Quotes About Desert

Certi accenti di quel colloquio echeggiarono nell'anima sua come il suono delle campane nel deserto; lungi, lungi, percorsero spazi vuoti enormi, li misurarono, riempiendoli improvvisamente tutti, rendendoli sensibili, distribuendovi abbondantemente gioia e dolore.

The shadows of the hills and rocks grew long in the valley bottom. But the guide didn't seem to notice. Sitting very still, his back leaning against the wall of the tomb, he had no sense of the passing day, or hunger, or thirst. He was filled with a different force, from a different time that had made him a stranger to the order of man. Perhaps he was no longer waiting for anything, no longer knew anything, and now he resembled the desert – silence, stillness, absence.

The Duke: This La Mancha—what is it like? The Governor: An empty place. Great wide plains. Prisoner: A desert. The Governor: A wasteland. The Duke: Which apparently grows lunatics. Cervantes: I would say, rather...men of illusion. The Duke: Much the same. Why are you poets so fascinated with madmen? Cervantes: I suppose...we have much in common. The Duke: You both turn your backs on life. Cervantes: We both select from life what pleases us.

words that would be howl'd out in the desert air, where hearing should not latch them.

Arabian in a snake pit.

The Sheikh determined to do something so large that the consequent American retaliation had to result in large numbers of people on the ground in the red dust of the Registan Desert and the jagged heights of the Hindu Kush Mountains.

When I was little, I went to the Sahara desert and met an older woman with beautiful earrings that came all the way down to her stomach. She told me, 'For us Tuareg, jewelry is not meant for decoration. It absorbs negative energy that comes your way.' So think twice when you buy a vintage ring!

I'm from Victorville - it's about an hour-and-a-half away from Los Angeles, up in the desert. They call it Victimville because it's kind of violent. It's a beautiful place, though. It's quiet.

Since the time of St. Jerome, it was mandatory for any kind of scholar or thinker to spend time out in the desert in solitude. It's no coincidence that the desert has been a major part of the visionary or mystical experience from the beginning of time.

We were straightfacedly told that, to understand the Phenomenology and the Encyclopædia, we had to go back to Abraham, Isaac, and the desert. Today it is all too obvious this sort of exegesis was merely a manoeuvre.

There is no lake at Camp Green Lake.

If stupid was sand, he'd be half the Sahara.

I think of these desert years of mine, not of my choosing. Maybe if it were all smooth and comfortable, if my pride and professionalism were defining life for me, God's steel-quiet, penetrating word would have been lost in the babble and sheen of success.

The moon. There's no other moon like one on a clear New Mexico night. It rises over the Sandias and soothes the miles and miles of barren desert with all the quiet whiteness of a first snow.

Lo digo ingenuamente, prefiero el aire libre del desierto, su cielo, su sublime y poética soledad, a estas calles encajonadas, a este hormiguero de gente atareada, a estos horizontes circunscritos que no me permiten ver el firmamento cubierto de estrellas, sin levantar la cabeza, ni gozar del espectáculo imponente de la tempestad cuando serpentean los relámpagos luminosos y ruge el trueno.

When he closed his eyes, everything around him just felt empty and cold, as if he was in the loneliest place in the world. The middle of nowhere.

The desert was a school, a school where each day, each hour, a final examination was offered, where failure meant death and the buzzards landed to correct the papers.

I'd thought there'd be no winter in the desert, but winter arrived anyway—silently, suddenly.

From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.

The desert takes our dreams away from us, and they don't always return.

The painted aircraft took on sunlight and pulse. Sweeps of color, bands and spatters, airy washes, the force of saturated light—the whole thing oddly personal, a sense of one painter's hand moved by impulse and afterthought as much as by epic design. I hadn't expected to register such pleasure and sensation. The air was color-scrubbed, coppers and ochers burning off the metal skin of the aircraft to exchange with the framing desert.

Behind me, his bedroom light went out, brightening the sky, and how queer it seemed, half the heavens coming nearer, all those incandescent masses increasing in number, the stars and constellations, because somebody turns off a light in a house in the desert...

The desert was clairvoyant, this is what he'd always believed, that the landscape unravels and reveals, it knows future as well as past.

In time I let my head ease back on the top step and I closed my eyes. I was moving into the biblical phase of the afternoon, the peak of my new simplicity. A verity less than eternal had little appeal. I prepared myself to think of night, desert, sorrowful forests, of the moon, the stars, the west wind, baptismal mist and the rich myrrh of harvested earth. Instead I thought of tits.