in advance of our own civilization, a sort of 'cosmic yogi', a sage, a symbol of omniscience, which had long ago understood the vanity of all action and for this reason had retreated into an unbreakable silence.
Jesus! it is the name which moves the harps of heaven to melody. Jesus! the life of all our joys. If there be one name more charming, more precious than another, it is this name. It is woven into the very warp and woof of our psalmody. Many of our hymns begin with it, and scarcely any, that are good for anything, end without it. It is the sum total of all delights. It is the music with which the bells of heaven ring; a song in a word; an ocean for comprehension, although a drop for brevity; a matchless oratorio in two syllables; a gathering up of the hallelujahs of eternity in five letters.
I dont like the idea of being eaten by a shark. I like to swim in the ocean, and I think much more about sharks than anyone should. I really resent the fact that my oceangoing experiences are ruined by Jaws.
As long as there's a body of water nearby, I'm happy. Pools don't count. I like diving into the ocean and coming out refreshed.
We are like icebergs in the ocean: one-eighth part consciousness and the rest submerged beneath the surface of articulate apprehension.
I'm one-hundred-fifty miles off Cape Horn, both autopilots are broken, and my boat is drifting toward one of the nastiest chunks of ocean on the face of the earth.
It is beautiful in Vancouver; let's face it. I mean, you have the ocean. There's mountains.
I see the day in our own lifetime that reverence for the natural systems, the oceans, the rainforests, the soil, the grasslands, and all other living things will be so strong that no narrow ideology based upon politics or economics will overcome it.
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