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1 " In Canada, when we speak of water, we're speaking of ourselves. Canadians are known to be unextravagant, and one explanation of this might be that we know that wasted water means a diminished collective soul; polluted waters mean a sickened soul. Water is the basis of our self-identity, and when we dream of canoes and thunderstorms and streams and even snowballs, we're dreaming about our innermost selves. "
― Douglas Coupland , Souvenir of Canada
2 " Hoover Dam," Thalia said. " It's huge." We stood at the river's edge, looking up at a curve of concrete that loomed between the cliffs. People were walking along the top of the dam. They were so tiny they looked like fleas.The naiads had left with a lot of grumbling—not in words I could understand, but it was obvious they hated this dam blocking up their nice river. Our canoes floated back downstream, swirling in the wake from the dam's discharge vents." Seven hundred feet tall," I said. " Built in the 1930s." " Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said.Graver sighed. " Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. " How do you know all that?" " Annabeth," I said. " She liked architecture." " She was nuts about monuments," Thalia said." Spouted facts all the time." Grover sniffled. " So annoying." " I wish she were here," I said. "
3 " Benjamin and I sat in the middle of one of the large canoes with our grandmother in the stern, directing us past shoals and through rapids and into magnificent stretches of water. One day the clouds hung low and light rain freckled the slate-grey water that peeled across our bow. The pellets of rain were warm and Benjamin and I caught them on our tongues as our grandmother laughed behind us. Our canoes skimmed along and as I watched the shoreline it seemed the land itself was in motion. The rocks lay lodged like hymns in the breast of it, and the trees bent upward in praise like crooked fingers. It was glorious. Ben felt it too. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, and I held his look a long time, drinking in the face of my brother. "
― Richard Wagamese , Indian Horse
4 " So long as we think dugout canoes are the only possibility-all that is real or can be real-we will never see the ship we will never feel the free wind blow. "
