Waterline Quotes & Sayings

Science "works", of course, but from an aesthetic point of view, was it really a great improvement over mythology? Why do we insist that theories "work", when they might just as well sit around and look pretty?
I couldn't help observing that for every advance in science ... some perfectly competent goddess or demiurge is put out of work, a hypothesized spirit dies, or a living thing surrenders its autonomy. — Barbara Ehrenreich

When you've lived as long as I have," he said, eyes heavy-lidded but definitely on her, "you learn to appreciate new sensations. They are rare in an immortal's life."
She found she'd moved toward him. He hooked her arm around her waist, pulling her closer until she straddled him as he sat on a ledge below the waterline, her legs wrapped around his waist.
He settled her firmly against him.
Sucking in a breath, she said, "Sex isn't new to you," and rocked her heat over the exquisite hardness of him. Good didn't begin to describe how it felt. How he felt.
"No. But you are."
"Never had a hunter before?" She grinned, nibbling on his lower lip.
But he didn't smile. "I've never had Elena before." The words were husky, his eyes so intent she felt owned. — Nalini Singh

The Tea Party movement as I perceive it is all about recognizing the difference between state and federal powers. And that there are limits to federal power that need to be respected. — Mike Lee

I'm often reading a magazine and hearing about someone's new record, and I think, 'Oh, boy, that's gonna be better than me.' It's a very common thing. — Paul McCartney

I still can't believe it ... him comin' here everyday, nobody realizin'. Still, that's life: lotta stuff happens under the waterline. — Alan Moore

She started thinking about all the euphemisms for death, all the anxious taboos that had always fascinated her. It was too bad you could never have an intelligent discussion on the subject. People were either too young or too old, or else they didn't have time. — Tove Jansson

There's already been some trouble for Osama bin Laden in the afterlife. There was a mix up and he was greeted by 72 vegans. — David Letterman

In the greatest sorrow, we shall find the grace of joy. — Lailah Gifty Akita

Unmoor the boat, we could go ... downriver ...
History is a collection of found objects washed up through time. Goods, ideas, personalities surface towards us and then sink away and some we hook out and others we ignore. And as the pattern changes so does the meaning. We cannot rely on the facts. Time that returns everything, changes everything..a bundle of abandoned clothes. The end of one identity and the beginning of another. ... History is a madman's museum. I think I understand some of this, But it's all subject to the tide. Unmoor the boat. Part miracle part madness. My life is a series of set sails and shipwrecks. I run aground I cut loose, the rim is dangerously near the waterline. I feel like a saint in a coracle. Head thrown back, sun on my throat. Unmoor the boat. — Jeanette Winterson

On a flight of emotion there's wonder and bliss, but beware of a landing that may go amiss. — Wes Fesler

Life a miserable contradiction, endless desire but limited supplies, your birth just a ticket to your death: — Jonathan Franzen

When I am writing a story it feels as real as the life I am experiencing off the page. It's an emotional illusion, I guess. — Tayari Jones

He got up and walked out to the road. The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then the distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable shifting out there in the dark. The earth itself contracting with the cold. It did not come again. What time of year? What age the child? He walked out into the road and stood. The silence. The salitter drying from the earth. The mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to the waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small pen knife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt. — Cormac McCarthy

In the time it takes for her to walk from the bathhouse at the seawall of Fortune's Rocks, where she has left her boots and has discreetly pulled off her stockings, to the waterline along which the sea continually licks the pink and silver sand, she learns about desire. — Anita Shreve

It was the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilization ends at the waterline. Beyond that, we all enter the food chain, and not always right at the top. — Hunter S. Thompson

With my people, what you see is what you get. We prefer blunt talk to diplomacy. My family was much the same way. Phaelan's idea of diplomacy involved firing cannon shot across your bow rather than through your waterline. — Lisa Shearin

So how are we getting over to that?" Lyssa asked from where she was sitting on a cement embankment. Eric glanced across the waterline and nodded to the south. "There's a marina. We'll steal a boat." "Commandeer." "Excuse me?" "I'm a police officer, I don't steal boats," she told him simply. "I commandeer them." Eric snorted but nodded as he gestured. "Whatever you say, Officer. — Evan Currie

I now see what the really important things in life are and they don't relate to what I do for a living. — Doyle Brunson

The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then a distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable shifting out there in the dark. The earth itself contracting with the cold. It did not come again. What time of year? What age the child? ... The silence. The salitter drying from the earth. The mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to the waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. — Cormac McCarthy

The box had been built effectively. It floated barge-like in the water, about two thirds of it below the waterline. It was a drift ship or a current rider, not a sailing vessel. Elohim would be its rudder. Inside, Noah's family settled in for a long voyage. They did not know exactly how long it would be, but Elohim had told them it would rain for forty days and forty nights. They knew the terrible truth that he was going to blot out all living things in the land. They knew they would be the only survivors. They knew they would start anew Elohim's plans for the human race. — Brian Godawa

Today's water arguments reflect a growing unease about how to proceed when old certainties are being pushed aside and new options seem limited or unappealing. But the stark warnings implicit in Wisconsin's poisoned wells, the intersex and dying fish of Chesapeake Bay, Lake Mead's recored-low waterline, the decay of levees across the country, and the resource war in Alaska's Bristol Bay, cannot be ignored. — Alex Prud'Homme

I searched, but no one else had your rhythms, your light, the shady day you brought from the forest;
Nobody had your tiny ears. — Pablo Neruda

national press. He called them by their first names, invited them — Doris Kearns Goodwin

We must not remind them that giants walk the Earth. — Frank Miller

On its rocky tip, dominating the scenery for miles around, stood he Villa dell'Ossevatore. Breathtakingly beautiful, it comprised three individual buildings and a single watchtower, roofed in terracotta tile and connected by stone bridges and loggias. Its lush gardens and lawns encircled the peninsula in steadily descending terraces, and a wide stone-built staircase hugged the rock all the way down to the waterline, terminating at a landing stage edged with balustrades. Higher up the hillside she saw the pergolas straining under the branches of ancient wisteria, and huge displays of azaleas and camellias. Ivy clung to the west-facing sides of the buildings and curled among its statues. — Stephen Lloyd Jones

Loving music had pushed all of us off the track- away from the normal pursuit of career, mate, and family, on an endless quest for that vibrating high, the plunge beyond time that comes only when you submerge yourself beneath the waterline of amplified sound. We were addicts, in a way, but also adept, enlightened by a noise most people considered no more than a pleasant distraction. What was left for us but to practice our art of listening? — Ann Powers