Most people, including yourself, apparently, think The Moldau is about a river. It is not. It is a metaphor. It is about the progress of life, from its fragile beginnings through its joys and turbulen — Gerald Elias, Death and Transfiguration

He would eventually have to pass through the forest, but he felt no fear. Of course - the forest was inside him, he knew — Haruki Murakami, After the Quake

That’s the only thing you can do with a mess. Start cleaning it up, a little at a time. — Lisa Wingate, The Sea Glass Sisters

Fracture lines etch the surface of the glass box as if a body fell from the sky and landed on it. He doesn't hear the im — Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls

Not all beaches are fun and sunscreen. — Bryant A. Loney, To Hear The Ocean Sigh

The tailor bird builds her nest in deep woods, she uses no more than one branch.The mole drinks off the river, it can on — Zhuangzi, The Inner Chapters: The Classic Taoist Text

Maybe we're standing like coins on the edge?"Allie considered this. "Meaning?""Meaning, we might be able to shake things — Neal Shusterman, Everlost

Quantum theory provides us with a striking illustration of the fact that we can fully understand a connection though we — Werner Heisenberg

I only thoughtOf lying quiet there where I was thrownLike sea-weed on the rocks, and suffer herTo prick me to a pattern — Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

Could any State on Earth Immortall be,Venice by Her rare Goverment is She;Venice Great Neptunes Minion, still a Mayd,Tho — James Howell, S.P.Q.V.: a survay of the signorie of Venice

Not everything that happens in your life has to hit you like a hurricane. — Joyce Rachelle

$When I got home, my roof was gone. Overnight the weight of the snow became too much to carry. What tipped the scale? Think about it: there must have been a final snowflake that did it, a fraction of a — Lauren Oliver, Rooms$

Suddenly they were both leaping around him, shouting 'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!', the little girl imitating her b — George Orwell, 1984

Most people, including yourself, apparently, think The Moldau is about a river. It is not. It is a metaphor. It is about the progress of life, from its fragile beginnings through its joys and turbulence and on to its end, its magnificent end.

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