Lakes Quotes - Page 5

I bought my wife a new car. She called and said, "There is water in the carburetor." I said, "Where's the car?" She said, "In the lake."

It is difficult to understand why statisticians commonly limit their inquiries to Averages, and do not revel in more comprehensive views. Their souls seem as dull to the charm of variety as that of the native of one of our flat English counties, whose retrospect of Switzerland was that, if its mountains could be thrown into its lakes, two nuisances would be got rid of at once.

Life, according to Zen, ought to be lived as a bird flies through the air, or as a fish swims in the water.

You can't say enough about fishing. Though the sport of kings, it's just what the deadbeat ordered.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat.

When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.

Many of the most highly publicized events of my presidency are not nearly as memorable or significant in my life as fishing with my daddy.

We have nearly complete misunderstanding between people of different faiths in Lake Wobegon, and that's probably one reason why we get along so very well. It's when you are trying to convince another person to think the same way that you do that there is friction and trouble between people. But when you feel that the other person is dumber than dirt, too dumb for words - why waste your breath - you get along pretty well. There's no bond between people that's quite so strong as when people each feel slightly superior towards the other one.

Better try to stay wide awake, or you might end up found dead by the lake.

A facade of skyscrapers facing a lake and behind the facade, every type of dubiousness.

So, when I say 'match the hatch', if the fish are taking the nymph, and you're actually producing a replica of a flying insect, you'll catch fresh air.

Floating in a lake, lying in a hammock, playing a bit of Scrabble...that's what I'm in need of.

Trout aren't naturally as selective as they've become in crowded tailwaters - they've been trained to be like that by too much fishing pressure. I've seen tailwater fish that are so hysterical they'll refuse naturals. You wonder how they get enough to eat.

A fisherman is always hopeful -- nearly always more hopeful than he has any right to be.

It's hard to explaining exactly what happened, but I felt in that moment that the divine, however we may choose to define such a thing, surely dwells as much in the concrete and taxi cabs as it does in the rivers, lakes, and mountains. Grace, I realized, is neither time nor place dependent. All we need is the right soundtrack.

We've all got troubles. We all make mistakes. But let's not take a little river turn it into lake.

Doubt not but angling will prove to be so pleasant that it will prove to be, like virtue, a reward to itself.

Lake Wobegon, the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.

Big fish eat small fish with as much right as they have power.

Turning points in my life... the bush, the trails, lakes, waterfalls... moving camp from one wonderful lake to another... the companionship of a great individual, a wonder with canoe, axe and fish line.

Capo, my first golden retriever, so loved to swim she once jumped off a cliff to get into Lake Superior.

All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.

It is utterly soothing to fly fish for trout. All other considerations or worries drift away and you couldn't keep them close if you wanted. Perhaps it's standing thigh deep in a river with the water passing at the exact but varying speed of life. You easily recognize this mortality and it dissipates into the landscape.

Ye monsters of the bubbling deep, Your Maker's praises spout; Up from the sands ye codlings peep, And wag your tails about.

In the night ride across the Wular lake a small storm made me worry for the safety of my manuscript (Rajatarangini). It seemed as if the goddess of wisdom - Sharada, represented by waters of Kashmir, was unwilling to let me abduct the manuscript. This is what happened 1200 years ago to the Chinese pilgrim Hiuen-Tsang, who had to leave his Sanskrit manuscript in the angry Indus River.