Frederick Marryat Quotes

I was born on 22 March 1931 in New York, the elder child of Abraham and Fanny Richter.

I wrote three books about growing up in the Bronx.

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

There goes a river dragging an ocean behind it.

Oh, that river of wishes, the slippery crocodile dream of it, how it might have carried my body down through all the glittering sand bars to the sea.

Rivers neede a spring.

Never test the depth of river with both the feet.

What is the use trying to describe the flowing of a river at any one moment, and then at the next moment, and then at the next, and the next, and the next? You wear out. You say: There is a great river, and it flows through this land, and we have named it History.

How could drops of water know themselves to be a river? Yet the river flows on.

Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!

There's no such thing as autobiography, there's only art and lies

The river is everywhere.

I must have been about 11 when I read the book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, which I read, over and over again.

All I did was sit on the riverbank handing out river water. After I'm gone, I trust you will notice the river.

New York is a diamond iceberg floating in river water.

All autobiography is fiction.

I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.

The River... It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we've had together!

Dip him in the river who loves water.

I caught Bast’s arm when she was a few steps from the bank. “Stay away from the water.” She frowned. “Carter, I’m a cat. I’m not going for a swim. But if you want to summon a river goddess, you really need to do it at the riverbank.

This is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. The things I am going to tell you are things which I saw myself as a child and as a youth.

For we live with those retrievals from childhood that coalesce and echo throughout our lives, the way shattered pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope reappear in new forms and are songlike in their refrains and rhymes, making up a single monologue. We live permanently in the recurrence of our own stories, whatever story we tell.

Dreaming by the river, I dedicated my imagination to water, to clear, green water, the water that makes the meadows green.

It's important for us to tell our stories.

I thought how lovely and how strange a river is.