A Quote by Zora Neale Hurston

Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean with ships. — © Zora Neale Hurston
Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean with ships.
Never forget that the subject is as important as your feeling; the mud puddle itself is as important as your pleasure in looking at it or splashing through it. Never let the mud puddle get lost in the poetry-because, in many ways, the mud puddle is the poetry.
I could have ended the war in a month. I could have made North Vietnam look like a mud puddle.
Never let the mud puddle get lost in the poetry because, in many ways, the mud puddle is the poetry.
Canadians and Americans may look alike, but the contents of their heads are quite different. Americans experience themselves, individually, as small toads in the biggest and most powerful puddle in the world. Their sense of power comes from identifying with the puddle. Canadians as individuals may have more power within the puddle, since there are fewer toads in it; it's the puddle that's seen as powerless.
The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.
Sometimes the whole world is mud luscious and puddle wonderful
I had been found in a mud puddle at 4:30 in the morning.
I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around. Lucky me, lucky mud.
You are so afraid of losing your moral sense that you are not willing to take it through anything more dangerous than a mud-puddle.
I see it all the time in politics. If a candidate gets caught in a lie, he quickly tries to change the subject by throwing more mud at his opponent. The mud keeps flying until some of the slanderous material sticks.
You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.
We rest here while we can, but we hear the ocean calling in our dreams, And we know by the morning, the wind will fill our sails to test the seams, The calm is on the water and part of us would linger by the shore, For ships are safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for.
Alas, all too often, the dream turns into a mud puddle. I am left looking at a disaster. What to do! Keep working. I ask the Almighty for help. That frees me.
In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in his cosmic loneliness. And God said, "Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done." And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat, looked around, and spoke. "What is the purpose of all this?" he asked politely. "Everything must have a purpose?" asked God. "Certainly," said man. "Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this," said God. And He went away.
From my image of digging around in the mud like a grunt, I preferred fighting the war from ships.
I live in a puddle of guilt, an ocean of guilt that you want your own time.
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