The cure for anything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea.

The cure for anything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea.

Water is the mother of the vine,
The nurse and fountain of fecundity,
The adorner and refresher read more

Water is the mother of the vine,
The nurse and fountain of fecundity,
The adorner and refresher of the world.

In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, read more

In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, water along with other resources has become the victim of his indifference

Reuben, thou art my firstborn, my might, and the beginnings of my
strength, the excellency of dignity, and the read more

Reuben, thou art my firstborn, my might, and the beginnings of my
strength, the excellency of dignity, and the excellency of power:
Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel; because thou wentest up
to thy father's bed; then defiledst thou it: he went up to my
couch.

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

The miller sees not all the water that goes by his mill.

The miller sees not all the water that goes by his mill.

'Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd read more

'Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.

I'm very fond of water:
It ever must delight
Each mother's son and daughter,--
read more

I'm very fond of water:
It ever must delight
Each mother's son and daughter,--
When qualified aright.

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.