Sand Quotes - Page 13

• I saw the sky and sea and sand and the flickering flames of the bonfire through my tears. All at once, it rushed into my head with tremendous speed, and made me feel dizzy. It was beautiful. Everything that happened was shockingly beautiful, enough to make you crazy.

  Banana Yoshimoto

  Beautiful, Crazy, Flames

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• You had every right to be. He raised his eyes to look at her and she was suddenly and strangely reminded of being four years old at the beach, crying when the wind came up and blew away the castle she had made. Her mother had told her she could make another one if she liked, but it hadn't stopped her crying because what she had thought was permanent was not permanent after all, but only made out of sand that vanished at the touch of wind and water.

  Cassandra Clare

  Mother, Beach, Eye

  Cassandra Clare (2011). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instrument Series (4 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels”, p.819, Simon and Schuster

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• There is no way to be truly great in this world. We are impaled on the crook of conditioning. A fish that is in the water has no choice that he is. Genius would have it that we swim in sand. We are fish and we drown.

  James Dean

  Water, Choices, Swim

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• Water, water, water....There is no shortage of water in the desert but exactly the right amount , a perfect ratio of water to rock, water to sand, insuring that wide free open, generous spacing among plants and animals, homes and towns and cities, which makes the arid West so different from any other part of the nation. There is no lack of water here unless you try to establish a city where no city should be.

  Edward Abbey

  Home, Animal, Cities

  Edward Abbey (1968). “Desert Solitaire”, p.126, Simon and Schuster

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• Julia looked back at Hadassah on the bloodstained sand. A great emptiness opened within her as she looked at the still form. Gone, too, was the salt that had kept her from completely corruption.

  Francine Rivers

  Gone, Salt, Emptiness

  Francine Rivers (2012). “A Voice in the Wind”, p.495, Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

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• Evening of a hot day started the little wind to moving among the leaves. The shade climbed up the hills toward the top. On the sand banks the rabbits sat as quietly as little gray, sculptured stones.

  John Steinbeck

  Moving, Wind, Rabbits

  John Steinbeck (2016). “Of Mice and Men”, p.2, Hamilton Books

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• I had forgotten that time wasn't fixed like concrete but in fact was fluid as sand, or water. I had forgotten that even misery can end.

  Joyce Carol Oates

  Water, Facts, Misery

  Joyce Carol Oates (2009). “I Am No One You Know: And Other Stories”, p.45, Zondervan

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• I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.

  Charles Bukowski

  Nylon, Rust

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• a little bird moves a mountain of sand one grain at a time it picks up one grain every million years and when the mountain has been moved the bird puts it all back again and that's how long eternity is and that's a very long time to be dead

  Jenny Downham

  Moving, Years, Long

  Jenny Downham (2007). “Before I Die”, David Fickling Books

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• When asked for advice by beginners. Know your ending, I say, or the river of your story may finally sink into the desert sands and never reach the sea.

  Isaac Asimov

  Sea, Rivers, Advice

  Isaac Asimov (2009). “I, Asimov: A Memoir”, p.83, Bantam

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• Tortoise steps, slow steps, four steps like a tank with a tail dragging in the sand. Tortoise steps, land based, land locked, dusty like the desert tortoise herself, fenced in, a prisoner on her own reservation -- teaching us the slow art of revolutionary patience.

  Terry Tempest Williams

  Art, Teaching, Land

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• Andy says, I don't understand how they can give loans to people who want to spend two weeks lying on the sand at the goddam Jersey shore and then turn down a woman with three kids hanging on by her fingernails.

  Frank McCourt

  Lying, Kids, Two

  Frank McCourt (1999). “Tis: A Memoir”, p.183, Simon and Schuster

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• The beach has a language of its own, with its undulating ribbons of silt, the imponderable hieroglyphs of bird tracks. The receding waves catch on innumerable holes in the sand. Bubbles form and fade. A new language, with a new alphabet.

  Franny Billingsley

  Beach, Track, Bird

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• But be careful; sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away.

  Francesca Lia Block

  Running, Glasses, Shoes

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• You must reach inside yourselves where I live like a story, not old, not young laughing at my own sorrow, weeping pearls at weddings, wielding a torch to melt sand into something clear and bright.

  Francesca Lia Block

  Laughing, Sorrow, Torches

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• Grover was sniffing the wind, looking nervous. He fished out his acorns and threw them into the sand, then played his pipes. They rearranged themselves in a pattern that made no sense to me, but Grover looked concerned. "That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested. "Oh, shut up.

  Rick Riordan

  Wind, Nuts, Patterns

  Rick Riordan (2007). “The Titan's curse”

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• Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks.

  Charlie Kaufman

  Rocks, Littles, Tiny

  Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, www.imdb.com. 2004.

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• Everything comes home, my mother used to say; every word spoken, every shadow cast, every footprint in the sand. It can't be helped; it's part of what makes us who we are.

  Joanne Harris

  Mother, Home, Shadow

  Joanne Harris (2007). “The lollipop shoes”, Doubleday UK

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• I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.

  Audrey Niffenegger

  Love, Depression, Running

  Audrey Niffenegger (2013). “The Time Traveler’s Wife”, p.270, Zola Books

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• It was strange: When you reduced even a fledgling love affair to its essentials--I loved her, she maybe loved me, I was foolish, I suffered--it became vacuous and trite, meaningless to anyone else. In the end, it's only the moments that we have, the kiss on the palm, the joint wonder at the furrowed texture of a fir trunk or at the infinitude of grains of sand in a dune. Only the moments.

  Susan Vreeland

  Kissing, Joints, Essentials

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• Sitting in the flickering light of the candles on this kerchief of sand, on this village square, we waited in the night. We were waiting for the rescuing dawn - or for the Moors. Something, I know not what, lent this night a savor of Christmas. We told stories, we joked, we sang songs. In the air there was that slight fever that reigns over a gaily prepared feast. And yet we were infinitely poor. Wind, sand, and stars. The austerity of Trappists. But on this badly lighted cloth, a handful of men who possessed nothing in the world but their memories were sharing invisible riches.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Song, Stars, Memories

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• Everything is connected. The wing of the corn beetle affects the direction of the wind, the way the sand drifts, the way the light reflects into the eye of man beholding his reality. All is part of totality, and in this totality man finds his hozro, his way of walking in harmony, with beauty all around him.

  Tony Hillerman

  Eye, Reality, Men

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• There was the same dazzling red glare. The sea gasped for air with each shallow, stifled wave that broke on the sand. ...with every blade of light that flashed off the sand, from a bleached shell or a peice of broken glass, my jaws tightened. I walked for a long time.

  Albert Camus

  Sea, Glasses, Light

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• I've crossed these sands many times," said one of the camel drivers one night. "But the desert is so huge, and the horizons so distant, that they make a person feel small, and as if he should remain silent." The boy understood intuitively what he meant, even without ever having set foot in the desert before. Whenever he saw the sea, or a fire, he fell silent, impressed by their elemental force.

  Paulo Coelho

  Boys, Night, Fire

  Paulo Coelho (1998). “The Alchemist - 10th Anniversary Edition”, HarperSanFrancisco

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• There should be a word for that brief period just after waking when the mind is full of warm pink nothing. You lie there entirely empty of thought, except for a growing suspicion that heading towards you, like a sockful of damp sand in a nocturnal alleyway, are all the recollections you'd really rather do without, and which amount to the fact that the only mitigating factor in your horrible future is the certainty that it will be quite short.

  Terry Pratchett

  Lying, Mind, Facts

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