When she was eighteen years old she had almost drowned in the Kennebec River, not because of the pummeling current, but because she couldn’t come up with a casual phrase with which to call for...

Don’t drown.” At least there should be. I may have just Michael Phelpsed myself, but it’s all gold.

We are drowning in information but starved for knowledge.

They call it the drowning instinct. It’s when drowning doesn’t look like drowning. (pg. 241)

Reasoning with a drunkard is likeGoing under water with a torch to seek for a drowning man.

Have you killed a man, drowned a crocodile, hunted a wolf, or raped an abuser? Stop pretending you love someone.

You don’t drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there.

Underwater madness slipping into a haze, drowning and choking in repugnant nostalgic thoughts.