I played the Holiday Motel on the circle in 1970. I know the Jersey Shore.
I think that Jersey Shore is awesome. I've gone to Cape May every summer of my life.
My childhood landscape was not land but the end of the land - the cold, salt, running hills of the Atlantic. I sometimes think my vision of the sea is the clearest thing I own.
Tis pleasant to stand on shore and watch others labouring in a stormy sea.
I'm a girl from Jersey.
...precisely where the land touched water at high tide, where things came together but also separated.
Have you ever walked along a shoreline, only to have your footprints washed away? That's what Alzheimer's is like. The waves erase the marks we leave behind, all the sand castles. Some days are better than others.
I love the ocean. I've always liked the blue, so tranquil and peaceful and gliding. And the fear of it.
I have two houses in California, and they're both within a couple of minutes from the beach. So, I definitely feel at home in California and by the ocean.
My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.
As known unknowns become known; unknown unknowns proliferate; the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder.
I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown.
I walked beside the evening sea And dreamed a dream that could not be; The waves that plunged along the shore Said only: "Dreamer, dream no more!"
Let me guess. The big one is due in on the north shore? (Dante) Yes. So let’s make this quick. I have a board, a wave, and a babe with my name on them and I would like to take advantage of all three. (Savitar)
The ocean and I have many pebbles To find and wash off and roll into shape.
The shore is an ancient world, for as long as there has been an earth and sea there has been this place of the meeting of land and water.
Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.
The action most worth watching is not at the center of things, but where edges meet.
A beach is not only a sweep of sand, but shells of sea creatures, the sea glass, the seaweed, the incongruous objects washed up by the ocean.
Flying over New Orleans on our approach, I got it. There was no view of land without water - water in the great looming form of Lake Pontchartrain, water cutting through in tributaries, water flowing beside a long stretch of highway, water just - everywhere.
That shoreline where the island of knowing meets the unfathomable sea of our own being is the landscape of myth.
The waves broke and spread their waters swiftly over the shore. One after another they massed themselves and fell; the spray tossed itself back with the energy of their fall. The waves were steeped deep-blue save for a pattern of diamond-pointed light on their backs which rippled as the backs of great horses ripple with muscles as they move. The waves fell; withdrew and fell again, like the thud of a great beast stamping.
