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The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever... Options
Daemon
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 12:00:00 AM
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The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity…The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only—a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)
pedro
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 6:05:55 AM

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Daemon wrote:
The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity…The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only—a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.

Lucy Maud Montgomery's (1874-1942)


pithy as ever

All good ideas arrive by chance- Max Ernst
Bully_rus
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 12:00:00 PM
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Daemon wrote:
The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity…The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only—a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)


Yeah. It takes gills, fins and tail to fully appreciate the sea or its voice...
monamagda
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 12:12:18 PM

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Location: Bogotá, Bogota D.C., Colombia
Context from : Anne's House of Dreams

Chapter 9
An Evening at Four Winds Point



As they turned into the little lane that led across the fields to the Point they met a man coming out of it--a man of such extraordinary appearance that for a moment they both frankly stared. He was a decidedly fine-looking person-tall, broad-shouldered, well-featured, with a Roman nose and frank gray eyes; he was dressed in a prosperous farmer's Sunday best; in so far he might have been any inhabitant of Four Winds or the Glen. But, flowing over his breast nearly to his knees, was a river of crinkly brown beard; and adown his back, beneath his commonplace felt hat, was a corresponding cascade of thick, wavy, brown hair.

"Anne," murmured Gilbert, when they were out of earshot, "you didn't put what Uncle Dave calls `a little of the Scott Act' in that lemonade you gave me just before we left home, did you?"

"No, I didn't," said Anne, stifling her laughter, lest the retreating enigma should hear here. "Who in the world can he be?"

"I don't know; but if Captain Jim keeps apparitions like that down at this Point I'm going to carry cold iron in my pocket when I come here. He wasn't a sailor, or one might pardon his eccentricity of appearance; he must belong to the over-harbor clans. Uncle Dave says they have several freaks over there."

"Uncle Dave is a little prejudiced, I think. You know all the over-harbor people who come to the Glen Church seem very nice. Oh, Gilbert, isn't this beautiful?"

The Four Winds light was built on a spur of red sand-stone cliff jutting out into the gulf. On one side, across the channel, stretched the silvery sand shore of the bar; on the other, extended a long, curving beach of red cliffs, rising steeply from the pebbled coves. It was a shore that knew the magic and mystery of storm and star. There is a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are never solitary-- they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery--we may only wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only--a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.

Anne and Gilbert found Uncle Jim sitting on a bench outside the lighthouse, putting the finishing touches to a wonderful, full-rigged, toy schooner. He rose and welcomed them to his abode with the gentle, unconscious courtesy that became him so well.

"This has been a purty nice day all through, Mistress Blythe, and now, right at the last, it's brought its best. Would you like to sit down here outside a bit, while the light lasts? I've just finished this bit of a plaything for my little grand nephew, Joe, up at the Glen. After I promised to make it for him I was kinder sorry, for his mother was vexed. She's afraid he'll be wanting to go to sea later on and she doesn't want the notion encouraged in him. But what could I do, Mistress Blythe? I'd promised him, and I think it's sorter real dastardly to break a promise you make to a child. Come, sit down. It won't take long to stay an hour."

The wind was off shore, and only broke the sea's surface into long, silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it, from every point and headland, like transparent wings. The dusk was hanging a curtain of violet gloom over the sand dunes and the headlands where gulls were huddling. The sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs of silken vapor. Cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons. An evening star was watching over the bar.

Read more:https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~rgs/annhd-9.html
ChristopherJohnson
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 1:50:12 PM

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Location: Tbilisi, T'bilisi, Georgia
Strange imagery. To me, sea is not so hostile or alien to us.
raghd muhi al-deen
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 2:07:37 PM

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Location: Baghdad, Mayorality of Baghdad, Iraq
Canadian novelist

with my pleasure
mudbudda669
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 2:17:07 PM

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Location: Tallahassee, Florida, United States
Trill !
capitán
Posted: Tuesday, January 2, 2018 3:24:15 PM

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Joined: 2/18/2013
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Location: San Salvador, San Salvador, El Salvador
Daemon wrote:
The woods are never solitary—they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity…The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only—a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)


_Why is the Sea so alien to us?
or why does it have to?


_Ishamel, with his great love for the Sea, referred to us as 'water-gazers'.
And when life was so unbearable, he simply took to the ship.
Right? To escape the life, the human life.

_But he continues...the streets, they all take you waterwards.
even us, landsmen, people of desks, counters,
benches and alleys, are fixed in ocean reveries.
_Then asks himself if the green fields are gone.
All of them, mortal men, just getting as close to water as possible.

_Perhaps the Sea is not at all alien to us.
Maybe we all carry it in ourselves, we just don't know yet.
it might be so mystical because it bears the same essence whence we sprung.

_After all, Ishmael did say ...

'if they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other,
cherish very nearly the same feeling towards the ocean with me.''

_Or simply, in Joyce's words 'The Sea, the snotgreen Sea, the scrotumtightening Sea.'
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