Beach Quotes - Page 31

• Learning to let go of expectations is a ticket to peace. It allows us to ride over every crisis—small or large, brother-in-law or end-of-quarter office lockdown—like a beach ball on water. The next time a problem arises in your life, take a deep breath, let out a sigh, and replace the thought Oh no! with the thought Okay.

  Martha Beck

  Letting Go, Brother, Law

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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, Eye, Years

  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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• She walked on, comforted by the surf, by the one perpetual moment of beach-time, the now-and-always of it.

  William Gibson

  Surf, Moments, Perpetual

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• Mom and I were walking onteh beach and I was explaining to her how I wantd to "GET OVER all my INSECURITIES" and "La La... La..".... and she looked at me and said "Sabrina, does anyone realy feel good about themselves for MORE than 5 minutes?" We both laughed. I was releaved to know she felt that way becuae she seems SO graceful, calm and beautiful, which she is.. but also full of so much more. Auestions, doubts + WONDER. I think that if we can aim for just five minutes a day of complete acceptance of ourselves, we are doing very well!

  Sabrina Ward Harrison

  Beautiful, Mom, Acceptance

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• It was her first book, an indigo cover with a silver moonflower, an art nouveau flower, I traced my finger along the silver line like smoke, whiplash curves. ... I touched the pages her hands touched, I pressed them to my lips, the soft thick old paper, yellow now, fragile as skin. I stuck my nose between the bindings and smelled all the readings she had given, the smell of unfiltered cigarettes and the espresso machine, beaches and incense and whispered words in the night. I could hear her voice rising from the pages. The cover curled outward like sails.

  Janet Fitch

  Art, Flower, Book

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• A fragrant breeze wandered up from the quiet sea, trailed along the beach, and drifted back to the sea again, wondering where to go next. On a mad impulse it went up to the beach again. It drifted back to sea.

  Douglas Adams

  Sea, Mad, Next

  Douglas Adams (2009). “Life, the Universe and Everything”, p.71, Pan Macmillan

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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

  Track, Bird, Ribbons

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• I go to the saltwater and wash off the blood, trying to decide which I hate more, pain or itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward and snap, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin." It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach up and the tube lands squarely in my open hand. "About time" I say, but I can't keep the scowl on my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give for five minutes of conversation with him.

  Suzanne Collins

  Pain, Hate, Blood

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• He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on.

  Ernest Hemingway

  Cat, Fighting, Boys

  Ernest Hemingway (1995). “The old man and the sea”, p.9, Hueber Verlag

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• I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I'd been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.

  Albert Camus

  Doors, Silence, Leaving

  Albert Camus (2012). “The Stranger”, p.59, Vintage

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• Welcome to Perdido beach, where our motto is: Radiation, what radiation?

  Michael Grant

  Gone, Radiation, Welcome

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• I’m stuck fighting. (Acheron) You’re stuck fighting. But you’re welcome to come share my beach any time you get tired of the brawl. (Savitar) Save me a spot. If this blows up in my face, I’ll be back with my tail forever tucked between my legs. (Acheron)

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Tired, Fighting, Blow

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• O grant me a house by the beach of a bay, Where the waves can be surly in winter, and play With the sea-weed in summer, ye bountiful powers! And I'd leave all the hurry, the noise, and the fray, For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers.

  Andrew Lang

  Summer, Weed, Flower

  Andrew Lang “The Selected Works of Andrew Lang”, Library of Alexandria

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• I have now seen sucrose beaches and water a very bright blue. I have seen an all-red leisure suit with flared lapels. I have smelled suntan lotion spread over 2,100 pounds of hot flesh. I have been addressed as "Mon" in three different nations. I have seen 500 upscale Americans dance the Electric Slide. I have seen sunsets that looked computer-enhanced. I have (very briefly) joined a conga line.

  David Foster Wallace

  Sunset, Blue, Water

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• If pinpointing God's presence were really that simple, then he supposed the beaches would be more crowded in the mornings. They would be filled with people on their own quests, instead of people jogging or walking their dogs or fishing in the surf.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Dog, Morning, Simple

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• I knew he was unreliable, but he was fun to be with. He was a child’s ideal companion, full of surprises and happy animal energy. He enjoyed food and drink. He liked to try new things. He brought home coconuts, papayas, mangoes, and urged them on our reluctant conservative selves. On Sundays he liked to discover new places, take us on endless bus or trolley rides to some new park or beach he knew about. He always counseled daring, in whatever situation, the courage to test the unknown, an instruction that was thematically in opposition to my mother’s.

  E. L. Doctorow

  Mother, Children, Fun

  E.L. Doctorow (2010). “World's Fair: A Novel”, p.15, Random House

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• In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

  Sylvia Plath

  Stars, Real, Hair

  Sylvia Plath (2015). “Collected Poems”, p.4, Faber & Faber

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• Once Paul told her that the beach was like him because it changed every day but it never made any progress. Later she remembered thinking that a normal person might have begun by saying that he was like the beach.

  Ann Brashares

  Thinking, Progress, Might

  Ann Brashares (2008). “The Last Summer (of You and Me)”, p.13, Penguin

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• Light is important to us humans. It influences our moods, our perceptions, our energy levels. A face glimpsed among trees, dappled by the shadows and the green-tinged light reflected from the forest, will seem quite different to the same face seen on a beach in hard, dry, sunlight, or in a darkening room at twilight, with the shadows of a venetian blind striped across it like a convict’s uniform.

  John Marsden

  Twilight, Tree, Perception

  John Marsden (1998). “Everything I Know About Writing”, p.111, Pan Australia

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• That narrow stretch of sand knows nothing in the world better than it does the white waves that whip it , caress it , collapse on to it . The white foam knows nothing better than those sands which wait for it , rise to it and suck it in .but what do the waves know of the massed, hot, still sands of the desert just twenty , no , ten feet beyond the scalloped edge ? And what does the beach knows of depths, the cold, the currents just there, where-do you see it? - Where the water turns a deeper blue.

  Ahdaf Soueif

  Blue, White, Feet

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• Where's your sense of adventure?" "Off on a beach somewhere with your sanity?

  Rachel Caine

  Adventure, Sanity, Morganville Vampires

  Rachel Caine (2009). “Carpe Corpus”, p.57, Allison & Busby

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• Mr Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive, but his eyebrows here not. 'Ah!' he said. '?', cried the eyebrows. '? ? ?' Ashe ignored the eyebrows. ... Mr Beach's eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all, but Ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room which Mr Beach did not fill. He was hanged if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself.

  P. G. Wodehouse

  Eyebrows, Rooms, Pairs

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• When we reached the beach, Leif fell to his knees with a dramatic cry. "Solid ground! I'll never take you for granted again." "Are you going to kiss the sand?" I asked. "Don't be ridiculous." "Now I'M the one being silly?" "Yes.

  Maria V. Snyder

  Silly, Kissing, Knees

  Maria V. Snyder (2013). “Sea Glass”, p.223, Harlequin

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• In one universe, they are gorgeous, straight-teethed, long-legged, wrapped in designer fashions, and given sports cars on their sixteenth birthdays. Teacher smile at them and grade them on the curve. They know the first names of the staff. They are the Pride of the Trojans. Oops – I mean Pride of the Blue Devils. In Universe #2, they throw parties wild enough to attract college students. They worship the stink of Eau de Jocque. They rent beach houses in Cancún during Spring Break and get group-rate abortions before prom.

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  Sports, Fashion, Teacher

  Laurie Halse Anderson (2011). “Speak”, p.30, Macmillan

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• A beach house isn't just real estate. It's a state of mind.

  Douglas Adams

  Real, House, Mind

  Douglas Adams (2009). “Mostly Harmless”, p.69, Pan Macmillan

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