Sand Quotes

“In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.”
― Rachel Carson

“In the land of the ostriches, the blind are king. When politicians bury their head in the sand, ignorance rules the country. ( "High noon." )”
― Erik Pevernagie

“When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them, no root to cling to, I was seized with vertigo and felt myself as if flung forth and plunging downward like a diver.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars

“I took the life of the woman I was supposed to call mother in the process of being born... in order to become the world's strongest shinobi... an incarnation of sand was implanted inside of me...
”
― Masashi Kishimoto

“I ignored your aura but it grabbed me by the hand, like the moon pulled the tide, and the tide pulled the sand.”
― Talib Kweli

“I breathe in...
the fragrance
of love, and moist sand
the one
his roses left
on both my hands

I just keep on breathing
every moment
as much as I can
preserving it, in my body
for the day
it can’t.”
― Sanober Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest

“Sand lines my soul which is filled with the breath of the ocean.”
― A.D. Posey

“Nothing like poetry when you lie awake at night. It keeps the old brain limber. It washes away the mud and sand that keeps on blocking up the bends.
Like waves to make the pebbles dance on my old floors. And turn them into rubies and jacinths; or at any rate, good imitations.”
― Joyce Cary, The Horse's Mouth

“Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation.”
― Raquel Cepeda, Bird of Paradise: How I Became Latina

“We must remember that there is a great difference between a myth and a miracle. A myth is the idealization of a fact. A miracle is the counterfeit of a fact. There is the same difference between a myth and a miracle that there is between fiction and falsehood -- between poetry and perjury. Miracles belong to the far past and the far future. The little line of sand, called the present, between the seas, belongs to common sense to the natural.”
― Robert Ingersoll

“Let my toes teach the shore
how to feel a tranquil life
through the wetness of sands

Let my heart latch the door
of blackness, as all my pain
now blue sky understands”
― Munia Khan

“The sand in the hourglass runs from one compartment to the other, marking the passage of moments with something constant and tangible.

If you watch the flowing sand, you might see time itself riding the granules.

Contrary to popular opinion, time is not an old white-haired man, but a laughing child.

And time sings.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“The children had had an argument once about whether there was more grass in the world or more sand, and Roger said that of course there must be more sand because of under the sea; in every ocean all over the world there would be sand, if you looked deep down. But there could be grass too, argued Deborah, a waving grass, a grass that nobody had ever seen, and the colour of that ocean grass would be darker than any grass on the surface of the world, in fields or prairies or people's gardens in America. It would be taller than tress and it would move like corn in the wind. ("The Pool”
― Daphne du Maurier, Echoes from the Macabre: Selected Stories

“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

“A scent of jasmine and a rasp of sand.”
― James Morris

“If I can write, who possibly can’t. Even drawing a line in the sand is writing”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana, Pearls Of Eternity

“...и най-внушителните съоражения в основата си израстват от пясък. Именно той е канавата, от която се появява един от най-внушителните символи на цивилизацията - пътят. Така както в един дворец не може да има само мрамор, така и пътят започва от прашинката. А не е ли така и с живота ни? Колко пясък трябва да изгребе търсачът на съкровища, за да достигне до една трошица злато?”
― Силвия Томова, Тит от Никомедия

“For a second, I thought about the lifetime of that sand. I envisioned it from its rocky beginnings as a boulder somewhere far away and long ago, to its breakdown in cobbles, to its further breakdown into pebbles, then to its further breakdown into coarse sand, then to its further break”
― Sean Norris, Heaven and Hurricanes

“I bless these gifts from the sea,
From sand to shell let it be.”
― Wendy Joubert, Sea Witch

“To be a poet is to be struck with wonder upon wonder as the waves leave the shores for everything that bids adieu leaves something behind, as a shell on the sands.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“I lay full length on the sand, took up a handful and let it run through my fingers in soft yellow streams. I told myself that it ran out like time. It was an idle thought, and it was pleasant to have idle thoughts, for it was summer.”
― Françoise Sagan, Bonjour tristesse

“What the Sand gets, the Sand keeps forever.
Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone”
― Elly Griffiths, The Crossing Places

“When I looked out at the beach, I imagined each grain of sand like a measure of time that I'd been allotted. I could either let them run through my hands or I could stop and pay attention.”
― C.J. Cooke, The Lighthouse Witches

“We lived hand in hand with the sand, the wind and the sun. When the wind blew strong, the sand from the sea whirled up and violently battered the Mud Whale. The grains would get inside the keep and stick to people's skin. When the sun shone, the mud walls, the drifts of sand, and the grains on people's skin all sparkled.”
― Abi Umeda, Children of the Whales, Vol. 1

“All those happy memories have lost their colour, all at once. I clutch for them, but they are like sand, gritty and abrasive. Sand under the eyelids. Sand in the mind.”
― Adrian Tchaikovsky, Elder Race

“This old world will soon break into pieces! Don’t you hear the tremblings of it?”
― J.C. Ryle, Holiness

“That peculiar light just before sunset, before gloaming: it is then that Essa sees for the first time the famous dunes at Avanue, which roll like fat people in their sleep, and shift restlessly forever.

“They cast long shadows, these sleeping giants, and Essa shivers. She has walked too far—after the trip north she was so grateful to be out of hospital—her hands and feet are cold, and she is dizzy with exhaustion. She sits down on the ragged grass at the edge of the bluff which overlooks the dunes, and tries not to hate them.

“Her mother’s words, remembered in a dream, sound like water flowing in her thoughts. There is no water here. The grasses under her are dry and stiff, and they grow in sand so fine it grits through her clothing against the skin of her ass. The sea is too far away to see or smell. But at least she is alone.

“Though she is shivering, it is still a hot day, and the sun has warmed the sand. The ground radiates heat into her body. She lies down flat on her belly, her head to one side so that she can still see the dunes, and puts her hands beneath her; gradually they warm.

“Gradually her body comes back into balance and she starts to see an eerie beauty before her. The sun is fully down when she sits up, brushes the sand away as well as she can, and hugs her knees to her chest. She puts her chin on her knees and watches darkness descend over the low rolling landscape.

“This is unlike any cliff on which she has rested yet. It is low and gives no perspective. The dunes come up almost to her feet. Yet the demarcation is quite abrupt: there is no grass growing anywhere after this brief crumbling drop-off, and she can see as the land-breeze begins to quicken that ahead of her the sand is moving. In fact, she realizes, she can hear it, a low sweeping sound which has mounted from inaudibility until it inexorably backs every other sound: sounds of grasses moving, insects scraping, birds calling from the invisible sea far beyond her viewpoint are all subsumed in one great sand-song.

“It is a sound so relentlessly sad that Essa can hardly bear to listen, but so persistent that she cannot ignore it now that she has become aware of its susurration. She pulls her sweater—the one her mother made by her knitting—around her and waits.

“When it is fully dark and the wind has died again, she rises and begins the long walk back to town in the dim light of stars and crescent moon.”
― Candas Jane Dorsey, Black Wine

“I withdraw once again in the contemplation of the desert and its sumptuous architecture.
How is it possible to have such perfect curves with such pure lines, looking as if drawn for infinity but made of... sand, sculpted by the wind? The little wind furrows are almost the perfect mirror image of those left by the pulses of the sea in the sand of the estuaries and on the beaches.”
― Francoise Hivernel, 50 Camels and She's Yours

“Her feet dug into the sand, and the sand was warm and smooth. The wind brought it here, and the wind would take it away from here, and that was fine because the sand did not remember. The sand didn't know where it had been yesterday and didn't know where it would be tomorrow. If that weren't so, if the sand remembered all the places it had been, it would become so heavy that no wind would be able to carry it off to anywhere.”
― Ayelet Gundar-Goshen, Waking Lions

“Promises written in sand are all too often washed away by ill intentions.”
― Anthony T. Hincks