Quotes About Wilderness

Allí estaba el mundo deslumbrante de la caza, la táctica, la destreza y la alegría salvaje; y allí estaba también el mundo de las añoranzas y el sentido común desconcertado.

It is a jungle where hierarchies of infinities tower like prehistoric beasts.

Sometimes I dreamed that I was walking the wilderness with its swaying grasses, its leaping, golden beasts, the earth-mother the way she'd been before people bent her to their desires.

For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival. I was convinced that the woods were calling me. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by myself by the time I'm 25, I have failed.

Yukon Men is a popular Discovery Channel reality series about the citizens of the small town of Tanana in central Alaska. It portrays wolves as highly dangerous predators that besiege the town and threaten the safety of all of the residents. One of the show's characters, Charlie, says, "Wolves

the restlessness we feel can either be the defeat that keeps us in the wilderness or the birthing pangs that bring forth something new within us.

I look up into the starless sky. My heart pounds. This silent badlands scares me more than nighttime in the city, with its noise and light.

Norma Wallace stood on a bed of pine needles deep in the Mississippi woods

It's not an untouched wilderness like a mountaintop, but a ramshackle wildness in which people and the land have conspired to strangeness.

The hawk is on my fist. Thirty ounces of death in a feathered jacket; a being whose world is drawn in plots and vectors that pull her towards lives' ends.

Hands are for other human hands to hold. They should not be reserved exclusively as perches for hawks. And the wild is not a panacea for the human soul; too much in the air can corrode it to nothing.

Their existence gives the lie to the thought that the wild is always something untouched by human hearts and hands. The wild can be human work.

The wild can be human work.

The goshawk is staring at me in mortal terror, and I can feel the silences between both our heartbeats coincide. Her eyes are luminous, silver in the gloom. Her beak is open. She breathes hot hawk breath in my face. It smells of pepper and musk and burned stone. Her feathers are half-raised and her wings half-open, and her scaled yellow toes and curved black talons grip the glove tightly. It feels like I'm holding a flaming torch.

The air reeked of pine resin and the pitchy vinegar of wood ants.

I had only just escaped from humanity,' White wrote, 'and the poor gos had only just been caught by it.

Old because her feet were gnarled and dusty, her eyes a deep, fiery orange, and she was beautiful. Beautiful like a granite cliff or a thunder-cloud.

The hawk was everything I wanted to be: solitary, self-possessed, free from grief, and numb to the hurts of human life. I was turning into a hawk.

Have you ever watched a deer walking out from cover? They step, stop, and stay, motionless, nose to the air, looking and smelling. A nervous twitch might run down their flanks. And then, reassured that all is safe, they ankle their way out of the brush to graze.

My walks with the hawk were stressful, requiring endless vigilance, and they were wearing me away. As the hawk became tamer I was growing wilder. Fear was contagious: it rose unbidden in my heart as people approached us. I was no longer certain if the hawk bated because she was frightened of what she saw, or if the terror she felt was mine.

Wolves are hosting wedding feasts and witches are brushing their hair today." Presence

A forest bird never wants a cage.

O vi Selv, vi Selv endnu ere vilde i vor Hu, stundom og i vore Skikke. Vestens Indianer ikke ere i saa hadske Slægter, skjøndt hverandres Blod de drikke, splittede i Skoven ad, som Europa er i Sekter af forbittret Meningshad.

The three great elemental sounds in nature are the sound of rain, the sound of wind in a primeval wood, and the sound of outer ocean on a beach.