Maine Quotes

Quotes tagged as "maine" Showing 1-30 of 67
Megan Miranda
“My mother always wanted to live near the water," she said. "She said it's the one thing that brings us all together. That I can have my toe in the ocean off the coast of Maine, and a girl my age can have her toe in the ocean off the coast of Africa, and we would be touching. On opposite sides of the world.”
Megan Miranda, Vengeance

John Connolly
“I dream dark dreams.

I dream of a figure moving through the forest, of children flying from his path, of young women crying at his coming. I dream of snow and ice, of bare branches and moon-cast shadows. I dream of dancers floating in the air, stepping lightly even in death, and my own pain is but a faint echo of their suffering as I run. My blood is black on the snow, and the edges of the world are silvered with moonlight. I run into the darkness, and he is waiting.

I dream in black and white, and I dream of him.

I dream of Caleb, who does not exist, and I am afraid.”
John Connolly

Marilynne Robinson
“My grandfather once told her if you couldn't read with cold feet, there wouldn't be a literate soul in the state of Maine.”
Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

John Ciardi
“There was a young lady from Gloucester
Who complained that her parents both bossed her,
So she ran off to Maine.
Did her parents complain?
Not at all -- they were glad to have lost her.”
John Ciardi, The Hopeful Trout and Other Limericks

John Hodgman
“Maine is a beautiful place that I paradoxically want to hoard to myself and share with everyone I meet.”
John Hodgman, Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches
tags: maine

Jeff Phillips
“Their conversation ceased abruptly with the entry of an oddly-shaped man whose body resembled a certain vegetable. He was a thickset fellow with calloused and jaundiced skin and a patch of brown hair, a frizzy upheaval. We will call him Bell Pepper. Bell Pepper sidled up beside The Drippy Man and looked at the grilled cheese in his hand. The Drippy Man, a bit uncomfortable at the heaviness of the gaze, politely apologized and asked Bell Pepper if he would like one.

“Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?” asked Bell Pepper.

The Drippy Man realized Bell Pepper was not looking at his sandwich but towards the inconsistency of his leg sizes.

“You always get your kicks pointing out defects?” retorted The Drippy Man.

“Just curious. Never seen anything like it before.”

“I was raised not to feel shame and hide my legs in baggy pants.”

“So you flaunt your deformity by wearing short shorts?”

“Like you flaunt your pockmarks by not wearing a mask?”

Bell Pepper backed away, kicking wide the screen door, making an exit to a porch over hanging a dune of sand that curved into a jagged upward jab of rock.

“He is quite sensitive,” commented The Dry Advisor.

“Who is he?”

“A fellow who once manipulated the money in your wallet but now curses the fellow who does.”
Jeff Phillips, Turban Tan

Maureen A. Miller
“Write, drink and be merry!”
Maureen A. Miller

“They were walking along a roadway of great slabs of stone set down one after another, the beginning and end of which they could take in at a glance, a road rising from and heading toward nowhere now.
"You can't get there from here," William said, using a Down East accent. "Anymore." Maine, they thought of Maine, then. Evidently this truncated road could still carry them as far away and as long ago as that.”
Nancy Clark, A Way from Home: A Novel
tags: maine

E.B. White
“Old stone walls ran into the woods, and now and then there would be an empty barn as a ghostly landmark. The night grew frosty and the ground underfoot was slippery with rime. The bare birches wore the stars on their fingers, and the world rolled seductively, a dark symphony of brooding groves and plains.”
E.B. White, One Man's Meat

May Davidson
“My attachment to the state is that of a barnacle to a ledge, the pull of the moon to the earth. Maine, because of its singular and profound beauty, is a place of worship without walls. I love it so.”
May Davidson, Whatever It Takes

“The middle part of Maine, all the way from Bar Harbor to Portland, hangs down like stalactites that drip little islands into the Atlantic. It's divided by rivers and harbors with cozy names that sound like brands of bubble bath or places boats sink in folks songs.”
Holmes, Linda

Thomm Quackenbush
“Portland could have been any city. Port Clyde was too uncluttered to be anything else. There is a reason Stephen King sets his stories in little Maine towns. They are too quiet to be believed wholly savory.”
Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

Hank Bracker
“I had a wonderful book tour of the New England Coast and will write about some of my adventures during the remaining time of this week. The grip of winter refused to let go as I was welcomed to New England, however some of the trees already showed signs of budding. The weather swung between absolutely beautiful crisp sunny days and grim, cloudy skies with low hanging wet fog. Many of the stores and restaurants were still closed, however everyone was looking forward to nicer days ahead. Mainers treated me as the wayward son of Maine that lost his way and wound up in Florida. Since this frequently happens I was usually forgiven and made to feel at home in our countries most northeastern state. I left copies of my books at many libraries and bookstores and although I didn’t intend to sell books I did bring home many orders. Needless to say it didn’t take long before all the samples I had were gone. In my time on the road I distributed over 250 copies of “Salty & Saucy Maine” and 150 copies of “Suppressed I Rise.” I even sold my 2 samples of “The Exciting Story of Cuba” and “Seawater One.” Every one of my business cards went and I freely distributed over 1,000 bookmarks.
Lucy flew with Ursula and I to Bradley Airport near Hartford, CT. From there we drove to her son’s home in Duxbury, MA. The next day we visited stores in Hyannis and Plymouth introducing my books. I couldn’t believe how nice the people were since I was now more a salesman than a writer. The following day Ursula and I headed north and Lucy went to Nantucket Island where she has family. For all of us the time was well spent. I drove as far as Bar Harbor meeting people and making new friends. Today I filled a large order and ordered more books. I haven’t figured out if it’s work or fun but it certainly keeps me busy. I hope that I can find the time to finish my next book “Seawater Two.”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Hank Bracker
“The bus continued on to its last stop before Bangor. In the mid-nineteenth century, Belfast became known for its production of large five-masted schooners. This was due to the abundance of tall pines in the proximity that were used as masts. There were fortunes made in shipbuilding and some of the larger homes, which are still in existence, are testimony to that. Unfortunately, this all ended with the advent of iron ships and the steam engine. Even the labor-intensive shoe manufacturing industry, which followed shipbuilding, faltered. Belfast still had its poultry business in 1952, and once a year held a popular Broiler Festival that brought in many people.”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Hank Bracker
“Our laughter became more raucous as our fooling around intensified. All this suddenly ended when we heard a loud intense knocking on the door. Once again, the doctor had had enough and came up to complain about the noise we were making. These old houses didn’t have any insulation between the walls to dampen the noise. Instead, it was kind of like being inside a drum. In a way, I could understand why he was upset and we could have been more considerate, but on the other hand, we just didn’t give a damn! It might also have been that he knew what we were doing and didn’t like it. In the puritanical 1950’s this sort of thing was frequently frowned upon and perhaps still is, but inconsiderate as it may have been, we didn’t care! Es tut mir leid! (German for I’m sorry! Said in a sarcastic way.)
Laughing, Ann told the doctor that we would behave. As he started back down the stairs, she turned to me and said, “Let’s go down to the basement.”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Hank Bracker
“Captain Hank Bracker’s book, Salty and Saucy Maine, should have been titled Salty and Saucy Hank Bracker. Yup, Hank’s stories are definitely saucy and salty.

The book is full of stories about Hank’s time at Maine Maritime Academy. There are plenty of tales that will make you laugh, a lot of interesting history, and then there are those stories I’d label ribald.

Hank worked for many years, after graduating from Maine Maritime, in the maritime industry, including the navy. And he’s written four other books, with lots more stories.

“More than anything,” writes Hank, “it was my time at the Academy that built the foundation for what evolved into an adventurous, exciting career and life.”

He describes this book as “a young man’s coming-of-age book,” and it is surely that. “Not surprising, by nature I am a free spirit, who loves the company of most animals and some people. You might say that I love to laugh, hold center stage, and tell my yarns the way I remember them. For years, friends have encouraged me to write these tales as short stories. This is part of that effort!

All I can add is that Hank’s wife of almost 60 years, Ursula, must be a saint!”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Hank Bracker
“Finally I just put the box containing the brownie mix down into the snow, crouched down against a building, and pulled my pea coat over my head. Breathing into it, I managed to generate a little heat. I pressed the flaps of the coat against my ears until I could feel them again. Aside from my frozen feet, I warmed up enough this way to be able to continue. Picking up the box, I got up and once again faced the harsh elements. There was little sign of life, and with this cold wind, I could easily have gotten frostbite. Most people who lived in Maine had better sense than to be out under these arctic conditions. The plows had not cleared the streets yet, and behind me I could see a lone car spinning its wheels, trying in vain to make the steep grade. Once again I had to put down the box. I took off my gloves and tried to warm my hands by blowing onto them, as I did a little dance stomping my feet, but nothing helped anymore; my hands and feet were numb. When I picked the box up again, the bottom was caked with snow, making matters even worse! With only a short distance left I thought about Ann and the aroma from baking brownies, so I continued trudging on.
I could now see the statue of Longfellow, slouched in his massive chair. “Hi, Henry. What do you think of this glorious weather?” Not getting an answer was answer enough. I was convinced that his bronze butt was frozen to the chair, but in spite of the weather, he still looked comfortable!”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Hank Bracker
“In 1939, a poet and author, Robert P. Tristram Coffin, recorded and put his version of this bizarre story to paper, as prose. I presume that he changed the name from Bucksport to Tucksport, to allow it to be considered fiction. In this rendition, Colonel Buck, being a Justice of the Peace and the highest civil authority, took it upon himself to have the woman nailed to the door of her home and then callously had the house set on fire. In this interpretation, her last words were that she would haunt the Colonel forever.
In Robert P. Tristram Coffin’s version, it almost seems that the story of Robert Trim was commingled with the story of Jonathan Buck. The story continues that after the roar of the fire subsided, the woman’s son pulled his mother’s only remaining limb out of the fire and struck Colonel Buck on his back with his mother’s barbequed leg, thereby crippling Colonel Buck for life. Bad as the story was before, it became even more macabre under the pen of Robert P. Tristram Coffin.”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

Jennifer Pharr Davis
“In the spring of 2015, Warren started the Appalachian Trail in Georgia. At age sixty-five, he was a walking contradiction. His white beard clashed with his youthful eyes, his soft, round stomach opposed his rectangular rack-solid calves, and his welcoming smile conflicted with his focused gaze. A finish in Maine would mark his eighteenth thru hike of the 2,189 mile footpath. The circumference of the earth is 24,903 miles; Warren had recorded over 36,000 miles between Springer Mountain and Katahdin.”
Jennifer Pharr Davis, The Pursuit of Endurance: Harnessing the Record-Breaking Power of Strength and Resilience

Hank Bracker
“KaBoom…. The roar of the cannon could be heard reverberating for miles around. The volatile sound boomed off the side of the hill that the school was on, and echoed across the Bagaduce River. I don’t know if the 3”/50 caliber gun, mounted as a decorative piece in front of Richardson Hall, was ever fired in anger, but now for the first time, as far as anyone could remember, it had been fired as a lark.
The parking lot was a mess. Strewn across the melting snow were brightly colored panties, brassieres and other ladies’ garments. There were bras hanging from the electric wires and trees. It was obvious that the cannon had been fired as a prank since we could later hear the seniors talk about what they had had to do to get these items to start with. Although the chatter continued for some time, no one was ever identified as the culprit. In fact, the administration took the position that it never even happened since that way nobody had to lie or be held accountable. No logbook entries were ever made since it did not happen on either of the watches. Nothing was broken and the all-too-visible attire could have fallen from an airplane, for all anyone knew.”
Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

“Dă-i omului de astăzi ceva ce n-are mâine.”
Ana Truța

John Steinbeck
“Why Maine extends northward almost to the mouth of the Saint Lawrence, and it's upper border is perhaps a 100 miles north of Quebec. And another thing I have conveniently forgotten was how incredibly huge America is. As I drive north through the little towns and the increasing forest rolling away to the horizon, the season changed quickly and out of all proportion. Perhaps it was my getting away from the steadying hand of the sea and also perhaps I was getting very far north. The houses had a snow-beaten look and many were crushed and deserted, driven to earth by the winters. Except in the towns there was evidence of a population which had once lived here and farmed and had its being and had then been driven out. The forests were marching back and where farm wagons once had been only the big logging trucks rumbled along. And the game had come back too; deer strayed on the roads and there were marks of bear.”
John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
tags: maine

“We dare not be original; our American Pine must be cut to the trim pattern of the English Yew, though the Pine bleed at every clip. This poet tunes his lyre at the harp of Goethe, Milton, Pope, or Tennyson. His songs might better be sung on the Rhine than the Kennebec. They are not American in form or feeling; they have not the breath of our air; the smell of our ground is not in them. Hence our poet seems cold and poor. He loves the old mythology; talks about Pluto—the Greek devil,—— the Fates and Furies—witches of old time in Greece,—-but would blush to use our mythology, or breathe the name in verse of our Devil, or our own Witches, lest he should be thought to believe what he wrote. The mother and sisters, who with many a pinch and pain sent the hopeful boyto college, must turn over the Classical Dictionary before they can find out what the youth would be at in his rhymes. Our Poet is not deep enough to see that Aphrodite came from the ordinary waters, that Homer only hitched into rhythm and furnished the accomplishment of verse to street talk, nursery tales, and old men’s gossip, in the Ionian towns; he thinks what is common is unclean. So he sings of Corinth and Athens, which he never saw, but has not a word to say of Boston, and Fall River, and Baltimore, and New York, which are just as meet for song. He raves of Thermopylae and
Marathon, with never a word for Lexington and Bunkerhill, for Cowpens, and Lundy’s Lane, and Bemis’s Heights. He loves to tell of the Ilyssus, of “ smooth sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,” yet sings not of the Petapsco, the Susquehannah, the Aroostook, and the Willimantick. He prates of the narcissus, and the daisy, never of American dandelions andbue-eyed grass; he dwells on the lark and the nightingale, but has not a thought for the brown thrasher and the bobolink, who every morning in June rain down such showers of melody on his affected head. What a lesson Burns teaches us addressing his “rough bur thistle,” his daisy, “wee crimson tippit thing,” and finding marvellous poetry in the mouse whose nest his plough turned over! Nay, how beautifully has even our sweet Poet sung of our own Green river, our waterfowl,of the blue and fringed gentian, the glory of autumnal days.”
Massachussetts Quarterly Review, 1849

Mary Downing Hahn
“By the time we got to Ferrington, I was laughing at Will’s stories about Rockpoint High. It seemed the kids gave the teachers a hard time; they were always cutting up and saying funny things. Will was good at imitating their Down-East accents, but I had a feeling Susan was right about his not having any friends. It sounded as if he spent most of his school day watching and listening.”
Mary Downing Hahn, Look for Me by Moonlight

Thomm Quackenbush
“We will be old and gray before ten Maine minutes go by. Mainers invented tantric sex when they had a quickie.”
Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

Nancy Rubin Stuart
“Slippery as was Knox's land grab of the entire Waldo Patent, nepotism and patronage were common in those days.”
Nancy Rubin Stuart, Defiant Brides: The Untold Story of Two Revolutionary-Era Women and the Radical Men They Married

“Business the old-fashioned way worked in present-day Moonbright. The front window showcased a tower of stacked vitamins and supplements, children's games and toys, locally made treats- benne wafers, taffy, and lemon biscuits- as well as specialty bath and body products. The store owner was faithful to elderly female customers and did his best to keep them happy. He continued to stock their favorite retro perfumes- Emeraude, Tabu, Chantilly, Moon Drops, along with their preferred Mavis talcum powder and Bigelow Rose Wonder facial creams. Items the ladies refused to live without.”
Kate Angell, The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

Bernd Heinrich
“Life here in this part of Maine is almost inconceivable without wood, and woods. We burn it for heat. Some cut it for a living. Many earn their livelihood from it by making paper, if not toboggans, snowshoes, apple boxes, or canoes. But it all comes from trees. Trees are our lifeblood, in more ways that one. And that is the problem. There are woods, and there is wood, and the two have different uses.”
Bernd Heinrich, A Year in the Maine Woods

Kenneth Roberts
“Brother," Cap said, "he's a Pig-nut!"
"Pig-nut?" I asked.
"Pig-nut," Cap repeated. "You can tell a man with brains he's wrong and he'll try to fix things up: but you take and tell a pig-nut he's wrong, and he'll spend the rest of his life trying to have something heavy fall on you when you ain't looking."
- From Kennebunk born Pulitzer Prize winner Kenneth Roberts' 1933 novel Rabble in Arms.”
Kenneth Roberts, Rabble in Arms
tags: maine

“After crossing most of the North American continent our destination was Goldfield Nevada, a place in the middle of nowhere that I had been to some years before. This ghost town held a special place in my heart and I still feel nostalgic remembering how I got there from LA when I was in my teens. Now as we rolled into town I had the same feeling and thought that my son’s would capture the same aura that I felt years before.
Entering the “Santa Fe Club,” an authentic old saloon, we were greeted as if we were neighbors that had just stopped in for a drink. It was as if I had never left but of course that wasn’t true. The bartender asked if we were there for some chicken? I had no idea what he was talking about until he explained that a chicken truck had run off the road and rolled over just outside of town.
It took some doing but some of the men in town caught, killed, cleaned and plucked a wack of them and brought them to the saloon for frying. I assumed that he meant that he had fried the chickens and best of was that he offered them free to anyone who came through the doors.
I still don’t know if they tasted so good because we were hungry or that they were free. The story of the chicken truck was told for years afterward but he also told me that he remembered me from before, when I was the kid looking for the publisher of the five-page newspaper. “Well, he’s gone and is now in the cemetery but we’re not, so have some more chicken” were his lasting words of wisdom!”
Captain Hank Bracker, Seawater series

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