Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Cabeswater. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Cabeswater Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including William Styron,Stephanie Clifford,Gay Talese,Gary Reilly,Samuel Garth for you to enjoy and share.
In Vineyard Haven, on Martha's Vineyard, mostly I love the soft collision here of harbor and shore, the subtly haunting briny quality that all small towns have when they are situated on the sea
She summahs in Lake James, how mahvelous
The Park Avenue of poodles and polished brass; it is cab country, tip-town, glassville, a window-washer's paradise.
Being a cab river is not unlike being a magician
minus the top hat, the cape, the rabbit, an the gorgeous assistant. But you do have an audience.
Where billows never break, nor tempests roar.
Salvation Creek flows till date, endless tears of motherly love and manly regret.
Lake quiets, tired of my lies.
Hello - what hotel is this - ?
Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
Atalanta in Calydon
My favourite pool is located in a remote valley in the eastern Lake District, surrounded by vine-hung cliffs and slippery boulders. It has a torrential sheet waterfall at one end and is almost black in colour, so it appears bottomless, a portal to nowhere.
Bray is where I live; it's a seaside resort. It's a nice place to walk up there and stuff, on the coast. There's crosses along on top of it.
house at Otowi Bridge.
There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
I am the place where two rivers meet, silted with upheaval and loss.
And soon I'll return to the white rose of Yorkshire, where the sky bathes my soul with a watering can.
Smile for the camera, pretty little Sydney Tar Ponds.
After a torrential rain. Acadia and her
I love The Inn at Palmetto Bluff, an Auberge Property in Bluffton, South Carolina. It's a spectacular corner of the world, with massive old trees lined with Spanish moss, and alligators swimming in the river.
In the stream.- Mighty waters draw much stone and rubble along with them; mighty spirits many stupid and bewildered heads.
The rising world of waters dark and deep.
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, That thro' my waters play ...
Grew up in Stapleton House village, where blood flood the waters in the streets like oil spillage
Do you know where Laoghaire is?
Sugartown Sugartown Sugartown Sugartown.
What can be handsomer for a picture than our river scenery now? Take this view from the first Conantum Cliff.
on the outskirts of Johnson
Irish-sparkle-fish,-- Anne Eliot
I love the water; it inspires me, even if it is dirty London water that I look at.
Water, water, everywhere, Atlantic and Pacific. But New York City's got them beat, Our aqua is terrific!
Thunder Point, Oregon, because
Wherever the trout are, it's beautiful.
I live on the Jellicoe Road. Where trees make canopies over-head and where you can sit at the top of them and see forever.
I love Coos Bay, and I love Acid!
You also live in Holmenkollen?' 'Close by. Or quite close by. Bislett.
Aberdeen, a city in the northern reaches of HSBC-London. Their
Nighttown, because the Pit's inverted, and the bottom of its bowl touches the sky, the sky that Nighttown never sees, sweating under its own firmament of acrylic resin, up where the Lo Teks crouch in the dark like gargoyles,
Ireland, Ireland. That cloud in the west, that coming storm.
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.
Lake Wobegon, the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.
twenty miles of the sea. My
Here, are the stiffening hills, here, the rich cargo
Congealed in the dark arteries,
Old veins
That hold Glamorgan's blood.
The midnight miner in the secret seams,
Limb, life, and bread.
- Rhondda Valley
neighborhood - his name's pronounced 'Kirry,' but it's spelt 'C-i-r-e.'
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
Goldsboro, North Carolina.
Here by the Canal, a g - A hand closed around Eddie's
How very wet this water is.
Over the wine-dark sea.
the middle of the guest room at the Blue Lake Historical
From where it came and to where it goes, I wish I knew, like the river knows.
The pale water which goes away along paths of silence.
Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwallader inquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers. With
For the bored souls, sometimes sea is the best answer!
You want to know my name?
a hill, a tree. An empty drifting boat.
I found my destination a few miles outside Swelling: a lone, squat, brown bar called The Inn of the Line...The place looked like a dive. Maybe even a plunge. Hell, it was a drowning accident.
A cold, miserable little hamlet on the eastern coast of America called Piper's Grave.
Swells, Marina? we ocean, depths, Marina? we sky!
How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice ...
I grew up in a place called Malahide, which is by the water and is beautifully quiet, leafy, and part serene.
After an exhilarating whitewater ride through America's love-hate relationship with its rivers, Daniel McCool leaves us inspired and hopeful for a happy ending.
Moorcroft with a small pasture
My favourite place in the world - the south beach at Aberystwyth -has a sewage outfall pipe on it
The clear water the color of deeply steeped tea, surrounded by cattails and gracile grasses.
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?
The river that never run Dry, always have a generous amend to flourish
Somerset is where I call home, and where I feel most myself.
Northern San Diego. The white stucco walls rose, interrupted by huge windows. The whole structure nearly floated off the pavement, sleek, modern, and somehow light, almost delicate. The salt-spiced wind blowing from the coast less than a mile away only strengthened the illusion. He'd
Pauling Light - a natural sky phenomenon located near Watersmeet, Michigan.
The water in the drains below the cobbles muttered.
Cresington Lane, There's an old public toilet with an old broken
The headwaters of Shit Creek are a cruel and treacherous expanse.
Don't go chasin'waterfalls,stIck to the rivers and lakes that you're used to
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
Caballine likes me to be masterful. She calls me her stallion.
The Xanthus or Scamander is not a mere dry channel and bed of a mountain torrent, but fed by the ever-flowing springs of fame ...
and I trust that I may be allowed to associate our muddy but much abused Concord River with the most famous in history.
Harbour Island in the Bahamas is beautiful, with turquoise water and pink sand.
There are natures that go to the streams of life in great cities as the hart goes to the water brooks.
There are few places in England where you can get so much wildness and desolation of sea and sandhills, wood, green marsh and grey saltings as at Wells in Norfolk.
I notice I may have somehow mixed up two events, my visit with Rita to Briceland on our way to Cantrip, and our passing through Briceland again on our way back to New York, but such suffusions of swimming colors are not to be disdained by the artist in recollection.
Beyond the slumpstone wall lay a backyard, a swimming pool. Dappled with morning light and tree shadows, the water glimmered in shades of blue from sapphire to turquoise, as might a trove of jewels left by long-dead pirates who had sailed a sea since vanished.
Well, there's the water company. I mean, we sell water. And we have water, and it's a very successful, you know, it's a private little water company, and I supply the water for all my places, and it's good. But it's very good.
What a boon to live on the water! Such delicious shades and hues! This is a template worthy of the greatest painters. The textures of sand and stone could inspire incomparable sculptures, and the sounds - the steady lapping of the waves, the sweet chirping of the birds, make this a sanctuary.
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.
The tender Evenlode that makes Her meadows hush to hear the sound Of waters mingling in the brakes, And binds my heart to English ground. A lovely river, all alone, She lingers in the hills and holds A hundred little towns of stone, Forgotten in the western wolds.
the large buckets about the
Shropshire, the fatlands of Gloucestershire,
The town of GUILDFORD, which (taken with its environs) I, who have seen so many, many towns, think the prettiest, and, taken all together, the most agreeable and most happy-looking, that I ever saw in my life.
...They called the lake Bob. Don't ask me why. "Gonna go sit by Bob," someone would say, or "Bob looks like hell this morning.
I live in a market town in a mill house with the river running both sides and Somerfield's car park only a loose nine iron away, and I really, really, really love it.
Take heede of still waters, the quick passe away.
Have you got a brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so?
Usually I get recognized for The Blue Lagoon or Dallas.
Streets full of water. Please Advise.
Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain.
Darkening sea full of stirred silt and clouds of minute
Mellingey Stream
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay"
"Well, I'm sorry, my son, but you're too late in asking
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away.