Craniums At The Beach Quotes

#1. It's not just the look, the cost, and the time involved in putting sunscreen on a child, it's the battle. My kids have no idea why they would have to wait to have fun while they are smeared with chemicals all over their face and body. They scream. They cry. "It burns!" The process of applying sunscreen just highlights the preposterousness of raising pale kids on a planet that revolves around a hot burning star that emits poisonous UV rays. I can never tell if the concerned looks from strangers are because they think I am torturing my children or because I am dressed like an out-of-shape Superman at the beach. Does anyone know where I can get a red swim cape? #Quote by Jim Gaffigan

#2. How people's faces turned slightly upward when they stared at the sea, as if they were straining to see a trace of God or were hearing the silent humming of the universe; she would notice how, at the beach, people's faces became soft and wistful, reminding her of the expressions on the faces of the sweet old dogs that roamed the streets of Bombay. As if they were all sniffing the salty air for transcendence, for something that would allow them to escape the familiar prisons of their own skin. #Quote by Thrity Umrigar

#3. You can read a lot about a country by looking at its beaches: across cultures, the beach is that rare public space in which all absurdities and quirky national behaviors can be found, #Quote by Martin Parr

#4. You are burnt beyond recognition, he added, looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her fingers. He sent back an answering smile. #Quote by Kate Chopin

#5. My room was in one of those turrets and at night I could hear the sea and the faint rustle of eelgrass in the soft wind. The weather was perfect that summer. No storms. Blue skies and just the right amount of wind every day. The sailors were in heaven. #Quote by Katherine Hall Page

#6. kicked off my flip-flops and dug my feet into the sand. It was what we did in the Lowcountry when we found ourselves alone on the beach. We would sit, stare at the water, kick off our shoes, and dig our feet into the sand to stay cool. With the ocean rolling all around me, I could look at life from different angles. The sky gradually gave up its blanket of deep gray to pale blue with golden edges of light, erasing the last traces of night. And over the next half hour or so, the sky would become brilliant blue again. The water changed from deep steel to sparkling navy as the morning sun climbed into position and another day began. On #Quote by Dorothea Benton Frank

#7. I was in bed at my beach house, but could not sleep because of some fried chicken in the icebox that I felt entitled to. I waited till my wife dropped off, and tiptoed into the kitchen. I remembered looking at the clock. It was precisely four-fifteen. I'm quite certain of this, because our kitchen clock has not worked in twenty-one years and is always at that time. I also noticed that our dog, Judas, was acting funny. He was sanding up on his hind legs and singing, 'I Enjoy Being a Girl.' Suddenly the room turned bright orange. At first, I thought my wife had caught me eating between meals and set fire to the house. Then I looked out the window, where to my amazement I saw a gigantic cigar-shaped aircraft hovering just over the treetops in the yard and emitting an orange glow. I stood transfixed for what must have been several hours, though our clock still read four-fifteen, so it was difficult to tell. Finally, a large, mechanical claw extended from the aircraft and snatched the two pieces of chicken from my hand and quickly retreated. When I reported the incident to the Air Force, they told me that what I had seen was a flock of birds. When I protested, Colonel Quincy Bascomb personally promised that the Air Force would return the two pieces of chicken. To this day, I have only received one piece. #Quote by Woody Allen

#8. At least

I want to get up early one more morning,
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of the other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the Strait from every
seafaring country in the world -
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut the water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another one up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy - I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what's going to happen. #Quote by Raymond Carver

#9. The anthropologist must relinquish his comfortable position in the long chair on the veranda of the missionary compound, Government station, or planter's bungalow, where, armed with pencil and notebook and at times with a whisky and soda, he has been accustomed to collect statements from informants ... He must go out into the villages, and see the natives at work in gardens, on the beach, in the jungle; he must sail with them to distant sandbanks and to foreign tribes. #Quote by Bronislaw Malinowski

#10. People say the beach is the great equaliser
Who are they kidding?
Sit at Bondi and watch the boys flex
And the girls walk bolt upright
It looks like a nightmare episode of Baywatch.
The true equaliser is the mountain cold
And stacks of cold flung together
Maybe then we'd listen to what each other is saying
Instead of checking out the best bods.
And as I wrap another layer
Around my Size 10
I think of Jack's favourite saying:
"today's tan is tomorrow's cancer"
I walk outside
And whistle at the wind. #Quote by Steven Herrick

#11. Her caramel skin and curly beach sand hair spreads in wavy chops like the choppy storm waves on the ocean. Her fluffy rose colored lips glisten with eyes emerald green and almond shaped set deep into her face and yet when she looks at you with those same deep set eyes, it feels like they jump out, speaking to you. #Quote by Ami Blackwelder

#12. I show up in my writing room at approximately 10 A.M. every morning without fail. Sometimes my muse sees fit to join me there and sometimes she doesn't, but she always knows where I'll be. She doesn't need to go hunting in the taverns or on the beach or drag the boulevard looking for me. #Quote by Tom Robbins

#13. She's selling CDs on the corner,
fifty cents to any stoner,
any homeboy with a boner.

Sleet and worse - the weather's awful.
Will she live? It's very doubtful.
Life out here is never healthful.

She puts a CD in her Sony.
It's the about the pony
and a pie with pepperoni

and a mom with warm, clean hands
who doesn't bring home guys from bands
or make some sickening demands.

The cold wind bites like icy snakes.
She tries to move but merely shakes.
Some thief leans down and simply takes.

Her next CD's called Land Of Food.
No one there can be tattooed
or mumble things that might be crude

and everything to eat is free,
there's always a big Christmas tree
and crystal bowls of potpourri.

She's weak but still she play one more:
She's on a beach with friends galore.
They scamper down the sandy shore

to watch the towering waves cascade
and marvel at the cute mermaids
who call to her and serenade.

She can't resist. the water's fine.
The rocks are like a kind of shrine.
The foam goes down like scarlet wine.

One cop stands up and says, "She's gone."
The other shakes his head and yawns.
It's barely 10:00, and life goes on. #Quote by Ron Koertge

#14. When you're in love, the world is brighter. Sunnier. The air smells flowerier, and your hair is silkier, and suddenly you find yourself smiling at babies and strangers and old couples walking down the beach holding hands. #Quote by Jess Rothenberg

#15. Excerpted From Chapter Eighteen
Pacific Coast Highway ends with a sharp right turn onto Sepulveda. Approaching that intersection, I saw several cars pulled to the shoulder of the road and two fresh, black skid marks leading straight to the edge of the beach beyond Sepulveda. Halfway between the road and the water, a big red Caddy convertible lay upside down on the sand.
I parked and jogged to the wreckage. The windshield and the cloth top had collapsed, so the car was resting on its hood and trunk lid. A young man in swimming trunks and an older fellow in a suit were pulling at the driver's side door, trying to get it open. The twisted metal was resisting their efforts, but the door finally came loose just as I got there. Through the opening I could see Diana Dean sprawled across the shredded remains of her convertible top. From where I stood, she looked to be in about the same shape as her mangled red Caddy. Maybe worse. #Quote by H.P. Oliver

#16. Her maternal feelings were unlikely to be assuaged by hearing that the marriage had been performed in the middle of the night on a West Indian beach by a disgraced - if not actually defrocked - priest, witnessed by twenty-five seamen, ten French horses, a small flock of sheep - all gaily beribboned in honor of the occasion - and a King Charles spaniel, who added to the generally festive feeling by attempting to copulate with Murphy's wooden leg at every opportunity. The only thing that could make things worse, in Laoghaire's view, would be to hear that I had participated in the ceremony. #Quote by Diana Gabaldon

#17. It's good to get your hands dirty a bit and to test how you see things at a given point. And it's very pleasing after writing something like 'Atonement' or 'On Chesil Beach,' which are historical, to get involved in some plausible re-enactment of the here and now. #Quote by Ian McEwan

#18. We play at the world's most beautiful beaches but in the world's most challenging conditions. It is not like you play one match and you go back to air conditioning. We do it all day long. #Quote by Karch Kiraly

#19. CHAPTER 1:

Fourteen year old Augustus Tomlin's day started out just like any other - normally. He got out of bed, dressed, brushed his teeth, then headed for the kitchen to join his adoptive parents, Earl and Marge for breakfast. This was the first day of their vacation, and admittedly, Augie (as he liked to be called) wasn't as excited about it as he would've been had Earl and Marge decided to take them all to Disneyland instead, because firstly, he'd been dealing with a paralyzing fear of water all of his life, and secondly, they were staying in a cabin on an isolated stretch of beach in the Florida Keys. Nevertheless, there was no way for Augie to know just then that by the end of the day he'd be traveling in an under-sea carriage drawn by four of the most incredible creatures he'd ever laid eyes upon, heading for destinations untold somewhere at the bottom of the ocean at a million miles an hour. #Quote by Sean J. Quirk

#20. Stretched to infinity,
the sea appeared as a blue metallic skin,
drawn tight and taut
over the face of the world
and tinged orange at its far edges
by a low-hanging sun,
glowing like a tangerine cut wide open.
As the sea broached the shore,
small waves squeezed out from the depths
and spilled, surged and scoured the beach.
Memories of our love,
holding you in my arms
on that the shifting shore,
made everything feel so right,
so whole,
as if we were always made to be together.
Our love holds fast even now,
despite the long shifting shoreline
of our lives.
(together) #Quote by Jeffrey A. White

#21. What's Toraf's favorite color?"
She shrugs. "Whatever I tell him it is."
I raise a brow at her. "Don't know, huh?"
She crosses her arms. "Who cares anyway? We're not painting his toenails."
"I think what's she's trying to say, honey bunches, is that maybe you should paint your nails his favorite color, to show him you're thinking about him," Rachel says, seasoning her words with tact.
Rayna sets her chin. "Emma doesn't paint her nails Galen's favorite color."
Startled that Galen has a favorite color and I don't know it, I say, "Uh, well, he doesn't like nail polish." That is to say, he's never mentioned it before.
When a brilliant smile lights up her whole face, I know I've been busted. "You don't know his favorite color!" she says, actually pointing at me.
"Yes, I do," I say, searching Rachel's face for the answer. She shrugs.
Rayna's smirk is the epitome of I know something you don't know. Smacking it off her face is my first reflex, but I hold back, as I always do, because of the kiss I shared with Toraf and the way it hurt her. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with that same expression she had on the beach, and I feel like fungus, even though she deserved it at the time.
Refusing to fold, I eye the buffet of nail polish scattered before me. Letting my fingers roam over the bottles, I shop the paints, hoping one of them stands out to me. To save my life, I can't think of any one color he wears more often. He doesn't have #Quote by Anna Banks

#22. He loved her manner of sleepy acquiescence when they lay on the beach at dusk. He drew solace and sedation from her nearness. He had a craving to touch her always, to remain always in physical communication. He liked to encircle her ankle loosely with his fingers...to lightly and lovingly caress the downy skin of her fair, smooth thigh with the backs of his nails or dreamily, sensuously, almost unconsciously, slide his proprietary, respectful hand up the shell-like ridge of her spine...

...she was puzzled by the convulsive ecstasy men could take from [her body], by the intense and amazing need they had merely to touch it, to reach out urgently and press it, squeeze it, rub it...

...It thrilled Nurse Duckett rapturously that Yossarian could not keep his hand off her when they were together.

She loved to look at his wide, long, sinewy back with its bronzed, unblemished skin. She loved to bring him to flame instantly by taking his whole ear in her mouth suddenly and running her hand down his front all the way. She loved to make him burn and suffer till dark, then satisfy him. Then kiss him adoringly because she had brought him such bliss. #Quote by Joseph Heller

#23. T.S. Eliot, who learned to swim at the same beach as I did, just threw in the towel and moved to Cheyne Walk. I'm not going to do that but I'm not scared of the open channel between me and Britain. #Quote by William Monahan

#24. I directed fourteen movies. Every movie had Hector Elizondo. He didn't like Beaches. I don't know, it was originally not a happy movie at all, it was much sadder than that. And they brought me in to kind of make it a little more 'warm', I guess you might call it. The original ending was a whole messy thing. #Quote by Garry Marshall

#25. A man is an increasingly hard thing to find. We live in a society of boys - twenty-, thirty-, forty-, fifty-, and sixty-year-old boys. Many guys today seem to have the goal of maintaining a junior-high mentality all the way through life. The ultimate in life seems to be to retire, still a boy. I suggest there is virtually no difference between the shuffle board courts of St. Petersburg, Florida, and the parties at Daytona Beach. The proof of my suggestion is that those playing shuffleboard would be at Daytona Beach if they were fifty ears younger. They've not developed into men at all; they've just gotten older. #Quote by David A. Dewitt

#26. Honey, what happened to your arm?" Rita frowned, reached over, and ran her fingers across the bruises. "Both of them!" she added, noticing the other arm. The sleeves of her cover-up had ridden up. Meridith pulled them down. "Oh. It's nothing. A guest caught me by surprise last night." "What? Did he attack you, Meridith?" "Sort of, but Jake came and, well, kind of punched him, and everything's fine now." "Jake . . . ?" "The contractor I told you about." "Oh, right. Thank God he was there! Did you call the police?" "No. Jake booted him and his friends from the house." "But are you okay? You must have been terrified!" Meridith nodded. "I was. I was so relieved when Jake showed up. It was late at night, and I was alone on the beach - won't do that again." She gave a dry laugh. "I'm just glad you're okay. This Jake guy seems like quite the hero." She'd only vocalized what Meridith had been thinking. "We're lucky to have him around. #Quote by Denise Hunter

#27. Sometimes, during the lonely hours on the control deck, Bowman would listen to this radiation. He would turn up the gain until the room filled with a crackling, hissing roar; out of this background, at irregular intervals, emerged brief whistles and peeps like the cries of demented birds. It was an eerie sound, for it had nothing to do with Man; it was as lonely and meaningless as the murmur of waves on a beach, or the distant crash of thunder beyond the horizon. #Quote by Arthur C. Clarke

#28. We move out over the ocean, and …I am looking straight down at the waves underneath me. The mid-morning sun is low and each crest flashes silver, silver, until it crashed into the rocky beach….and turns to foam. The rocks are broken into sand, and each grain …eventually…is broken down further.
And as each grief crashes into us, we are broken too. We are rendered down and broken apart. Maybe some scientist could determine our ages by the size and number of pieces into which we've been broken? Maybe she could look at our pieces and measure the weight in impact of every grief and joy and agony. Maybe.
#Quote by Shawn Klomparens

#29. On the beach, we women are at our most exposed and therefore most vulnerable. As any woman deserves to look and feel good, especially when she's away on holiday, she needs swimwear that pays proper attention to comfort and function. And there should also be some thought put into value. #Quote by Geri Halliwell

#30. ... his intention was pure. He didn't know why, but he liked a girl and he felt compelled to do something about it. That's how it all starts. And as that drive grows, it's the gateway to real emotion. Emotion that moves mountains and starts wars and makes mix tapes and buys airbrushed lovers' T-shirts at the beach and writes horrible songs with simple guitar chords. But it's the gateway to love and passion and rage and fear and jealousy and envy and self-hatred. #Quote by Hilary Winston

#31. We all hygger: gathered around a table for a shared meal or beside a fire on a dark night, when we sit in the corner of our local cafe or wrap ourselves in a blanket at the end of a day on the beach.
Lying spoons, baking in a warm kitchen, bathing by candlelight, being alone in bed with a hot water bottle and a good book - these are all ways to hygge.
Hygge draws meaning from the fabric of ordinary living.
It'a a way of acknowledging the sacred in the secular, of giving something ordinary a special context, spirit and warmth and taking time to make it extraordinary. #Quote by Louisa Thomsen Brits

#32. You're injured." He flicks his chin at my bleeding leg.
"We need to get that cleaned up."
"It'll be fine," I wave it off. "My mom will descend upon me with a bottle of
peroxide the second I hit the door. #Quote by M.A. George

#33. Awe.

It's a feeling he misses. He made lists of things he wanted to feel when he was younger, big things, small things, ice, snow, the sand at the beach, someone else's hands holding his, feeling him feeling them, a feedback loop of feelings, which is what happens when two people make love. He wanted to feel things that made him feel safe and scared and things that ripped his heart out of his chest, things that made him want to go home and things that made him want to travel, things that made him proud and things that made him regret his choices and he, like all people, slowly ticked these things off the list in his head as he lived, as the world turned until soon, there were very few things left to feel.

He believed the last thing he would feel, would be nothing, as that was nearly impossible to feel unless you were dead or hadn't been born yet. He wondered what it'd be like to not be able to wonder.

He'd once wanted to know what it felt like to be able to talk to people properly, to be normal but he'd given up on finding that feeling, figuring no one ever really found it. #Quote by Pleasefindthis

#34. She came before she could stop herself, a small pop of release. Panting, she ripped the goggles off and found Peabody gaping at her.
"It wasn't a walk on a quiet beach," Eve managed.
"I could see that. What was it, exactly?"
"A couple of mostly naked guys and a big satin bed." Eve blew out a breath, set the goggles down. "Who'd have thought she relaxed with sex fantasies?"
"Ah, Lieutenant. Sir. As your aide, I believe it's my responsibility to test that unit. For evidence control."
Eve tucked her tongue in her cheek. "Peabody, I couldn't let you take that kind of risk."
"I'm a cop, sir. Risk is my life. #Quote by J.D. Robb

#35. I want to wash your hair with a shampoo that smells like fruit - mango, or strawberries. I want to walk on a beach with you, dragging a big stick behind us, making a message in the sand that we try to believe an airplane will really see. I want to kiss saltwater from your lips. I want us to listen to music with our eyes closed; I want to read musty books while lying next to you - books about fascinating things like mummies and eccentric artists and old shipwrecks in the Pacific. I want to have picnics on our bed and crawl into cotton sheets that smell like summer because we left the windows open when we were gone. I want to wake in the night with you and marvel at the stars and try to find the moon through the trees. I want all the sweet things in life. But only by your side. #Quote by Deb Caletti

#36. If a season like the Great Rebellion ever came to him again, he feared, it could never be in that same personal, random array of picaresque acts he was to recall and celebrate in later years at best furious and nostalgic; but rather with a logic that chilled the comfortable perversity of the heart, that substituted capability for character, deliberate scheme for political epiphany (so incomparably African); and for Sarah, the sjambok, the dances of death between Warmbad and Keetmanshoop, the taut haunches of his Firelily, the black corpse impaled on a thorn tree in a river swollen with sudden rain, for these the dearest canvases in his soul's gallery, it was to substitute the bleak, abstracted and for him rather meaningless hanging on which he now turned his back, but which was to backdrop his retreat until he reached the Other Wall, the engineering design for a world he knew with numb leeriness nothing could now keep from becoming reality, a world whose full despair he, at the vantage of eighteen years later, couldn't even find adequate parables for, but a design whose first fumbling sketches he thought must have been done the year after Jacob Marengo died, on that terrible coast, where the beach between Luderitzbucht and the cemetery was actually littered each morning with a score of identical female corpses, an agglomeration no more substantial-looking than seaweed against the unhealthy yellow sand; where the soul's passage was more a mass migration across that choppy fetc #Quote by Thomas Pynchon

#37. But before, not so long ago - my own rose from prom still OK on the mirror, dried but not a corpse - you were just Ed Slaterton, jocky hero, handsome in the student newspaper and star of a million strands of gossip. Now Annette was a person to me, standing right there, and not just an oh-my-God-have-you-heard, and I tried to put it together in my head, the print and the negative, the boyfriend and the celebrity shadow, like Theodora Sire sat next to me in history, borrowing pencils, but was still a movie star above my bed. Because as you came out of the dark to me, you were the boy I was kissing and wanted to kiss more, back to find me at a party like anybody might do, but you were Ed Slaterton too, and not the cad you are now, but just Ed Slaterton, co-captain, with a beer in your hand and Jillian Beach on your arm. #Quote by Daniel Handler