Kayaking Quotes

Hidup juga kayak cuaca. Hari ini bisa hujan, besok bisa cerah. Tapi, lo nggak akan punya hujan selamanya, atau kemarau selamanya. Kita butuh pahit dan manis secara bersamaan, sebuah bentuk keseimbangan.

Orang yang baca banyak buku kayak kamu dan menguasai sejarah nggak mungkin bodoh. Kamu cuma sial karena hidup di tempat dan waktu yang salah. Tempat dan waktu ketika kamu dianggap bodoh kalau kamu nggak pintar dalam hal yang namanya sains.

Orang nggak bisa milih siapa bapaknya, ibunya, sukunya, warna kulitnya, jenis kelaminnya, bahkan kadang-kadang agamanya. Jadi konyol, kalau aku ngejauhi orang-orang gara-gara hal yang nggak bisa mereka pilih sendiri. Kayak orang bego aja.

Poetry isn’t an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn’t a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn’t swimming. Poetry is water.

Everybody's different, and in dealing with differences, egos play a huge part.Kita gak bisa maksain orang supaya sama kayak kita. Trima aj perbedaan itu sebagai perbedaan kepribadian. Asalkan gak melanggar values kita,diterima aj.

Maybe freedom really is nothing left to lose. You had it once in childhood, when it was okay to climb a tree, to paint a crazy picture and wipe out on your bike, to get hurt. The spirit of risk gradually takes its leave. It follows the wild cries of joy and pain down the wind, through the hedgerow, growing ever fainter. What was that sound? A dog barking far off? That was our life calling to us, the one that was vigorous and undefended and curious.

Hujan itu bagus kalau jatuh. Kayak bintang kalau jatuh. Kayak daun kalau jatuh. Kenapa kita harus takut jatuh? Semua pasti pernah jatuh.

We know summer is the height of of being alive. We don't believe in God or the prospect of an afterlife mostly, so we know that we're only given eighty summers or so per lifetime, and each one has to be better then the last, has to encompass a trip to that arts center up at Bard, a seemingly mellow game of badminton over at some yahoo's Vermont cottage, and a cool, wet, slightly dangerous kayak trip down an unforgiving river. Otherwise, how would you know that you have lived your summertime best? What if you missed out on some morsel of shaded nirvana?

Romance isn't just about roses or killing dragons or sailing a kayak around the world. It's also about chocolate chip cookies and sharing The Grateful Dead and James Taylor with me in the middle of the night, and believing me when I say that you could be bigger than both of them put together, and not making fun of me for straightening out my french fries or pointing my shoelaces in the same direction, and letting me pout when I don't get my own way, and pretending that if I play "Flower Drum Song" one more time you won't throw me and the record out the window

You will be so dead, dear Sister. Make telpon dari tadi kayak Kroasia ada di sebelah Jakarta aja. Huahahaha

I watched clouds awobbly from the floor ' that kayak. Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies, an' tho' a cloud's shape nor hue nor size don't stay the same, it's still a cloud an' so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow? Only Sonmi the east an' the west an' the compass an' the atlas, yay, only the atlas o'clouds.

Two weeks earlier than scheduled, she flew into Vancouver and signed on with Greenpeace. The work was neither taxing nor truly exciting but the people she met more than compensated and she forged many new friendships. The high points were the trips they made by sea kayak, exploring the wild inlets farther up the coast. They watched bears scoop salmon from the shallows and paddled among pods of orcas, so close you could have reached out and touched them. At night they camped at the water's edge, listening to the blow of whales in the bay and the distant howls of wolves in the forest above.

Waterhouse's new roommate is out of town just now, but by glancing over his personal effects, Waterhouse estimates that he is paddling a black kayak from Australia to Yokosuka Naval Base, where he will slip on board a battleship and silently kill its entire crew with his bare hands before doing an Olympic-qualifying dive into the bay, punching out a few sharks, climbing back into his kayak and paddling back to Australia for a beer.

Iya, makanya aku nanyak. Siapa Gabriel Marcel. Apa potongan rambutnya kayak gini,” kata Johni sambil menunjuk rambutnya.

Seandainya gue ketemu dia duluan dibanding suami gue, pasti anak-anak gue sekarang udah kayak turunan dewa Yunani.

Agama dijadikan media provokasi termurah dan terefektif sepanjang masa, apalagi buat orang kayak gue yang nggak ngerti-ngerti banget agama.

Well, if you ask me what’s so special about this place.. aku akan bilang, most of the time, beauty lies in the simplest of things. Kayak semilir angin pagi dari teras kamar. Minum air tanpa harus dijerang lebih dulu. Makan sayuran hijau yang baru dipetik. Mendaki kebun teh di siang hari, di tengah gerimis. Menyeruput kuah dengan berisik, setelah kenyang menyantap rebusan rebung muda. Sarapan di kedai mi sederhana yang pernah masuk program televisi. Berjalan kaki sepanjang pasar malam yang dihiasi temaram lentera kertas. Menuliskan doa di kuil. Minum teh hangat di atap terbuka, di bawah hamparan langit berbintang. Hiking di rain forest dan menikmati alam terbuka. Ini hanya kisah perjalanan sederhana, dibumbui beberapa gigitan nyamuk, oleh-oleh sepasang sumpit kayu, dan petualangan kuliner yang nambah-nambahin bobot timbangan. Ini cerita tentang menemukan sesuatu yang nggak terduga, di tempat yang tidak disangka. Semua dari sebuah desa kecil bernama air. And that’s the beauty of small things. Don’t you agree?

wherever they live, travel, hike, swim, fish, dive, kayak, or trek, they risk being confronted by something capable of doing them in with tooth, fang, claw, jaw, or stinger, and yet there is no public clamor to eradicate any animal because of the peril it poses to the human population. australians have learned to coexist in relative peace with nearly everything, and when occasionally a human life is lost to an animal, the public usually reacts philosophically.

Kamu itu sekali-kali coba belajar untuk nggak perlu mikirin apa yang orang lain pikir tentang kamu. Karena mereka belum tentu berpikir kayak apa yang kamu pikirin. Nambah-nambah beban pikiran kamu aja. Dewangga

My dad says stop thinking that way. “You be lookin’ backward all the time, Brady, you’re gonna have one heck of a crook in the neck.” He smiles when he says that. But I know what he means deep down, and it’s not funny. You can’t keep dwelling on the past when you can’t undo it. You can’t make it happen any different than it did.

Perempuan kayak saya nggak bisa diumpet-umpetin.

Kadang-kadang emang butuh sendiri supaya bisa denger dengan jelas apa yang hati kita butuhkan. Biar hidup nggak garing kayak hidup gue sekarang.

In Greenland there is no ownership of land. What you own is your house, your dogs, your sleds and kayaks. Everyone is fed. It is a food-sharing society in which the whole population is kept in mind--the widows, elderly, infirm, and ill are always taken care of. Jens said, "We weren't born to buy and sell, but to be out on the ice with our families.

Artisanal You: I hope you've found your favorite ways to be, whether that's gardening or teaching, kayaking or governing. I hope you're on a road that matters to you, and that you feel like you're getting somewhere.

Grief. The state of mind brought about when love, having lost to death, learns to breathe beside it. See also love.

Lo percaya sama Tuhan, nggak?" Dia Tertawa. "Siapasih Tuhan buat lo? Paling juga Tuhan cuma orang asing buat lo, kayak orang lain. Yangngelakuin ritual ini itu tapi nggak ngerti juga mereka nyembah siapa. Yang nggak ngerasa nyaman sama Tuhannya, cuma ngerasa Tuhan itu orang asing yang kerjaannya hukum-hukumin orang.

too young to live, too old to die

Harta itu kayak pistol. Kalo kita sembarangaan ngasih pistol ke orang, tanpa dibimbing cara pemakaiannya dengan bijak, benda itu bisa merugikan pemegang dan orang di sekitarnya

Aku pengen banget punya lorong waktu kayak Doraemon Supaya Aku bisa kembali ke masa lalu

Hubungan yang udah retak mau diperbaiki sebaik apapun tetap aja nggak akan sama kayak dulu lagi. Ibarat guci udah pecah mau dilem pake lem semahal apapun tetap aja kelihatan retaknya.

Wilderness travel can be extremely taxing and dangerous. You can fall into a crevasse, flip your kayak, lose your way, become hypothermic, run out of food, or be killed by a bear. Far less violent events, however, are the common experience of most people who travel in wild landscapes. A sublime encounter with perhaps the most essential attribute of wilderness - falling into resonance with a system of unmanaged, non-human-centered relationships - can be as fulfilling as running a huge and difficult rapid. Sometimes they prove, indeed, to be the same thing.

The property adjoined the bay, and when the tide came in it was possible to go kayaking, which some of the residents not yet disabled by their infirmities were happy to do. This is how I would like to live, thought Irina, taking deep breaths of the sweet aroma of pines and laurels.

When pressed, hunters who claim that they just want “to be out in the wilderness,” will admit that the kill is essential—or at least the hope of a kill. As it turns out, there is no correlation between hunting and hiking, climbing, backpacking, kayaking, or any other outdoor activity. Hunters do not purposefully linger in the woods after a kill, but quickly begin the process of preparing to head home with the corpse. For hunters, the kill is the climax—the most important moment. They are not driving into the woods (or sometimes actually walking) for the sake of beauty, but in the hope of a kill.

Every single iceberg filled me with feelings of sadness and wonder. Not thoughts of sadness and wonder, mind you, because thoughts require a thinker, and my head was a balloon, incapable of thoughts. I didn't think about Dad, I didn't think about you, and, the big one, I didn't think about myself. The effect was like heroin (I think), and I wanted to stretch it out as long as possible. Even the simplest human interaction would send me crashing back to earthly thoughts. So I was the first one out in the morning, and the last one back. I only went kayaking, never stepped foot on the White Continent proper. I kept my head down, stayed in my room, and slept, but, mainly, I was. No racing heart, no flying thoughts.

Keimanan itu kayak wewangian, Lel. Kamu bisa mencium aromanya, tapi gak bisa mendefinisikan baunya. Dan biasanya, bakal makin gampang buat ngebahas wangi parfum tersebut dengan yang sama-sama udah nyium aromanya.

Lo berapa kali patah hati?'' ''berkali-kali' ''dan gue memakai bekas luka gue dengan bangga'' ''bekas luka?'' ''iya. kayak lo abis jatoh atau ketusuk piso, pasti ada bekas luka, kan? gue pakai semua bekas luka patah hati gue dengan bangga. sebagai pengingat bahwa gue pernah melalui semua dan masih hidup. keren, nggak?

The last frontier is not Alaska, outer space, the oceans, or the wonders of technology. It’s open-mindedness. Honor the land and its first nation peoples, and their ability to acquire wisdom, sustenance, and happiness from the wild plants and animals around them. Learn through story. Sleep on the ground. Listen. Travel by kayak and canoe.

Hidup itu kayak permainan. Kita yang memulai, kita yang memilih, kita yang menjalani, kita yang menentukan apakah di akhir kita bisa kalah atau justru jadi pemenangnya. Jadi, jangan kalah. Jangan kalah dalam permainan kalian sendiri. Jangan lupa untuk memeluk erat diri terlebih dulu sebelum memeluk orang lain. When you're happy with enough, You will be happier when you are with more. And you will be fine when you are with less. Terima kasih hari ini menerima diri sendiri.

To see what's beyond the horizon, we must paddle out, leave our familiar shores, and venture into the unknown.

I will not live my whole life for a few moments of bliss, but I am happy to risk it for them

Alors que la lumière s'épuise de faire des trous dans les nuages, je me couche sur la plage, devant un feu de bois, les chiens contre le flanc, la kayak remonté de moitié sur la rive et, écoutant la musique de la houle, je regarde griller mes poissons embrochés sur des pics de bois vert en pensant que la vie ne devrait être que cela: l'hommage rendu par l'adulte à ses rêves d'enfant.

Di dunia ini nggak mungkin ada dua orang, cowok-cewek bisa berteman dekat kalau salah satu dari mereka nggak ada yang naksir. Di antara sahabatan kayak gini, pasti ada yang naksir. Ya dalam kasus ini, gue. Kakak-adikan juga gitu, kan, biasanya. Orang-orang yang kakak-adikan itu, kan, karena salah satu suka, satu nggak suka tapi nggak pengin kehilangan.

Relationships weren’t ocean liners with stabilizers. They were flimsy affairs. No, they were more dangerous than canoes. They were kayaks, two-seaters that overturned with every careless comment, each intimation of indifference. You spend half the time upside down, under water. It takes a lot of skill to get right-side up before the relationship drowns.

We are not here to exist; we are here to live, to face death and stare it down. We are here to trust in God and to embrace this world in all its quiet and violent beauty, to break down the walls of our own prejudices and believe in something greater than ourselves. We are here to paddle into our worst fears and come out the other side to discover glaciers, to meet them face-to-face, and to celebrate a sense of wonder and God's plan that we find only in Nature.

The Greenland fjords are peculiar for the spells of completely quiet weather, when there is not enough wind to blow out a match and the water is like a sheet of glass. The kayak hunter must sit in his boat without stirring a finger so as not to scare the shy seals away. Actually, he can only move his eyes, as even the slightest move otherwise might mean game lost. The sun, low in the sky, sends a glare into his eyes, and the landscape around moves into the realm of the unreal. The reflex from the mirror-like water hypnotizes him, he seems to be unable to move, and all of a sudden it is as if he were floating in a bottomless void, sinking, sinking, and sinking.... Horror-stricken, he tries to stir, to cry out, but he cannot, he is completely paralyzed, he just falls and falls.

I almost never like things some people think everyone likes. I do not like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I do not like paddling a kayak in the hot sun. I do not like Santa Claus. I do not like it when someone takes out a guitar and everyone has to sing. I do not like standing in a cheering crowd, particularly if the crowd is watching people whose job it is to throw a ball throw a ball. I do not like a picture of a man on a horse. I do not like it when everybody is doing the same thing and someone is standing with a stopwatch waiting to give a prize to the person who finishes doing it first. I do not like hot chocolate and I do not like wearing a shirt or a hat with the name of a place written on it so everyone knows you have been to that place, and I am not a fan of raisins, so I am often frowning at the music in the supermarket.

I had never been to the Amazon, my jungle experience had mostly come from Central America with some short trips to Borneo, but the Amazon undoubtedly had a mystique all of its own. Surely the trees would be much bigger, the wildlife had to be much richer and more diverse and the people would be that bit wilder and cut off from the outside world. It gave me butterflies to think of spending time in the Amazon. Not knowing the geography of the area in any detail, my dreams were restricted to what I did know. There was a ruddy great river that virtually crossed the whole continent from west to east, and…that was about it. I had heard of expeditions that had kayaked the entire river from source to sea – phenomenal endurance feats taking five-plus months – the problem was I was a rubbish kayaker. Sure, I’d done a bit on the canals in England as a Cub Scout but that cold, depressing experience had been enough to put me off for life. What a dull, miserable sport, instructed by overenthusiastic dickheads in stupid helmets.

To the wreck hunters," Orion said, raising his water bottle, "And to whale songs." "To truthing," said Liv. "To tea leaves," said Felix. We kept toasting: To Fidelia and Ransome. To the rest of the Lyric passengers whose bones has been picked clean by fish. To adventures. Our voices overlapped and were indistinguishable. To baseball caps, to Patsy Cline. To whiskey and blow jobs and cunnilingus, birth control, treasure, no treasure, sleeping bags, bug spray, headphones, and crosswords. "To family," I called. "Surviving," said Sam. "Please can you keep it down!" yelled a voice from inside the kayakers' tent. "To angry, reluctant chaperones," Mariah stage-whispered. We all collapsed into stifled giggles, then put out the fire and trekked down to the beach to stage an impromtu, perfectly imperfect reading of Cousteau! by cell-phone light. Same had brought the latest printout of the script with him. That night, it didn't matter what had come before and what was going to come after. In that moment, we were the last true poets of the sea, and what mattered more than anything else was our quest.

Perhaps I am here because of last night’s dream, when I stood on the frozen lake before a kayak made of sealskin. I walked on the ice toward the boat and picked up a handful of shredded hide and guts. An old Eskimo man said, “You have much to work with.” Suddenly, the kayak was stripped of its skin. It was a rib cage of willow. It was the skeleton of a fish. I want to see it for myself, wild exposure, in January, when this desert is most severe. The lake is like steel. I wrap my alpaca shawl tight around my face until only my eyes are exposed. I must keep walking to stay warm. Even the land is frozen. There is no give beneath my feet. I want to see the lake as Woman, as myself, in her refusal to be tamed. The State of Utah may try to dike her, divert her waters, build roads across her shores, but ultimately, it won’t matter. She will survive us. I recognize her as a wilderness, raw and self-defined. Great Salt Lake strips me of contrivances and conditioning, saying, “I am not what you see. Question me. Stand by your own impressions.” We are taught not to trust our own experiences. Great Salt Lake teaches me experience is all we have.

I hate the Fourth of July. The early middle age of summer. Everything is alive and kicking for now, but the eventual decline into fall has already set itself in motion. Some of the lesser shrubs and bushes, seared by the heat, are starting to resemble a bad peroxide job. The heat reaches a blazing peak, but summer is lying to itself, burning out like some alcoholic genius. And you start to wonder - what have I done with June? The poorest of the lot - the Vladeck House project dwellers who live beneath my co-op - seem to take summer in stride; they groan and sweat, drink the wrong kind of lager, make love, the squat children completing mad circles around them by foot or mountain bike. But for the more competitive of New Yorkers, even for me, the summer is there to be slurped up. We know summer is the height of being alive. We don’t believe in God or the prospect of an afterlife mostly, so we know that we’re only given eighty summers or so per lifetime, and each one has to be better than the last, has to encompass a trip to that arts center up at Bard, a seemingly mellow game of badminton over at some yahoo’s Vermont cottage, and a cool, wet, slightly dangerous kayak trip down an unforgiving river. Otherwise, how would you know that you have lived summertime best? What if you missed out on some morsel of shaded nirvana?