A Quote by Seamus Heaney

The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage.
The wet centre is bottomless. — © Seamus Heaney
The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage. The wet centre is bottomless.
It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.
I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid.
Call me old fashioned, but we're now holding umbrellas up as our players get off a plane. Do they need that? It's a few spots of rain. OK, they might get wet. Well, let them get wet. That's what happens when it rains.
The self is not only the centre but also the whole circumference which embraces both conscious and unconscious; it is the centre of this totality, just as the ego is the centre of consciousness.
Too often, when Europeans talked of trans-Atlantic ties, we focused on the North Atlantic only.
I'm in a difficult position in the sense that, preposterous as this might sound, I don't like being the centre of attention. I get up on stage every night and play songs, but I almost feel the songs are the centre of attention. I don't like opening my birthday presents in front of people, either.
I didn't graduate from college, so I might as well be on Atlantic Records, right?
Degree is much: the whole Atlantic might be lukewarm and never boil us a potato.
I thought that when they said Atlantic Charter, that meant me and everybody in Africa and Asia and everywhere. But it seems like the Atlantic is an ocean that does not touch anywhere but North America and Europe.
I don't understand the art of compromise, and it's a shame the politicians don't understand that as well, you know, we might have a better, clearer world. But then saying that, we might also get a lot of Donald Trump's running left right and centre.
With my husband, I have twice sailed across the Atlantic in a sailboat one third the length of the Mayflower. I know Atlantic gales inside and out. I endured one that lasted for three days with winds up to fifty knots.
Even though you try very hard, the progress you make is always little by little. It is not like going out in a shower in which you know when you get wet. In a fog, you do not know you are getting wet, but as you keep walking you get wet little by little. If your mind has ideas of progress, you may say, 'Oh, this pace is terrible!' But actually it is not. When you get wet in a fog it is very difficult to dry yourself.
Asparagus in a lean in a lean is to hot. This makes it art and it is wet weather wet weather wet
I might try that one thing, you know, that thing people do when their eyes get all wet and stupid—what’s it called? Crying? Or NOT. I might PUNCH you instead and trust that you won’t punch me back because of my endearing smallness. It would be like punching a child.
I might be needy, competitive and desperate but it's far better than being wet.
Men might as well project a voyage to the Moon as attempt to employ steam navigation against the stormy North Atlantic Ocean.
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