Quotes About Wasteland

So much of 'Doomsday' is taken from the early 'Mad Max' films.

In a wasteland the surface does not represent the actuality of what it is supposed to be representing, and people are living inauthentic lives. "I've never done a thing I wanted to in all my life. I've done as I was told." You know?

In front of him, a flat pan of dry and lifeless earth stretched as far as he could see. Not a single tree. Not a bush. No hills or valleys. Just an orange-yellow sea of dust and rocks; wavering currents of heated air boiled on the horizon

A wasteland is a confrontation to a man of stature: an empty place, a gauntlet thrown down in challenge and defiance. A place like that cries out to be conquered and civilised.

Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search of our better selves.

The place had the gritty untidiness of belonging to no one, a litter bin for wasted time.

Frederick Buechner can find grace and redemption even in the shoddiest, phoniest aspects of a cultural wasteland. One reads Lion Country...with hope and delight.

What I was trying to convey there was the kind of waste land that was left after the war. It was a bit like one always thinks of war, you know, stark scenery and no birds, no trees, no leaves, nothing living. And just emptiness.

I think 'Teenage Wasteland' was one of those cult hits like 'My So-Called Life', something that came along and got a lot of viewers and then somehow fell into a bad timeslot that nobody ever watched, and then the network pulled the plug prematurely.

Wherever we are, it isn't like the Tenebrae. No desert monotony. No spiked mountains. It's more like forest land after a nuke attack. Bare, mossy skeleton-like trees and tough tangles of gray and green weeds sprouting on low rolling hills. Pretty much everything but the weeds seems dead here.

Carrie, sitting there over your coffee cup in a wasteland of worn-out silver wedding rings, feeding yourself confections of motherhood like the display cakes in the bakery where you worked- all trimming over cardboard.

As it happens, I have personally been something of an enthusiast for the London Olympic games, mainly on the grounds a) that a bit of wasteland will be made nice and b) that it tends to make everybody happy that their country should be the centre of world attention for a couple of weeks in their life.

Certainly on the vast windy plain, there was plenty of nothing to be looked at.

Nobody came to Jakku.

This world probably sees me as broken and a so-so worthless rejected lifeless tree in a lost wasteland, looked at as many-many hopelessness's, In God's eyes, I am; appeared as this golden tree of life, only the ones free from blindness can see my true reality. -MillYentei D.Y.

el suelo desolado y ausente, sediento de agua

we stood on the threshold of life. And so it would seem. We had as yet taken no root. The war swept us away. For the others, the older men, it is but an interruption. They are able to think beyond it. We, however, have been gripped by it and do not know what the end may be. We know only that in some strange and melancholy way we have become a waste land.

a decimated wasteland

El desierto] que parece recordar de todo lo que le ha pasado, que recuerda y que termina por destruir todo lo que le pasa.

No Arturo, there never was a sea. You dream and you wish, but you go on through the wasteland. You will never see the sea again. It was a myth you once believed.-But, I have to smile, for the salt of the sea is in my blood, and there may be ten thousand roads over the land, but they shall never confuse me, for my heart's blood will ever return to its beautiful source.

Leaving New Orleans also frightened me considerably. Outside of the city limits the heart of darkness, the true wasteland begins.

The way to restore the Wasteland is to embrace it with compassion, to become identified with it in exactly the same way that the lover identifies with the beloved: for what wounds the beloved wounds the lover.

But the wasteland of Illinois had driven me to Scripture reading.

Tran Thi Thu Van, the writer from Saigon, spent those weeks wandering in the wasteland of the battle trying to stay alive. She would later record scene after scene of horror in her book Mourning Headband for Hue.