Quotes About Burrows

We may therefore infer—" he writes, "improbable as is the inference—that worms are able by some means to judge which is the best end by which to draw triangles of paper into their burrows.

The whole universe sat there, open to the man who could make the right decisions. The uncertain rabbits had to be exposed, made to run for their burrows. Else how could you control them and breed them?

All the beasts in Howling Forest were safe in their caves, nests, and burrows.

Gray Wing narrowed his eyes, unnerved by the empty slopes. Surely the thaw should have brought the prey from their burrows by now? Had the early snowfall killed this year's young? He shifted his paws anxiously. If it had, leaf-bare would be long and hungry. He saw Gorse Fur freeze, and stiffened. Had the gray tom spotted prey? He followed Gorse Fur's gaze, disappointed as he saw it fall on Moth Flight.

We communicate like the burrows of foxes, in silence and darkness, under ground. We are undermined by faith and love.

delegation of hobs came out of the deep woods and, in a ceremony that dated back to the founding of the House, presented her with five blue jay feathers and a single perfect acorn. She repaid them with silver, bolts of jacquard silk, and as many of the best and largest flat screen television sets commercially available as they could carry back to their burrows in a day.

Snow falls in the Moosewood Sandhills, on ghost burrows, deer woods, in the bone-home, last snow. What does it mean to become nothing? You've dug a cave in the earth, room of knowing, room of tears. It means to place yourself beneath irrational things and know they are without blame. The potato smell of the dark. You've given up.

As protection from the weather and robbers, miners regularly dug burrows into the sides of the bluff. A visitor remarked that the holes looked like they had been dug by badgers, hence Wisconsin's nickname became the Badger State, according to a history of the state written by former governor George W. Peck in 1908.

There are a lot of times the heart burrows deeper, goes tunnelling into itself for reasons only the heart itself seems to know.They are times of isolation, of hibernation, sometimes of desolation. There is a bareness that spreads out over the interior landscape of the self, a bareness like tundra, with no sign of life in any direction, no sign of anything beneath the frozen crust of ground, no sign that spring ever intends to come again.