When I started walking and I looked down and I saw on the floor this water, which looked like, you know, water in your basement except it happened to be in the auxiliary building of a nuclear power plant.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
There's something about the water - that solitary kind of peaceful feeling. You're on Earth but not quite.
A wet spot on the floor kind of put a scare in myself, so you never know inside those lines what might happen.
I'm scared of the water, and I hate the sea. I'd be all right if it was clear and I could see what was underneath. But it's the not knowing what's there that freaks me out.
Obviously, I'm not looking in the core of the reactor, but I am looking at what, at that time, was considered the source of the trouble, which was the water and where it was.
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.
There's a monster outside my room, can I have a glass of water?
I can't write unless I'm overlooking water.
Water is to me, I confess, a phenomenon which continually awakens new feelings of wonder as often as I view it.
When you can light your water on fire due to methane contamination in your ground water, what else can you do but laugh?
All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.