Quotes about sand

Your dreams are your solid rock all other dreams are sinking sands! Recreate Your World and I believe you can!

Every so often, we all gaze into the abyss. It's a depressing fact of life that eventually the clock expires; eventually the sand in the hourglass runs out. It's the leaving behind of everything that matters to us that hurts the most.

S:uch is Heaven on Earth, in all landA:s the sun brightens to the moon N:ails the Creation in a palm of a hand, D:ancing IT makes the desert bloom.

When angels carry you they leave no footprints in the sand.

Everyone makes mistakes. If everyone fell into the sand after making a mistake we would never get anywhere. We'd all be washed away in the sea, lost forever. Do you understand?

When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them, no root to cling to, I was seized with vertigo and felt myself as if flung forth and plunging downward like a diver.

We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings.

The children had had an argument once about whether there was more grass in the world or more sand, and Roger said that of course there must be more sand because of under the sea; in every ocean all over the world there would be sand, if you looked deep down. But there could be grass too, argued Deborah, a waving grass, a grass that nobody had ever seen, and the colour of that ocean grass would be darker than any grass on the surface of the world, in fields or prairies or people's gardens in Ame

You don’t need to be the tide to rise and fall, you don’t have to be a wave to touch the shore; just be a little sand-grain and feel them all

The day was cold, and every time the little transparent fans of water swept in and drew back, the wet sand mirrored a clear sky and the sun on its way down.

If everyone could just live near the ocean, I think we'd all be happier. It's hard to be down about anything knee deep in the sand.

I ignored your aura but it grabbed me by the hand, like the moon pulled the tide, and the tide pulled the sand.

If you read fast and read all, maybe some of the sand will stay in the sieve.

Are we etched in stone or just scratched in the sand Waiting for the waves to come and reclaim the land?tightrope - stone roses

Dear Waves,You have been restless all your life? Or maybe uneasy? I don't know quite. Oscillating between faiths, swinging between shores!Yet when we sit next to you on those sands, do you never feel like sharing what bothers you so much?

from RIVERMy body is filled with sand. The heavy grains flow from my eyes and seek somewhere to fall.Speak to me friends. Tell me I am free to go now, for I need to sit alone in the sun on the river bank, juggling pebbles.

IF you draw a line in the sand you betray the loyalty of your cause

When you draw a line in the sand, be careful it is not low tide.

I took the life of the woman I was supposed to call mother in the process of being born... in order to become the world's strongest shinobi... an incarnation of sand was implanted inside of me...

Writers begin with a grain of sand, and then create a beach.

One by one, they guessed aloud about what Lotto had meant by this sculpture: nautilus, fiddlehead, galaxy. Thread running off its spindle. Forces of nature, perfect in beauty, perfectly ephemeral, they guessed. He was too shy to say time. He’d woken with a dry tongue and the urge to make the abstract concrete, to build his new understanding: that this was the way that time was, a spiral.He loved the uselessness of all the effort, the ephemerality of the work. The ocean encroached, it licked thei

...He sat back on his heels and watched the stars one by one cut their way through onrushing darkness, till all was reversed, day was night, and the blackness glittered with all the desert's sands, each a tiny flame beyond the bounds of time.

If it's dive-bombing you from the air, bury yourself in the sand. It might lose sight of you. Also, no one likes to eat food covered in sand. No one.

nothing is lifelesswhen the moon writes its screedon the silvern sand silence-From the poem:"The Universe In Blossom

In the land of the ostriches, the blind are king. When politicians bury their head in the sand, ignorance rules the country. ( "High noon." )

All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon the sand.

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.

Movies are written in sand: applauded today, forgotten tomorrow.

I'm not one to think of burying my head in the sand - I've always been a positive person and still am now.

Sometimes you have got to look at things really positively - without putting your head in the sand, you have got to manage the negatives and keep putting a positive slant on it, keep trying to find answers.

There are golfers everywhere who may never get a chance to play a links course in Scotland, a tree-lined course in America or the sand belts of Australia. Hopefully I can bring some of those elements into their backyards.

The 6th of August in the morning we saw an opening in the land and we ran into it, and anchored in 7 and a half fathom water, 2 miles from the shore, clean sand.

Sand dunes are almost like ready-made buildings in a way. All we need to do is solidify the parts that we need to be solid, and then excavate the sand, and we have our architecture. We can either excavate it by hand, or we can have the wind excavate it for us.

Tel Aviv is new, built on the sand dunes north of Jaffa in the 1890s, about the same time Miami was founded. The cities bear a resemblance in size, site, climate, and architecture, which ranges from the bland to the fancifully bland.

Enclosed by a sand berm four miles around and 160 feet high, the Baghdad Nuclear Research Facility entombs what remains of reactors bombed by Israel in 1981 and the United States in 1991. It has stored industrial and medical wastes, along with spent reactor fuel.

To build refuges of my own making is to construct fortresses of sand at ocean’s edge, where the relentless tides of time will leave my most magnificently constructed walls as perfectly flat sand. And now that I am subject to the very tides that destroyed these walls of mine, I am left with the reality that my single and sole refuge can only be the God who created both tides and sand.

In interior decorating, the pig's actually quite there. It's used in paint for the texture, but also for the glossiness. In sandpaper, bone glue is actually the glue between the sand and the paper. And then in paintbrushes, hairs are used because, apparently, they're very suitable for making paintbrushes because of their hard-wearing nature.

Put three grains of sand inside a vast cathedral, and the cathedral will be more closely packed with sand than space is with stars.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

I love like I’m thirsty. Can I offer you a tall glass of Sahara sand?


The stars are numerous as the sand on the seashore.

When time furtively slips like sand through the fingers and our memory becomes tired and lazy, we recognize we are at war. We are at war with forgetfulness. ("The past was her best friend" )

She wishes her grandmother had not been so protective, and that she understood better what passes between a man and woman. As it is, she simply enjoys the feelings and wonders if they are what lightning is made of, for everything comes back to the weather. Tears like rain. Smiles like the sun. Hair as dry as sand and fear like the dark ocean.

Sand in reality is nothing else than very small stones.

To shift a few grains of sand is no more a sign of great strength than to see the sun a sign of great sight. There is no glory in dominating the weak.

Sand lines my soul which is filled with the breath of the ocean.

When the tidal waves wildly behavingMy bare feet on the shore busy savingThe calm warmth leaking out of the sandTo let my heart feel peacefully tanned!

Nothing like poetry when you lie awake at night. It keeps the old brain limber. It washes away the mud and sand that keeps on blocking up the bends.Like waves to make the pebbles dance on my old floors. And turn them into rubies and jacinths; or at any rate, good imitations.

Let my toes teach the shore how to feel a tranquil lifethrough the wetness of sands Let my heart latch the doorof blackness, as all my pain now blue sky understands

We must remember that there is a great difference between a myth and a miracle. A myth is the idealization of a fact. A miracle is the counterfeit of a fact. There is the same difference between a myth and a miracle that there is between fiction and falsehood -- between poetry and perjury. Miracles belong to the far past and the far future. The little line of sand, called the present, between the seas, belongs to common sense to the natural.

Who can count the sand by the sea?

The sand in the hour glass isn't meant to stick together. It will flow exactly same today, how it did ten years back. That's how much reliable that stuff is. The stuff that can be consistent.

By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,From there the wind comes and blows over the world,By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,From there the clouds come and rain falls over the world.

I’m alive,” he groaned. “But I’m not doing a very good job of it.

And turnips - endless ruptured turnips.

Perrotte frowned. “I’d like to turn a plowshare into a sword ,” she said. “I’d cut our way out of those thorns, and then use it to run my enemies through—” She bit off her next words and swallowed them. Sand stared at her, aghast. She met his eyes, defiant. “What? You don’t like bloodthirstiness?” she asked. “Pardon? No. I’m horrified that you would dull a sword on that thorn brake. I could make you some pretty good hedge shears.

The truth is . . . Well, the truth is the truth, and thus worth telling, but sometimes truths are so complicated that it’s exhausting to get them out in the right order.” He glanced up at her. That sounded like an evasion if ever she’d heard one. She raised an eyebrow.

Saint Melor’s father was Saint Meliau.”“Was everyone in Bertaèyn a saint, back in the day?”“Everyone who didn’t murder anyone, maybe,” Perrotte said.

The shrine I prayed at not to go to university,” Sand said.“I guess your prayer was answered,” Perrotte said.Sand strongly considered throwing something at her—but there was nothing to hand that wasn’t sacred.

How did you get into the castle, Alexandre, son of Gilles Smith?” Sand shrugged. “A saint kidnapped me from his shrine and put me into a fireplace here. So I guess the answer is, a miracle of Saint Melor. Or so I think. He has not told me.” “If you are trying to antagonize him, you are doing a good job,” Perrotte whispered. Sand scuffed his shoe at her. “I’m just telling the truth!” “You’re very good at telling it in the most maddening way possible.”“Thank you?

You’re not mending anything, remember, Sand? The hedge.” He paused and shook his head at himself. “And Perrotte’s away for a few minutes, and you’re talking to yourself again.

Grains of sand will only flow with the winds, Kenton, never against them.

The future was chaos, war and blood and thirst, ending with everyone's bones bleached white in the desert. The sand would bury their buildings and bodies, and eventually it would be impossible to tell that anyone had lived in the desert at all.

When you depart from this world, you must have the confidence that you have left your footprints in the sands of time, that you were among those who fulfilled their purpose

The sand in the hourglass runs from one compartment to the other, marking the passage of moments with something constant and tangible.If you watch the flowing sand, you might see time itself riding the granules.Contrary to popular opinion, time is not an old white-haired man, but a laughing child.And time sings.

It was so long ago now that the job felt like part of her soul. Like being a teacher or an artist who made things out of sand. You never really saw the results. You just trusted that you knew what you were doing and that everything would work out okay in the end.

In this delicate and unpredictable life, the future is unwritten. Do not take someone for granted today, for once tomorrow dawns upon the indigo night the only remaining trace will be tracks in the sand...

Sand by the seashore is inestimable.