Surfers were the ones who named all my songs. They'd yell out the names, and we just kept 'em.
The light, the sky, the water, they were all things you looked *through* during the day. At night, they were things you looked *into*. You looked *into* the stars, you looked *into* dark rollers and the surprising platinum flash of their caps.
Beaches, music, and car rides—they could all bring on a sudden bout of deep, dreamy thoughts.
Being able to surf in Tahiti and places like Brazil was unreal.
I don't really go to the beach.
The sound of the sea, the curve of a horizon, wind in leaves, the cry of a bird leave manifold impression in us. And suddenly, without our wishing it at all, one of these memories spills from us and finds expression in musical language...I want to sing my interior landscape with the simple artlessness of a child.
Surfing is my great passion in Hawaii.
When I go to the beach, even the tide won't come in.
Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
I'm so alive. As I stand facing the beauty of the never-ending Pacific Ocean, a late afternoon breeze blows down from the hills behind. As always, it is a beautiful day. The sun is making its final descent. The magic is about to begin. The skies are ready to burn with brilliance, as it turns from a soft blue to a bright orange. Looking towards the West, I stare in awe at the hypnotic power of the waves. A giant curl begins to take form, then breaks with a thundering clap as it crashes on the shore.
You can't push a wave onto the shore any faster than the ocean brings it in.
The wave is not the water. The water merely told us about the wave moving by.
I'll ride the wave, where it takes me!
It is pleasant, when the sea runs high, to view from land the great distress of another.
Ye waves That o'er th' interminable ocean wreathe Your crisped smiles.
My preference is swimming in the sea. I find the sea is more liberating, wild and good fun rather than plodding up and down a pool.
The Shell The sea fills my ear with sand and with fear. You may wash out the sand, but never the sound of the ghost of the sea that is haunting me.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean
Waves, once they land on the beach, are not reversible.
The smallest oceans still make big big waves.
On vacations: 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 sky aft was dark as pitch, but the moon still shone brightly ahead of us and lit up the blackness. Beneath its sheen a huge white-topped breaker, twenty feet high or more, was rushing on to us. It was on the break-the moon shone on its crest and tipped its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by the awful squall behind it.
Mother Mother Ocean, I have heard your call.
I have often lost myself in the sea, ears full of newly cut flowers, tongue full of love and agony.
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.
