Gills Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
if-i-were-man-with-gills-i-would-be-fish
crabs-can-live-on-land-as-long-as-they-keep-their-gills-moist
writing-is-like-breathing-underwater-its-really-hard-to-do-unless-you-can-imagine-yourself-nice-set-gills-alane-adams
she-had-gills-while-other-people-were-breathing-with-lungs-there-was-however-no-point-in-dwelling-on-it-as-it-was-too-later-to-grow-up-differently-sonja-yoerg
ocean-a-body-of-water-occupying-about-twothirds-of-a-world-made-for-man-who-has-no-gills
ocean-n-a-body-water-occupying-about-twothirds-world-made-for-man-who-has-no-gills-ambrose-bierce
i-would-like-nice-powerful-mindaltering-substance-preferably-one-that-will-make-my-unborn-children-grow-gills-parker-posey
neither-does-man-have-gills-for-living-in-water-environment-yet-it-is-not-sinful-to-explore-depths-oceans-in-search-food-other-blessings-walter-lang
there-can-be-little-doubt-that-fishes-swimming-rapidly-do-not-make-respiratory-movements-at-all-but-obtain-necessary-ventilation-gills-simply-by-opening-mouth
because-im-not-in-fact-depressed-prozac-makes-me-manic-numb-one-reasons-i-slice-my-arm-in-first-place-is-that-im-coked-to-gills-on-something-utterly-wrong-for-what-i-have-marya-h
just-behind-his-jaw-bones-tiny-movement-was-perceptible-like-movement-gills-in-fish-john-collier
if-love-wants-you-if-youve-been-melted-down-to-stars-you-will-love-with-lungs-gills-with-feathers-scales-with-warm-blood-cold-anne-michaels
i-definitely-prefer-intimate-crowds-i-mean-those-are-always-best-shows-like-small-venue-packed-to-gills-hot-sweaty-those-are-always-fun-shows-yelawolf
i-better-understood-little-lies-that-liquor-told-lifting-spirits-drowning-sorrows-while-withholding-whole-truththat-in-end-it-is-spirit-in-peril-drowning-sorrows-have-gills-charl
big-cities-have-lot-younger-brothers-who-have-left-traditional-parts-world-their-families-for-more-liberal-lifestyle-but-cities-are-filled-to-timothy-keller
Traveling on, the shaft of his light reached now a great, dully shining oblong, and he stopped, surprised. Then, through the glass sides, he saw bright shapes of fish wheel in schools down the opaque water, startled by the illumination. Coming at last, and so suddenly, on life like his own, Mr. Lecky moved closer. The fixed flood of his light enveloped these small fish dimly, glowed back on him. They came sliding, drifting, mouths in motion, gills rippling, up the light, against the glass. Their senseless round eyes stared at Mr. Lecky. Idling with great grace, the extravagant products of selective breeding - fringetails, Korean, calico - passed, swayed about, came languidly back. Moving faster, stub-finned, crop-tailed danios from the Malabar coast appeared, hovered, taking the light on their fat flanks, now spotted, now iridescent pearl or opal. Seeing so many of them, so eager and attentive, Mr. Lecky felt an unexpected compunction. He was their only proprietor; and soon, trapped unnaturally here in the big tank, they would starve to death. His light went back to a counter he had just passed, showing him again the half-noticed packages - food for birds and pet animals, food, too, for fish. Returning to the tank, his light found many of the fish still waiting, the rest rushing back. He went and took a package, tore the top off, and poured the contents onto the rectangle of open water. It would perhaps postpone the time when, having eaten each other, the sick remainder must die anyway.

James Gould Cozzens
traveling-on-shaft-his-light-reached-now-great-dully-shining-oblong-he-stopped-surprised-then-through-glass-sides-he-saw-bright-shapes-fish-wheel-in-schools-down-opaque-water-sta
The greatest mystery the universe offers is not life but size. Size encompasses life, and the Tower encompasses size. The child, who is most at home with wonder, says: Daddy, what is above the sky? And the father says: The darkness of space. The child: What is beyond space? The father: The galaxy. The child: Beyond the galaxy? The father: Another galaxy. The child: Beyond the other galaxies? The father: No one knows. You see? Size defeats us. For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness? Where huge bipeds with no gills stuff it into a suffocating box and cover it with wet weeds to die? Or one might take the tip of the pencil and magnify it. One reaches the point where a stunning realization strikes home: The pencil tip is not solid; it is composed of atoms which whirl and revolve like a trillion demon planets. What seems solid to us is actually only a loose net held together by gravity. Viewed at their actual size, the distances between these atoms might become league, gulfs, aeons. The atoms themselves are composed of nuclei and revolving protons and electrons. One may step down further to subatomic particles. And then to what? Tachyons? Nothing? Of course not. Everything in the universe denies nothing; to suggest an ending is the one absurdity. If you fell outward to the limit of the universe, would you find a board fence and signs reading DEAD END? No. You might find something hard and rounded, as the chick must see the egg from the inside. And if you should peck through the shell (or find a door), what great and torrential light might shine through your opening at the end of space? Might you look through and discover our entire universe is but part of one atom on a blade of grass? Might you be forced to think that by burning a twig you incinerate an eternity of eternities? That existence rises not to one infinite but to an infinity of them?

Stephen King
the-greatest-mystery-universe-offers-is-not-life-but-size-size-encompasses-life-tower-encompasses-size-the-child-who-is-most-at-home-with-wonder-says-daddy-what-is-above-sky-and-
And under the cicadas, deeper down that the longest taproot, between and beneath the rounded black rocks and slanting slabs of sandstone in the earth, ground water is creeping. Ground water seeps and slides, across and down, across and down, leaking from here to there, minutely at a rate of a mile a year. What a tug of waters goes on! There are flings and pulls in every direction at every moment. The world is a wild wrestle under the grass; earth shall be moved. What else is going on right this minute while ground water creeps under my feet? The galaxy is careening in a slow, muffled widening. If a million solar systems are born every hour, then surely hundreds burst into being as I shift my weight to the other elbow. The sun's surface is now exploding; other stars implode and vanish, heavy and black, out of sight. Meteorites are arcing to earth invisibly all day long. On the planet, the winds are blowing: the polar easterlies, the westerlies, the northeast and southeast trades. Somewhere, someone under full sail is becalmed, in the horse latitudes, in the doldrums; in the northland, a trapper is maddened, crazed, by the eerie scent of the chinook, the sweater, a wind that can melt two feet of snow in a day. The pampero blows, and the tramontane, and the Boro, sirocco, levanter, mistral. Lick a finger; feel the now. Spring is seeping north, towards me and away from me, at sixteen miles a day. Along estuary banks of tidal rivers all over the world, snails in black clusters like currants are gliding up and down the stems of reed and sedge, migrating every moment with the dip and swing of tides. Behind me, Tinker Mountain is eroding one thousandth of an inch a year. The sharks I saw are roving up and down the coast. If the sharks cease roving, if they still their twist and rest for a moment, they die. They need new water pushed into their gills; they need dance. Somewhere east of me, on another continent, it is sunset, and starlings in breathtaking bands are winding high in the sky to their evening roost. The mantis egg cases are tied to the mock-orange hedge; within each case, within each egg, cells elongate, narrow, and split; cells bubble and curve inward, align, harden or hollow or stretch. And where are you now?

Annie Dillard
and-under-cicadas-deeper-down-that-longest-taproot-between-beneath-rounded-black-rocks-slanting-slabs-sandstone-in-earth-ground-water-is-creeping-ground-water-seeps-slides-across
A cloud in the sky suddenly lighted as if turned on by a switch; its reflection just as suddenly materialized on the water upstream, flat and floating, so that I couldn't see the creek bottom, or life in the water under the cloud. Downstream, away from the cloud on the water, water turtles smooth as beans were gliding down with the current. I didn't know whether to trace the progress of one turtle... or scan the mud bank in hope of seeing a muskrat, or follow the last of the swallows who caught at my heart and trailed it after them... But shadows spread, and deepened, and stayed. Things were going on. I couldn't see whether that sere rustle I heard was a distant rattlesnake, slit-eyed, or a nearby sparrow kicking at debris... Tremendous action roiled the water everywhere I looked, big action, inexplicable... At last I stared upstream where only the deepest violet remained of the cloud, a cloud so high its underbelly still glowed feeble color from a hidden sky lighted in turn by sun halfway to China. And out of that violet, a sudden enormous black body arced over the water. I saw only a cylindrical sleekness. Head and tail, if there was a head and tail, were both submerged in a cloud. I saw only one ebony fling, a headlong dive to darkness; then the waters closed and the lights went out. I walked home in a shivering daze, uphill and down. Later I lay open-mouthed in bed, my arms flung wide at my sides to steady the whirling darkness. At this latitude I'm spinning 836 miles an hour round the earth's axis; I often fancy I feel my sweeping fall as a breakneck arc like the dive of dolphins, and the hollow rushing of wind raises hair on my neck and the side of my face. In orbit around the sun I'm moving 64,800 miles an hour. The solar system as a whole, like a merry-go-round unhinged, spins, bobs, and blinks at the speed of 43,200 miles an hour along a course set east of Hercules. Someone has piped, and we are dancing a tarantella until the sweat pours. I open my eyes and I see dark, muscled forms curl out of water, with flapping gills and flattened eyes. I close my eyes and I see stars, deep stars giving way to deeper stars, deeper stars bowing to deepest stars at the crown on an infinite cone.

Annie Dillard
a-cloud-in-sky-suddenly-lighted-as-if-turned-on-by-switch-its-reflection-just-as-suddenly-materialized-on-water-upstream-flat-floating-that-i-couldnt-see-creek-bottom-life-in-wat
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