欧宝娱乐

“And if that is the Foremast, what do you think that sail might be called, Mr. Wheeler?"
"The Foresail?"
"Very good, Mr. Wheeler, and the next one up would be called..."
..."The Next Sail, Sir?"
"Alas, no, Mr. Wheeler.”
― L. A. Meyer

“When your life feels like you're on a sailboat, with no wind to fill your sails, there are still choices. You can drop anchor and enjoy your surroundings. Start your motor, if you have one. Grab an oar and start paddling, or wait for the wind to fill your sails once again. There are always other choices while crossing the ocean of life鈥�”
― James A. Murphy, The Waves of Life Quotes and Daily Meditations

“The winds of grace are blowing all the time, but it is you that must raise your sails.”
― Rabindranath Tagore

“My vessel is launched on the boundless main and my sails are spread to the wind ! In the whole of the world there is nothing that stays unchanged. All is in flux. Any shape that is formed is constantly shifting.
Time itself flows steadily by in perpetual motion. Think of a river: no river can ever arrest its current, nor can the fleeting hour. But as water is forced downstream
by the water behind it and presses no less on the water ahead, so time is in constant flight and pursuit, continually new. The present turns into the past and the future replaces the present; every moment that passes is new and eternally changing.”
― Ovid, Metamorphoses

“When the sails are strong a ship has no reason to fear turbulence.”
― Matshona Dhliwayo

“I closed my eyes, adding dark to dark, and the wanting unfurled like the sails of a phantom ship. This could be my universe. This nowhere world, circumscribed by skin and breath, where nothing mattered but two bodies moving together. The past and the future rendered irrelevant by the beauty of the now, the sum of the self transmuted into a moment. Oh, was there ever a more seductive definition of madness?”
― Alexis Hall, Glitterland

“Just because I stay calm, doesn't mean that I have no wind in my sails.”
― Anthony t hincks

“Once she started awake to a sound like the low roll of drums, and to the south she saw an endless congregation of antelope that moved across the nighted plain, raising a cloud of dust behind them that swallowed the stars and turned the moon rusty brown as a scrape of ruined iron. Near dawn, in that darkest hour, she raised her head again and saw to the north the passage of sails. They hovered across the deep like a parade of phantom cavaliers tilted upon hellish steeds. They passed in waves, ranks upon ranks of ghostly warlords bent toward the coming dawn as if to impale the sun itself and set it atop a spike in the blackened sky.”
― A.S. Peterson, Fiddler's Green