#wate

I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you. ↗

— John Green

#hazel-grace #john-green #love #tfios #love

Love lets us ride on its back as if it were a camel. But you’ve got to water it, or it won’t grow into a healthy rose bush. 
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#health #healthy #love #nonsense #ride

And he has tried to swim that stream, And he swam on both strong and steady, But the river was wide and strength did fail, And never more he'll see his Annie. And woe betide the willow wan, And woe betide the bush and briar, For they broke beneath her true love's hand, When strength did fail and limbs did tire. ↗

— Kate Thompson

#kate-thompson #love

I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling. ↗

— Sara Gruen

#gruen #water-for-elephants #men

Sussman had the ability to seize facts and lock them in his memory, where they remained poised for instants recall. More than any other editor at the Post, or Bernstein and Woodward, Sussman became a walking compendium of Watergate knowledge, a reference source to be summoned when even the library failed. On a deadline, he would pump these facts into a story in a constant infusion, working up a body of significant information to support what otherwise seemed like the weakest of revelations. In Sussman's mind, everything fitted. Watergate was a puzzle and he was a collector of the pieces. -- Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward ↗

— Carl Bernstein

#watergate #men

The buckets emptied quickly, and men from different squads took turns bringing water from the gully that lay towards the city, where, in the feeble shade of emaciated mulberries, a muddy stream lived out its last days in the diabolical heat. ↗

— Mikhail Bulgakov

#heat #water #men

All the mega corporations on the planet make their obscene profits off the labor and suffering of others, with complete disregard for the effects on the workers, environment, and future generations. As with the banking sector, they play games with the lives of millions, hysterically reject any kind of government intervention when the profits are rolling in, but are quick to pass the bill for the cleanup and the far-reaching consequences of these avoidable tragedies to the public when things go wrong. We have a straightforward proposal: if they want public money, we want public control. It's that simple. ↗

— Michael Hureaux-Perez

#capitalism #corporations #deepwater #economic-interventionism #environment

Owls hoot in B flat, cuckoos in D, but the water ousel sings in the voice of the stream. She builds her nest back of the waterfalls so the water is a lullaby to the little ones. Must be where they learn it. ↗

— Karen Joy Fowler

#cuckoo #music #owl #song #water-ousel

And there, on that road, that very minute, he started to play - the most lonesome music that them priests ever in their lives heard. It brought water out o' their teeth, so it did. ↗

— Eddie Lenihan

#faery #fairy #priest #teeth #water

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into light. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #grimace #impersonal #impossible #light