Reed Beds Quotes & Sayings

When you do something half-heartedly, you don't get much of a result. When you do it fully, you get a great result. — Frederick Lenz

I am a man who used to wear the tights. We traveled the country doing two Shakespeare plays for bored college students for about a year. I think I'd probably still be doing it now if I hadn't just randomly decided to go to a sketch group audition. That led to doing improv, which led to the Daily Show. But it was fun while it lasted. — Rob Corddry

Zahara roared and threw herself at him, smacking Bryan back against the ground and swinging a right hook into his nose. She exclaimed in triumph as her fist connected with his face, hoping it hurt his nose as bad as the punch hurt her knuckles. Zahara's triumphant smile turned into a yelp of pain as Bryan knocked her onto her back and rolled her onto her stomach, twisted her arms behind her, and locked them in place with a grip strong enough to bend steel. — Annabell Cadiz

Perhaps swimming was dancing under the water, he thought. To swim under lily pads seeing their green slender stalks wavering as you passed, to swim under upraised logs past schools of sunfish and bluegills, to swim through reed beds past wriggling water snakes and miniature turtles, to swim in small lakes, big lakes, Lake Michigan, to swim in small farm ponds, creeks, rivers, giant rivers where one was swept along easefully by the current, to swim naked alone at night when you were nineteen and so alone you felt like you were choking every waking moment, having left home for reasons more hormonal than rational; reasons having to do with the abstraction of the future and one's questionable place in the world of the future, an absurdity not the less harsh for being so widespread. — Jim Harrison

They lay on their heathery beds and listened to all the sounds of the night. They heard the little grunt of a hedgehog going by. They saw the flicker of bats overhead. They smelt the drifting scent of honeysuckle, and the delicious smell of wild thyme crushed under their bodies. A reed-warbler sang a beautiful little song in the reeds below, and then another answered. — Enid Blyton

In a book of fiction the purpose is to create, for myself, the kind of world I want and to live in while I am creating it; then, as a secondary consequence, to let others enjoy this world, if, and to the extent that, they can. — Ayn Rand

The way I see it, a person isn't nothing more than a scarecrow ... The only difference between one that stands up good and one that blows over is what kind of a stick they're stuck up there on. — Barbara Kingsolver

Those who were beginning to grow old had an air of youth, while there was something mature in the faces of the young. — Gustave Flaubert