Surf Inspirational Quotes

Silence It has a sound, a fullness. It's heavy with sigh of tree, and space between breaths. It's ripe with pause between birdsong and crash of surf. It's golden they say. But no one tells us it's addictive.

I've learned life is a lot like surfing. When you get caught in the impact zone, you need to get right back up, because you never know what's over the next wave......and if you have faith, anything is possible, anything at all.

The vast open sea at night is a song being written; a rhyme, a mysterious and gentle arpeggiated work of Beethoven. It's sung by the waves as they travel on the face of the ocean, and their lyrics are the rhythm of the pounding surf.

There's no such thing as a handicap - it's all in your head

And as an artist, as someone who writes stories and tries to make words into beautiful forms, it's vitally important to me, especially in a culture that's forgotten the value of beauty. It's a primary source or inspiration, I guess, when so much of what goes on around you is only about money and big swinging dick capitalism. It's important for blokes to be able to do beautiful stuff, impractical stuff, that adds to life. That's an early life-lesson from surfing.

I could not have climbed any mountains while looking from the ground... I would not have flown... or dived... or surfed... or swum... I am not a tourist nor a spectator... this is the life I have left, and I will not waste it like some rubber-neck

use business to inspire and implement solutions to the environmental crisis.

Ability to find the answers is more important than ability to know the answers.

So I'm biding my time, like a surfer waiting for a wave. I'm pretty good at surfing, as it happens, and I know the wave will come. When the moment is right, I'll get Demeter's attention. She'll look at my stuff, everything will click, and I'll start riding my life. Not paddling, paddling, paddling, like I am right now.

we are all trying to get to the same island, whether you swim, fly, surf or skydiving. What matters is when the red light comes on.

even tragedies can turn into triumphs. SURF

The shock, the pain, the agonizing self-pity over the fact that he would never see her again, never hold her, never smell her, the list went on, and on, and on like some pounding surf that threatened to drown him.

When Jesus was wrapping up his days on earth, he didn't tell us to go to church. He didn't tell us to engage in a spiritualized version of channel surfing, as we hop from place to place in search of just the right programming to entertain us. He told us to get out and actually do the stuff he'd already been doing, painting the hope of God's reign on the canvas of God's world. He told us we're artists.

You've felt it too, haven't you? Even for a fleeting moment? When you're engrossed a good book, or losing yourself in trying a new recipe, or tackling something at work, and then you look up at the clock, only to realize just how many hours have passed. Whatever you want to call it: flying, sailing, surfing. It's the way time moves differently when you're caught up in the simple joy of being yourself. It's what can happen when you make the decision the let go of criticism and worry and fear. And that's where The Best really lives.

I am forever grateful that the hourglass, the moon, and the stars didn’t let me drown. Once, I couldn’t see in the storm, but now I am surfing on the tides, and what wonderful waves they are!

We come into this world and we are taught that life is a process of attainments. Or the collection of attainments. But I have since discovered that life is a process of rising above in the moments. The river wants to flow downhill or the wave wants to take you under; but you instead sit on a rock or surf the top of that wave. We essentially all have to be mermaids, every day, to live this life. There is a constant flow of water current: going up and going down. You go up to be happy.

Patagonia’s image is a human voice. It expresses the joy of people who love the world, who are passionate about their beliefs, and who want to influence the future. It is not processed; it won’t compromise its humanity. This means that it will offend, and it will inspire.

Lollipops and raindrops Sunflowers and sun-kissed daisies Rolling surf and raging sea Sailing ships and submarines Old Glory and “purple mountain’s majesty” Screaming guitar and lilting rhyme Flight of fancy and high-steppin’ dances Set free my mind to wander… Imagine the ant’s marching journeys. Fly, in my mind’s eye, on butterfly wings. Roam the distant depths of space. Unfurl tall sails and cross the ocean. Pictures made just to enthrall Creating images from my truth Painting hopes and dreams on my canvas Capturing, through my lens, the ephemeral Let me ruminate ‘pon sensual darkness… Tremble o’er Hollywood’s fluttering Gothics… Ride the edge of my seat with the hero… Weep with the heroine’s desperation. Yet… more than all these things… Give me words spun out masterfully… Terms set out in meter and rhyme… Phrases bent to rattle the soul… Prose that always miraculously inspires me! The trill runs up my spine, as I recall… A touch… a caress…a whispered kiss… Ebony eyes embracing my soul… Two souls united in beat of hearts. A butterfly flutter in my womb My lover’s wonder o’er my swelling The testament of our love given life Newly laid in my lover’s arms Luminous, sweet ebony eyes Just so much like his father’s A gaze of wonder and contentment From my babe at mother’s breast Words of the Divine set down for me Faith, Hope, Love, and Charity Grace, Mercy, and undeserved Salvation “My Shepherd will supply my need” These are the things that inspire me.

Riley had no doubt that an "immediate and merciful act of the Almighty" had saved them from the surf at Bojador. According to him, all of his men believed this too. Later, when a friend advised him to play down this conviction, because skeptics would use it to discredit the rest of his account of the voyage, Riley refused.

More often than not, at the end of the day (or a month, or a year), you realize that your initial idea was wrong, and you have to try something else. These are the moments of frustration and despair. You feel that you have wasted an enormous amount of time, with nothing to show for it. This is hard to stomach. But you can never give up. You go back to the drawing board, you analyze more data, you learn from your previous mistakes, you try to come up with a better idea. And every once in a while, suddenly, your idea starts to work. It's as if you had spent a fruitless day surfing, when you finally catch a wave: you try to hold on to it and ride it for as long as possible. At moments like this, you have to free your imagination and let the wave take you as far as it can. Even if the idea sounds totally crazy at first.

Make exercising fun. The same old routine at the gym can be a drag. It’s good to mix it up. In addition to dancing I also enjoy hiking and swimming. And when you work out, do it someplace you find inspiring: a hike that brings you to a gorgeous view or a workout in the sand with the surf in your sight, even a small grassy spot in your backyard or a serene, uncluttered corner of your apartment. Recreational team sports also add variety to the mix: they put the focus on the fun of the game rather than the pain of the effort.

Bereavement Sermon (The Sonnet) You don't find a way out of grief, You embrace it and it becomes your strength. You don't find a way out of suffering, You surf it and it endows you with courage. Avoiding sorrow you won't find happiness, Road to happiness goes through sorrow. No matter how dark life seems tonight, without heartwrecking darkness, we'll never discover resilience, and grow. Amidst the grief none of this makes sense, I've felt it first hand this past month. So I say, it's okay to be shattered to pieces, but you must gather the pieces and soldier on, for the sake of your living loved ones. It's okay to not be okay, it means your mind is trying to heal itself. Persevering pain for those who live, the sun will rise once again.

50. Keep Grounded When was the last time you ventured into the great outdoors? I mean really ventured, where you set out into the unknown with just a map and compass, backpack and sleeping bag - the sort of venturing that makes your heart beat faster. Have you experienced the hypnotic patter of rain on your tent, the clear call of an owl or the rustling of the wind through the leaves at night? It’s a feeling of absolute freedom and belonging - a chance to reconnect with both ourselves and planet Earth. At night in the outdoors is also a reminder that the best things in life aren’t things. Money can’t buy the quiet calm that comes from sitting beside a mountain stream as it ‘tinkles’ through the rock and heather. Money can’t buy the inspiration that you feel sat on a clifftop above the pounding of the ocean surf as it hits the rocks far below. You can’t bottle feelings like that. And sitting around a campfire under a sky of stars is the most ancient and wonderful of human activities. It reminds us of our place in the world, and in history - and it’s hard not to be humbled. These sorts of simple activities cost so little yet they give us precious time to be ‘still- - time to reconnect, to clear our heads of the dross, to remind ourselves of our dreams and to see things in the perspective they often require. We all need that regularly in our lives - more than you might imagine.

It was marijuana that drew the line between us and them, that bright generational line between the cool and the uncool. My timidity about pot, as I first encountered it in Hawaii, vanished when, a few months later, during my first year of high school, it hit Woodland Hills. We scored our first joints from a friend of Pete's. The quality of the dope was terrible -- Mexican rag weed, people called it -- but the quality of the high was so wondrous, so nerve-end-opening, so cerebral compared to wine's effects, that I don't think we ever cracked another Purex jug. The laughs were harder and finer. And music that had been merely good, the rock and roll soundtrack of our lives, turned into rapture and prophecy. Jimi Hendrix, Dylan, the Doors, Cream, late Beatles, Janis Joplin, the Stones, Paul Butterfield -- the music they were making, with its impact and beauty amplified a hundredfold by dope, became a sacramental rite, simply inexplicable to noninitiates. And the ceremonial aspects of smoking pot -- scoring from the million-strong network of small-time dealers, cleaning "lids," rolling joints, sneaking off to places (hilltops, beaches, empty fields) where it seemed safe to smoke, in tight little outlaw groups of three or four, and then giggling and grooving together -- all of this took on a strong tribal color. There was the "counterculture" out in the greater world, with all its affinities and inspirations, but there were also, more immediately, the realignments in our personal lives. Kids, including girls, who were "straight" became strangers. What the hell was a debutante, anyway? As for adults -- it became increasingly difficult not to buy that awful Yippie line about not trusting anyone over thirty. How could parents, teachers, coaches, possibly understand the ineluctable weirdness of every moment, fully perceived? None of them had been out on Highway 61.

Lin Lin and Tammy created ginger beef with crisp garden vegetables that showcased some distinctive, bright flavors. I adored this dish." Sophia smiled as Lin Lin and Tammy stepped forward. Her roommate looked completely shocked and continued to hide behind a fringe of bangs. "Go, Shaggy!" Chef Johnson, the hipster from Maine, cheered for his colleague. Everyone laughed, and even Lin Lin permitted herself a small grin. The two women discussed their inspiration and preparation techniques. Jenny shook their hands. "I agree with Jonathan. I loved that Asian dish. I also loved the meal that paired perfectly grilled tenderloin with buttery charred lobster. Oh my God! Now that is just the way surf-n-turf should be prepared. Heavenly! And the fresh herb salad with flowers made it such a pretty picture.

When I am having a bad day or a difficult moment, in my mind's eye I often return to the soothing images of the sea. I recall the roar of the surf as it explodes over ancient volcanic rock formations that decorate the majestic Oregon coastline. Gorgeous waves roll in endlessly and disperse impressively over the the sandal-covered beach front. I invite you to go to your secret place and allow your spirit to dance with the magical visions of inspiration you perceive.

But surfing always had this horizon, this fear line, that made it different from other things, certainly from other sports I knew. You could do it with friends, but when the waves got big, or you got into trouble, there never seemed to be anyone around.

Off and on, for several years, I’d been reading Zen, I’d flirted with Tantric Hinduism, I’d surfed the smaller swells of Sufism, and tried to get down with the Tao. It was all very eye-opening and inspirational, and while Asian mysticism is an easy target for the sneers of secular cynics and sectarian dogmatists alike, it’s far more compatible with modern science than the misinterpreted Levantine myths, ecclesiastical fairy tales, pious platitudes, and near-desperate wishful thinking I’d been fed in Southern Baptist Sunday School. The wisdom in those spiritual texts was obvious, yet I’d integrated it into my daily life with but minimal success. From a practical point of view, it was like trying to teach a monkey to play chess.

When darkness threatens to shut out the Light, ranges of emotions are the waves I surf at night. “Triumphing over Trauma” as my battle cry. Accepting this truth becomes my only guide.

O ka papa he'e nalu kēia, pahe'e i ka nalu ha'i o Makaiwa. This is the surfboard that will glide on the rolling surf of Makaiwa. A woman's boast. Her beautiful body is like the surfboard on which her mate "glides over the rolling surf.

We needed philosophical and inspirational guides to make sure we always asked the right questions and found the right answers.

Who 'waits for inspiration' has probably never explored the brain. Its much larger than the entire internet. Writing, however, is partly stalking the big wave, and ride it when it comes. However, the thousands and thousands of blokes sitting at the shoreline trying to create waves by splashing their hands in the surf - it might be what they teach at writer workshops, but the sight is absolutely ghastly.

Being able to pick and read good waves is almost more important than surfing well.

Life for all its gains pierces in ways that leave scars, where I've bled, I've lived

So in 2013, Patagonia launched a venture capital fund to invest in environmentally and socially responsible for-profit start-ups. We wanted to apply the many lessons we have learned in trying to conduct our business more responsibly to applications beyond the outdoor apparel industry. We were willing to sacrifice short-term returns for long-term financial and environmental gains. Tin Shed Ventures serves as a vehicle for the third pillar of Patagonia’s mission statement: “ . . . use business to inspire and implement solutions to the environmental crisis.” But it also serves to do good in the world: providing funding for people who have business ideas that could help solve the environmental crisis. It is really the small private businesses we hope to influence. It is the tens of thousands of young people who dream of owning their small farm someday. All of us working together can create the change that we need.

Waikiki Beach. I was psyched at the prospect of learning to surf in the historic place where Hawaiian kings and queens first rode atop waves.

In our world, where rapid response seems to be more valued than reflection, the diary might be just a sort of daily exercise we need to draw us back into a richer present. Perhaps we would all be happier if we sort out a little time and space for own inner Pepys. If we went to a chamber once a day to scribble down our thoughts on the day. If we stopped browsing, pausing, surfing and tweeting, and began really looking around us at the small Very Important Things who knows the next day might even go better.

Block has been writing unofficial Minecraft-inspired fanfiction since 2015 and is the author of over 100 books and collections. His most popular books are the Diary of a Surfer Villager (where Jimmy and his friends go on adventures), the Ballad of Winston the Wandering Trader, and Baby Zeke: Diary of a Chicken Jockey. When he’s not writing books or playing video games, Dr. Block likes to spend his time surfing near his house, gardening in his backyard, and spending time with his wife and two teenage children. Although Dr. Block is not

Sólo se vive una vez. Así que vive. No existas. Es mejor ser que tener. Y si tienes, compártelo con aquellos que no fueron tan afortunados como tú. Es tan simple ser feliz. El secreto está en mantener esa simpleza a través de toda una vida. Busca el verdadero propósito de tu vida. Si yo pude lograrlo, cualquiera lo puede hacer. Nunca dejes que tus miedos se interpongan a tus sueños. ¡Nunca! Un soñador.

Tom personified that surfing could provide comfort to those who felt broken

In Hilo, we are the `āina. Its mist is our breath, its rain our tears, its waters our blood. Our veins run deep, our song louder than their noise. Roots too deep to extract. That’s the thing about hula. Burn your books, rewrite your history, build walls, plant flags. Hula is written within the swirls of our feet. It’s our umbilical cord, our pulse. Our battle cry, our death rattle, our moment of conception. The chants are archived in the stars. Hula is the heat rising from within our volcanoes. It is the pull of the tides, the beat of the surf against our cliffs. It is our hair, our teeth, our bones. Our DNA. You can steal a kingdom, but the kingdom will never belong to you

Your life should consist of more than commuting, working, eating, surfing the Internet, sleeping, and watching TV. Your life should be filled with purpose-driven experiences and projects that bring excitement, passion, energy, and authentic meaning and joy into your life. I hope that as you start something stupid, you will find real meaning in your life and that you will learn these three great (albeit simple) truths: Your life matters. Your life has purpose. You are meant to be happy. May this book be a source of inspiration for some of the coolest and most meaningful projects and experiences of your life! It all starts with a tiny, stupid idea, then one thing leads to another, and suddenly, you find something amazing: yourself.

People curse caption's along with gusty frame's those I never advertised but surfed in reality

MSN GROUP: Mystery’s Lounge SUBJECT: Field Report—Life at Project Hollywood AUTHOR: Sickboy For those who don’t know, I’ve been sleeping in Papa’s closet at Project Hollywood. Today was the best day I’ve ever had here, despite all the crazy drama that has been going on. I woke up earlier than usual and went surfing in Malibu with Style and his girlfriend, who is really an amazing person. Seeing how cool they get along is really inspiring. He’s one of the few people I’ve met in the game who has something great to show for all the effort he’s put into it. The surfing was amazing. I was so happy to go because I haven’t gone yet this summer. I recommend taking up the sport to anyone who’s never tried it. As soon as you hit the water, your mind clears and it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. It’s truly a relaxing experience. Afterward, we ate at a fish stand right at the edge of the Pacific Ocean and had a great conversation about music, friends, traveling, life, and careers. When I returned to the house, I did some work. Then I watched The Last Dragon with Playboy, whom I’ve become good friends with. During the movie, Herbal and Mystery talked outside and settled their differences. Though Mystery’s still upset at Katya, he said he wouldn’t hold it against Herbal for falling in love with her. And Herbal said that if Mystery paid for the damages to his room, he’d forgive Mystery for his behavior. Thank God. It’s good to see this thing ended in a sane way. Mystery will be moving out of the house tomorrow anyway, which I think is a shame. At about 2:00 A.M., Playboy, Mystery, and I sat in the main room smoking a hookah, listening to music, and talking about our goals in life. I didn’t have a single conversation today about sarging, pickup, or the community. My day was filled with real conversations with real friends. I didn’t need to fuck some L.A. bimbo from the Saddle Ranch for validation. In fact, I didn’t do a single set all day. These are the days that make life worth living. These are also the days that I will miss when I move out of Project Hollywood. —Sickboy

If I run, I might fall. If I TRUST someone, I might get backstabbed. If I LOVE someone, I might get hurt. If I share my FEEDBACK, they might ridicule me or make fun of me. If I eat outside food, I might fall sick. If I disagree with someone, they might try to harm my child. If I take a DIFFERENT DIRECTION in my life (without any precedent), I might fail. If I DRIVE on road, I might meet with an accident. If I get into a relationship, they might try to change me. If I don’t follow social norms, they might isolate me. Oh God, with so many fears...one might just stop living. It is as good as being dead. FACE YOUR FEARS, don’t run away from them. As we know Murphy’s law, “IF SOMETHING HAS TO GO WRONG, IT WILL”. Till then, enjoy every day of your life and celebrate every moment of your life. BE FEARLESS. Do BUNGEE JUMP, SKYDIVE, climb mountains, do sea surfing, anything and everything your heart wants to do.

What can explain this difference? On the surface, much appears to hinge on Richard’s programming feat, his software shim. Otherwise, his effort with Konqueror seems much like my struggles with Mozilla. Perhaps he was just a better programmer than me, and without his coding cleverness, there would be no story. That explanation is too simple. Richard made his shim only after determining he needed one last link in a chain of inspiration, intuition, reasoning, and estimation. His shim was a consequence of his overall plan. To show what I mean, here’s an accounting of what Richard did in his first couple of days at Apple. He began by quizzing us on the browser analysis we had done before his arrival, and after hearing it, he quickly discarded our effort with Mozilla as unlikely to bear fruit. By doing so, he demonstrated the self-confidence to skip any ingratiating display of deference to his new manager, a person who had years of experience in the technical field he was newly entering. Next, Richard resolved to produce a result on the shortest possible schedule. He downloaded an open source project that held genuine promise, the Konqueror code from KDE, a browser that might well serve as the basis for our long-term effort. In getting this code running on a Mac, he decided to make the closest possible approximation of a real browser that was feasible on his short schedule. He identified three features—loading web pages, clicking links, and going back to previous pages. He reasoned these alone would be sufficiently compelling proofs of concept. He then made his shortcuts, and these simplifying choices defined a set of nongoals: Perfect font rendering would be cast aside, as would full integration with the Mac’s native graphics system, same for using only the minimum source code from KDE. He reasoned that these shortcuts, while significant, would not substantially detract from the impact of seeing a browser surf web pages. He resolved to draw together these strands into a single demo that would show the potential of Konqueror. Then, finally, he worked through the technical details, which led him to develop his software shim, since that was the only thing standing between him and the realization of his plan. His thought process amplified his technical acumen. In contrast, Don and I were hoping Mozilla would pan out somehow. I was trying to get the open source behemoth to build on the Mac, with little thought beyond that. I had no comparable plan, goals, nongoals, tight schedule, or technical shortcuts.

But with their backs against the wall, the Beatles produced an album far ahead of anything they’d done before. Since these guys were riding new levels of musical fluidity and inspiration, firing on so many more cylinders than anybody else had, they stumbled onto discoveries that changed the way music has been made ever since. It was an accidental masterpiece—but one that stunned them into realizing how far they could go. After that, they went full-time into the masterpiece-making business. Yet unlike some of their later artistic statements, this one was fun to make, and it shows. It’s where the Beatles became the Beatles. For artists like Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye, it was a model of artistic independence. Brian Wilson was still writing surf hits until he heard this record. The morning after his first listen, he sat at the piano and wrote “God Only Knows.” As he said, “We prayed for an album that would be a rival to Rubber Soul.

Change is the only constant, it comes in waves like the waves in an ocean, the best way to deal with it is to surf it, not fight it.

Future can hit you hard, but just like a wave you can surf it, if you spot it coming at you.

Surfing is the first lifestyle sport. X Game staples like skateboarding and snowboarding were inspired directly by surfing. Being a surfer involves a different level of commitment from being a golfer or basketball player. Surfing is more than an athletic pursuit that you do a couple days a week at a course or in a gym. Even when surfers are out of the water, they are watching the weather, tides, and wind, monitoring distant swell patterns, and mentally tuning in the ocean. Surfing defines your life, in the same way that work—being a farmer or a carpenter or a blacksmith—used to define people’s lives. Forty years ago Alvin Toffler’s Future Shock called surfers “a signpost pointing to the future” for their embrace of a leisure-time “lifestyle,” and in this case Toffler was right.

Shake Shack- The now multinational, publicly traded fast-food chain was inspired by the roadside burger stands from Danny's youth in the Midwest and serves burgers, dogs, and concretes- frozen custard blended with mix-ins, including Mast Brothers chocolate and Four & Twenty Blackbirds pie, depending on the location. Blue Smoke- Another nod to Danny's upbringing in the Midwest, this Murray Hill barbecue joint features all manner of pit from chargrilled oysters to fried chicken to seven-pepper brisket, along with a jazz club in the basement. Maialino- This warm and rustic Roman-style trattoria with its garganelli and braised rabbit and suckling pig with rosemary potatoes is the antidote to the fancy-pants Gramercy Park Hotel, in which it resides. Untitled- When the Whitney Museum moved from the Upper East Side to the Meatpacking District, the in-house coffee shop was reincarnated as a fine dining restaurant, with none other than Chef Michael Anthony running the kitchen, serving the likes of duck liver paté, parsnip and potato chowder, and a triple chocolate chunk cookie served with a shot of milk. Union Square Café- As of late 2016, this New York classic has a new home on Park Avenue South. But it has the same style, soul, and classic menu- Anson Mills polenta, ricotta gnocchi, New York strip steak- as it first did when Danny opened the restaurant back in 1985. The Modern- Overlooking the Miró, Matisse, and Picasso sculptures in MoMA's Sculpture Garden, the dishes here are appropriately refined and artistic. Think cauliflower roasted in crab butter, sautéed foie gras, and crispy Long Island duck.

you may not have the capacity to create the waves, but you can learn the ability to surf the waves

Surfing and Life hold parallels.

The human mind is a product of nature. Resembling other forms of nature, does it follow an ancient code by adhering to universal rules of structure, time, and rhythm? Does the human mind establish through training and education its own pulse, tempo, pace, and lilt? Does reading allow us to witness the rhythm, beat, and intonation of other people’s minds? Does writing allow us to develop, monitor, and train the pulsating pulse of our own surfing mental cadence? Does reading enable us to see the groundswell of our own life refracted through a prism of other people’s storm of words? Does reading depict the upsurge of images and thoughts of a working mind, which casement frames humankind? Does writing spur us to scrutinize the indistinct pictures taken by the viewfinder submerged in our own minds? Does inspired writing draw out of us what composed material binders the structures of our multi-dimensional mind?