Atlantic Ocean Quotes

“One of the most astounding places elms grow is on Canna, a remote Hebridean island with a valuable safe harbour for sailors (my summer obsession). There is nothing to the south-west of Canna except a few thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean, and that's the prevailing wind direction, scouring the island with salt-laden rain and gales. Yet here I find a craggy slope swathed in elms, sculpted by the wind into wedges, repeatedly clipped to the distinctive wind-raked shape of the slope. In mid-July, the trees were in full leaf and thriving, and underneath the triangular canopy the ancient trunks were chunky and strong. They must have been hunkering there in the teeth of the wind for centuries. Here was a perfect example of elm's toughness and ability to survive the ravages of severe weather.”
― Mandy Haggith, The Lost Elms: A Love Letter to Our Vanished Trees – and the Fight to Save Them

“Kwa vile hatasamehewa, Shetani hatawasamehe wanadamu. Atahakikisha anauwa kila mtu duniani na kumpeleka kuzimu; ambako anaishi yeye, majini, malaika waovu, wana wa Mungu waliotumwa na Mungu kuja duniani kufundisha watu utukufu lakini wakaasi na Mungu akawalaani (au Wanefili) pamoja na nguva. Nguva ni uzao wa Wanefili na samaki wa baharini na malaika wauvu na wanapatikana zaidi katika Bahari ya Atlantiki, ambako mkuu wake ni Malkia wa Pwani, na katika Bahari ya Hindi ambako mkuu wake ni Malkia wa Bahari ya Hindi. Chini ya Bahari ya Hindi ndipo yalipo makao makuu ya ufalme wa giza hapa duniani.”
― Enock Maregesi

“There were very few things to do in Toms River, New Jersey, however it was the closest thing resembling civilization near the school. When I wasn’t being restricted to the campus, for one infraction or another, that’s where I would go. Toms River was two and a half miles west of the school. Making the round trip was a five-mile walk, but it was worth it, just to get away. To get there I walked down Prospect Avenue, and then cut corners to Bayside Avenue. In the winter, the frozen snow and ice made the walk cold and miserable. There was always a wind blowing off the river, but I would trudge on relentlessly. The wet slush soaked through my shoes, ruining a shine I had worked on for hours. My feet became wet and frozen, but I pressed on regardless. Eventually I would reach Route 166, which was narrow and only had two lanes; still it was the only north-south highway along the coast at the time. I then crossed the concrete bridge that had a year engraved on it, indicating that it was built as a WPA project during the Great Depression. On the west side of the road was the Toms River Diner. It was classic in appearance and was a warm haven, where I could thaw out. Thelma, the waitress, was always friendly and one of the sexiest women I ever knew. She laughed at my silliness, knew just how much cleavage to show, and moved and turned like a fashion model. There was always “Country Music” playing, especially that of Hank Williams who was Thelma’s favorite. Hey, Good Lookin’, Your Cheatin’ Heart, and I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry were all songs he had written and that she sang along with. Thelma knew that I could not keep my eyes off of her, and she enjoyed playing the part, letting me look far down the unbuttoned section of her waitress uniform, while pouring me another cup of coffee. The way she looked over her shoulder, throwing aside her hair while asking what else I wanted, would send shivers down my back and feelings into my loins that set me on fire. Just this alone was worth the five-mile round trip. During warmer weather, the walk was more pleasant, but the constant wind off the Atlantic Ocean and the river, never let up.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater One"

“We did not sail across the Atlantic -- we stitched our way across.”
― Mike Saunders, The Walkabouts : A Family at Sea

“Bride is kept prisoner all winter in Ben Nevis, where she awaits her rescuer, Aengus of the White Steed, Aengus the Ever-young, who has his home in the green island of perpetual summer that drifts about on the silver tide of the Atlantic. Aengus beholds Bride in a dream and sets out to succour her, riding on his milk-white steed with flowing mane, over the Isles and over the Minch. The Cailleach strives in vain to keep them apart, and the Day of Bride celebrates their union.”
― F. Marian McNeill, The Silver Bough