sea

The forces of the sea give rise to imagination, which reflects them according to the nature and disposition of the perceiver. The sea itself is undifferentiated and without bias.

Indigo, the deep blue contains an abundance of sapphires shining their light through the density, awakening and stirring our consciousness. In the daylight the sea will change, but for now it remains mysterious, obtainable through our imagination.

Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I'll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun's Gold flood.

The sea refreshes our imagination because it does not make us think of human life; yet it rejoices the soul, because, like the soul, it is an infinite and impotent striving, a strength that is ceaselessly broken by falls, an eternal and exquisite lament. The sea thus enchants us like music, which, unlike language, never bears the traces of things, never tells us anything about human beings, but imitates the stirrings of the soul. Sweeping up with the waves of those movements, plunging back with them, the heart thus forgets its own failures and finds solace in an intimate harmony between its own sadness and the sea__ sadness, which merges the sea__ destiny with the destinies of all things.

There was a single blue line of crayon drawn across every wall in the house. What does it mean? I asked. A pirate needs the sight of the sea, he said and then he pulled his eye patch down and turned and sailed away.

The Sun, the Stars, the Seas with all other things were made by the Divine Being, God.

I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.

She touched her fingertip to his wet face and brought away a tear. Amazed, he did the same. He tasted this river his own eyes had rained."It tastes of salt!" he exclaimed. "It tastes like the sea!""Mine too!" she laughed through her own tears, and he touched and tasted hers as well. "It's as if humans kept a sign of the mother sea in ourselves, a secret token of grief or gladness.

The sea, he thought, had treasured it's memories deeper than the faithless land.

The graces are restless today. They pweet and muss, shuddering their wings so that the feathers stick out at defensive angles. I feel that restlessness too. When the sea is fractious like this _ when it chutters and schwaks against the moorings, when it won't talk but only mumbles _ it's difficult to think.

... The women's song was always the same, as monotonous as the beating of the waves against the beach: loss, loss. The conch offered them no enchantment. When they put their ear to it, all they heard was the echo of their mourning.

Grief came in waves, sometimes big, sometimes small, but even on the calmest days, the grief remained. The tide still came ashore.

Maybe I__ still the mermaid. Maybe the ocean is your hand.

The sea is in your eyes. Your face is an eternal summer. Whoever told you otherwise is a fool!

The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too

When we venture in that unfamiliar sea, we trust blindly in those who guide us, believing that they know more than we do.

Trust, is the stone thrown into the sea, sinking deep in all its murkiness, unable to see what it once lived and believed to be a promise.

And slowly, infinitely slowly, he began to trust. Not the sea, from from it; no one should make that mistake!