A Quote by Will Eisner

Thus, sped by currents of curiosity afloat the swift river of rumor do secrets sail to strange ports. — © Will Eisner
Thus, sped by currents of curiosity afloat the swift river of rumor do secrets sail to strange ports.
Sail on, sail on, o' might Ship of State. To the shores of need, past the reefs of greed, through the squalls of hate. Sail on, sail on, sail on.
Nature uncovers the inner secrets of nature in two ways: one by the force of bodies operating outside it; the other by the very movements of its innards. The external actions are strong winds, rains, river currents, sea waves, ice, forest fires, floods; there is only one internal force-earthquake.
Never set a child afloat on the flat sea of life with only one sail to catch the wind.
There was also a rumor that later in the day, she walked fully clothed into the Amper River and said something very strange. Something about a kiss. Something about a Saumensch. How many times did she have to say goodbye?
It is not what we learn in conversation that enriches us. It is the elation that comes of swift contact with tingling currents of thought.
On a horse there is a perfect position of balance where he doesn't feel like he's pushing you along with him or dragging you along with him. It's like two converging currents in a river, where those currents converge, there is a point where there is no movement, no energy; and that's what you're thinking when you're on the back of a horse.
You would make a ship sail against the winds and currents by lighting a bonfire under her decks? I have no time for such nonsense.
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
Swift or smooth, broad as the Hudson or narrow enough to scrape your gunwales, every river is a world of its own, unique in pattern and personality. Each mile on a river will take you further from home than a hundred miles on a road.
Rumor, once started, rushes on like a river, until it mingles with, and is lost in the sea.
Mr. Speaker, Delaware River's regional ports handle approximately 58 million tons of cargo yearly.
There is Bengal, and Bihar, Barakor river is in the middle of them; so strange, so profound! No other river (not even Ganga) has cast so vast a spell on me.
Then sail, my fine lady, on the billowing wave - The water below is as dark as the grave, And maybe you'll sink in your little blue boat - It's hope, and hope only, that keeps us afloat
Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowly alpine river flowed And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind.
See with what force yon river's crystal stream Resists the weight of many a massy beam. To sink the wood the more we vainly toil, The higher it rebounds, with swift recoil. Yet that the beam would of itself ascend No man will rashly venture to contend. Thus too the flame has weight, though highly rare, Nor mounts but when compelled by heavier air.
To reach a port, we must sail - sail, not tie at anchor - sail, not drift.
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