You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Don't you realize that the sea is the home of water? All water is off on a journey unless it's read more
Don't you realize that the sea is the home of water? All water is off on a journey unless it's in the sea, and it's homesick, and bound to make its way home someday
There is no small pleasure in sweet water.
[Lat., Est in aqua dulci non invidiosa voluptas.]
There is no small pleasure in sweet water.
[Lat., Est in aqua dulci non invidiosa voluptas.]
O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
read more
O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea:
Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep
And mocked the dead bones that lay scatt'red by.
Stones are hollowed out by the constant dropping of water.
Stones are hollowed out by the constant dropping of water.
Water its living strength first shows,
When obstacles its course oppose.
Water its living strength first shows,
When obstacles its course oppose.
The miller sees not all the water that goes by his mill.
The miller sees not all the water that goes by his mill.
For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground,
which cannot be gathered up again; read more
For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground,
which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth God respect any
person: yet doth he devise means, that his banished be not
expelled from him.
Beware of silent dogs and still waters.
Beware of silent dogs and still waters.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
read more
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
. . . .
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.