Quotes About Forest

Why, said the saint, did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it not because I loved mankind far too well? Now I love God! Mankind I do not love; mankind is a thing too imperfect for me. Love of mankind would be fatal to me.

The dark dangerous forest is still there, my friends. Beyond the space of the astronauts and the astronomers, beyond the dark, tangled regions of Freudian and Jungian psychiatry, beyond the dubious psi-realms of Dr. Rhine, beyond the areas policed by commissars and priests and motivations-research men, far, far beyond the mad, beat, half-hyserical laughter...the utterly unknown still is and the eerie and ghostly lurk, as much wrapped in mystery as ever. A Bit of the Dark World

Will biofuel usage require land? Absolutely, but we think the ability to use winter cover crops, degraded land, as well as using sources such as organic waste, sewage, and forest waste means that actual land usage will be limited. Just these sources can replace most of our imported oil by 2030 without touching new land.

I did grow up in Kenosha, Wisconsin, around a lot of my mom's family. I had a lot of cousins and aunts and uncles around me, and my sisters and my brother. Probably the most formative part of it was that we grew up on the edge of a forest. It wasn't a big forest, but it was enough. When you're a kid, it feels gigantic.

No real fairytale scared me, but Freddy Krueger did. 'Nightmare on Elm Street' scared the living hell out of me, but no fairytale. Maybe 'Hansel and Gretel' a little bit when they were walking through the forest and they met the witch. But I liked being scared, I really enjoy being scared.

Witches are made out of things like mushrooms and twigs. Everybody knows that.

True, when you behold Damascus from the Salahiyeh, the last slope of the Anti-Lebanon, it is the realization of all that you have dreamed of Oriental splendor; the world has no picture more dazzling. It is Beauty carried to the Sublime, as I have felt when overlooking some boundless forest of palms within the tropics.

A lovely nook of forest scenery, or a grand rock, like a beautiful woman, depends for much of its attractiveness upon the attendance sense of freedom from whatever is low; upon a sense of purity and of romance.

Liberalism is a cancer; it's a forest fire; it destroys every single thing it touches.

Tungnath's lonely eminence gives it a magic of its own. To get there (or beyond), one passes through some of the most delightful temperate forest in the Garhwal Himalaya. Pilgrim, or trekker, or just plain rambler such as myself, one comes away a better person, forest-refreshed, and more aware of what the world was really like before mankind began to strip it bare. Duiri

The deodar enjoys the company of its own kind: Where one deodar grows, there will be others. A walk in a deodar forest is awe-inspiring -- surrounded on all sides by these great sentinels of the mountains, you feel as though the trees themselves are on the march.

On my way back to the town I took a short cut through the forest. A swarm of yellow butterflies drifted across the path. A woodpecker pecked industriously on the bark of a tree, searching for young cicadas. Overhead, wild duck flew north, on their way across Central Asia, all traveling without passports. Birds and butterflies recognize no borders.

had noticed, on the previous day, that a number of stray dogs—belonging to watchmen, villagers and forest guards—always hung about the house, waiting for scraps of food to be thrown away.

Small wayside stations have always fascinated me. Manned sometimes by just one or two railway employees, and often situated in the middle of a damp subtropical forest, or clinging to the mountainside on the way to Simla or Darjeeling, these little stations are, for me, outposts of romance, lonely symbols of the pioneering spirit that led men to lay tracks into the remote corners of the earth.

When the whistling-thrush released A deep sweet secret on the trembling air; Blackbird on the wing, bird of the forest shadows, Black rose in the long ago summer, This was your song: It isn't time that's passing by, It is you and I.

THE MAGNET …I heard him coming through brambles, through narrow forests, I bid my nights unwind, I bid my days turn back, I broke my windows, I unsealed my locks.

Once it happened…Four men were walking in the forest. The first was a gnana yogi, the second was a bhakti yogi, the third was a karma yogi, and the fourth was a kriya yogi.

Marriage is not a house or even a tent it is before that, and colder: the edge of the forest, the edge of the desert the unpainted stairs at the back where we squat outside, eating popcorn the edge of the receding glacier where painfully and with wonder at having survived even this far we are learning to make fire

They are entering the forest of amnesia, where things have lost their names.

eyes that had the still gleam of a forest pool in winter when brown leaves shine up through quiet water.

It's natural for humans to suppress urges, for when our desires are left unchecked they lead to broken relationships, prison time, and forest fires.

whatever you come up with needs to suggest a voice that you are not trying to control. If you're lost in the forest, let the horse find the way home. You have to stop directing, because you will only get in the way.

I want you to promise we'll see each other again, you'll send a letter. Promise we'll be lost together in our forest, pale birches of our legs. I hear your voice now—I know, everyone knows promises come from fear. People don't live past each other, you're always here with me. Sometimes I pretend you're in the other room until it rains… and then this is the letter I always write...

Who else would live in such an unguarded place except a woman for whom the forest was the world, he figured. And what a gentle child of that world she seemed. But oh so foolishly trusting. Way too trusting.