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By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, “There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.†But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to find out before it was too late.
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Louis de Bernires is in the direct line that runs through Dickens and Evelyn Waugh. . .he has only to look into his world, one senses, for it to rush into reality, colours and touch and taste.
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When the guy says go, you start to suffer - or you might as well not be out there. It's a small piece of your life, make it hurt.
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I feel it was just a few years ago I was running around in short pants
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I really hate it when I can’t score runs from a ball.
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I used to wanna rap like Jay-Z, Now I feel I could run laps around Jay-Z, Nas ain't seen nothing this nasty, B.I.G. & Pac got it coming when I pass too. You got the mic, I ain't the one you wanna pass to
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He wasn't what sent me running. He was what had made me want to stay.
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That narrow stretch of sand knows nothing in the world better than it does the white waves that whip it , caress it , collapse on to it . The white foam knows nothing better than those sands which wait for it , rise to it and suck it in .but what do the waves know of the massed, hot, still sands of the desert just twenty , no , ten feet beyond the scalloped edge ? And what does the beach knows of depths, the cold, the currents just there, where-do you see it? - Where the water turns a deeper blue.
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These people, as far as I can see, do not congregate in the notorious centers of the movement, like the North Beach in San Francisco or Greenwich Village, or Venice, California.
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I was happy anywhere I could see the ocean.
