We have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon.

The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.

A dream is the bearer of a new possibility, the enlarged horizon, the great hope.

It is our job, as members of parliament, to legislate with an eye to the long term future, to look over the horizon beyond the next election and ensure that as far as we can what we do today will make Australia a better place, a safer place, for future generations to live in.

But with Christ, we have access in a one-to-one relationship, for, as in the Old Testament, it was more one of worship and awe, a vertical relationship. The New Testament, on the other hand, we look across at a Jesus who looks familiar, horizontal. The combination is what makes the Cross.

In terms of being able to renew my nation, to be able to be able to bring back a devastated country, to restore hope to our people, to lift women and to give them a new horizon, a new ambition and new dreams, in respect of all of that, I think we've accomplished it, and I feel very good about that.

I always design a landscape with fixed horizons whether it be mountains or a stone wall around a 20-foot-square plot.

Traditional horizontal search engines cannot always identify the target audience, niche or vertical industry of a page or site. Vertical search engines address this issue by the nature of their design. They identify sites according to more specific criteria and sometimes even by human input.

The disembodied spirit is immortal; there is nothing of it that can grow old or die. But the embodied spirit sees death on the horizon as soon as its day dawns.

Our computers have become windows through which we can gaze upon a world that is virtually without horizons or boundaries.

One of the reasons that I accepted, once asked to do Star Trek, was to give a single child a chance to see the long thought, to see themselves some 400 years hence. It occurred to me that we must ensure that we keep in front of children the ever-changing horizon.

When you head on out to the Moon, in very short order, and you get a chance to look back at the Earth, that horizon slowly curves around in upon himself, and all of sudden you're looking at something that is very strange, but yet is very, very familiar, because you're beginning to see the Earth evolve.

Now and then, when I grow nostalgic about my ocean childhood - the wauling of gulls and the smell of salt, somebody solicitous will bundle me into a car and drive me to the nearest briny horizon.

Jim Newman, the business visionary who created the term 'comfort zone,' showed me how to expand my horizons. Thanks to Jim, after I attended one of his PACE Seminars in 1978; I moved out of my comfort zone at Bear Stearns and became a super successful oilman.

We saw Bring Me The Horizon, they're really amazing and we had so much of a fun time.

A story is alive, as you and I are. It is rounded by muscle and sinew. Rushed with blood. Layered with skin, both rough and smooth. At its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. A story beats with the heart of every person who has ever strained ears to listen. On the breath of the storyteller, it soars. Until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. A story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. Or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon itself like a snake in the sun. It can vanish like smoke before the wind. Linger like perfume in the nose. Change with every telling, yet always remain the same.

When one looks at the horizon above any body of water for long enough, they often find self-reflection in the distance.

You can spend a lifetime at sea. Your present and past surround you as sure as the salt air. One does not stare out to the horizon and eventually not see themselves staring back. The farther we go out to sea, the deeper we go inside our mind. The spirit of the ocean is a living, breathing thing, as alive as any of the creatures who inhabit her waters above and below.

When a man's dreams live past the horizon of the sea, his soul dies a little each day he spends upon land and each mile he moves farther inland until ultimately one day he is nothing but a shell, empty and dead inside. Like a shell, you can hear the sound of the ocean if you hold it close enough to your ear and truly listen. In the sound of the ocean, you can find a man's purpose and in his purpose you will find the meaning of his life. If you love this man, you'll bring him back to the sea and set him free. If you greedily wish to showcase this man like a trophy on your windowsill, he may shine for you at times. Perhaps even your friends will comment how wonderful he is, but trust that a storm is brewing within. Each one of his stares into the distance is foretelling of a voyage of freedom to come. When this storm ultimately hits, it will take all that you have to survive and more likely than not, you'll be separated in its gales.

We experience, while still young, our most thoroughly felt desires as a kind of horizon, see life as divided into what lies on this side of that horizon and what lies on the other, as if we only had to reach that horizon and fall into it in order for everything to change, in order to once and for all transcend the world as we have known it, though in the end this transcendence never actually comes, of course, a fact one began to appreciate only as one got older, when one realized there was always more life on the other side of desire's completion, that there was always waking up, working, eating, and sleeping, the slow passing of time that never ends, when one realized that one can never truly touch the horizon because life always goes on, because each moment bleeds into the next and whatever one considered the horizon of one's life turns out always to be yet another piece of earth.

Elevate your inside game. A negative attitude is below the horizon...a place for lonesome hearts.

It's the wind, on a dead quiet day, moving through a massive wheat field. There are wheat fields so big back home, you can't imagine. Their size hardly has any meaning, you know? They just cover the earth. So you've walked for hours up to your waist in the wheat, deep in your own thoughts. You've made your way to the center of this dry ocean of living plants, not paying attention to where you are or where you're going. In all directions the horizon vanishes. Then you hear it. It's a rushing, like a million little ocean waves. It sounds like gold looks. It's the quietest power you can ever hear. It's not a tame sound at all. It's like the sound of God breathing.

The horizon was indistinguishable from the inky black, which fell upon the desert like a sorcerer's mantle shot through with diamonds. The stars were so tiny, so far away, and yet, at the moment, with her fingers curled around his, he almost felt as though he could reach up and snag one by the tail.

You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.