2008-09 Atlantic Coast Conference Mens Basketball Season

Famous quotes containing the words atlantic, coast, conference, mens, basketball and/or season:

    All the morning we had heard the sea roar on the eastern shore, which was several miles distant.... It was a very inspiriting sound to walk by, filling the whole air, that of the sea dashing against the land, heard several miles inland. Instead of having a dog to growl before your door, to have an Atlantic Ocean to growl for a whole Cape!
    Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

    Forced from home, and all its pleasures,
    Afric’s coast I left forlorn;
    To increase a stranger’s treasures,
    O’er the raging billows borne.
    Men from England bought and sold me,
    Paid my price in paltry gold;
    But, though theirs they have enroll’d me,
    Minds are never to be sold.
    William Cowper (1731–1800)

    The peace conference must not adjourn without the establishment of some ordered system of international government, backed by power enough to give authority to its decrees. ... Unless a league something like this results at our peace conference, we shall merely drop back into armed hostility and international anarchy. The war will have been fought in vain ...
    Virginia Crocheron Gildersleeve (1877–1965)

    Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
    She may entangle in that golden snare:
    Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

    Perhaps basketball and poetry have just a few things in common, but the most important is the possibility of transcendence. The opposite is labor. In writing, every writer knows when he or she is laboring to achieve an effect. You want to get from here to there, but find yourself willing it, forcing it. The equivalent in basketball is aiming your shot, a kind of strained and usually ineffective purposefulness. What you want is to be in some kind of flow, each next moment a discovery.
    Stephen Dunn (b. 1939)

    The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
    And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
    Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
    With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.
    William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)