Quotes About Wilderness

At any rate, after five years Surak came out of the wilds, took a small apartment in the capital, near his parents' house, and began to write for the information networks.

The river is of no use to a yorkshire cat, it is the moors he is looking for.

It's the kind of human junk that deepens the landscape, makes it sadder and lonelier and places a vague sad subjective regret at the edge of your response—not regret so much as a sense of time's own esthetic, how strange and still and beautiful a chunk of concrete can be, lived in fleetingly and abandoned, the soul of wilderness signed by men and women passing through.

No. I've always been drawn to broken, wild terrain. The oddest tongues come from such places, and the strangest mythologies, and the oldest cities, and the most barbarous religions

To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal!

A wilderness of gilt, gleaming in the slant from the dust-furred windows: gilded cupids, gilded commodes and torchieres, and -- undercutting the old-wood smell -- the reek of turpentine, oil paint, and varnish.

In the year 1377, a poet in what is now Germany speaks of entering the Great Wilderness, an unbroken forest that took three days to cross and was home to bison, wild boar, wild horses, wolves, bears, lynxes, and wolverines: "Pleasantry and laughing had become hushed," he writes.

The lone person on a wild landscape is a baseline of human liberty, a condition in which we are restrained by only physical limits and the bounds of our own consciousness.

Feet The Hide and Tallow Men

About fifty yards ahead a white-tailed deer was slowly picking his way across the snow-covered rocks and roots. As soon as I saw him I knew instantly that I didn't want him to die. He was so beautiful and at ease in the woods. This was his home, not mine, and I suddenly felt like a killer who had broken into his house and was about to shoot him. I watched and held my breath.

White Fang knew the law well: to oppress the weak and obey the strong.

He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone, by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostile environment where only the strong survive.

There seems to be a tacit assumption that if grizzlies survive in Canada and Alaska, that is good enough. It is not good enough for me. Relegating grizzlies to Alaska is about like relegating happiness to heaven; one may never get there.

getting run up a tree by a bear was part of the adventure and the fun of Glacier Park;

Many bowdlerized versions indicated a Victorian-minded censorship, which feared that Little Red Riding Hood might some day break out, become a Bohemian, and live in the woods with the wolf.

And it seemed to him that she has always been a part of the landscape of his dreams, though for many years he could not understand her shape, until the day they met. So he told her the stories of colours and spoke with the gentle wings of moths, and walked through the world with her by his side. He loved this red colour of rosehips, like blood, but sweeter. She loved the light of wild in his eyes, the scent of frost in his fur and the movement of wings.

He woke in the dimity light of dusk to owl song and found her gone. Far across the valley the keen, yearning song of a solitary vixen called to his blood. The world turned.

Did she know, this woman who found rest on the peace of wild things, how the swan, who offered her body as soft pillow, had once been a maiden, caught in a rainstorm, crouched by the water in shelter of bushes, mistaken by her lover out hunting in twilight, who, seeing only her white petticoat thought her a swan and shot? Did she understand how, rather than falling, her wild soul had risen into evening light and flight in the form of a wild swan?

Ghetel was clawing at the rotten bark on the underside of the big fallen tree that sheltered them. Bark debris and wood-punk kept falling on the blanket. Ghetel, a silhouette against the half-light, would scrabble in the decaying wood for a moment, then pause and put something to her mouth

Tus ojos que están llenos de selvas y son un manifiesto, desordenadamente me hacen aventurero y revolucionario

Surely there is a continuum from a pure, undefiled wilderness to a trammeled concrete industrial area. But there is no place, we now know, as the relentlessly global impacts of climate change become increasingly understood, that humans have left untouched; and there is no place that the wild does not, in some small way, proclaim itself.

The wilderness is a place where we can lean on God and trust His promises, but it's also a place to discover that the arms He provides and the ears that listen to our fears sometimes belong to flesh-and-blood people.

Only Tarzan managed to escape judgment, since he escaped from the courtroom during a brawl.

The bayou certainly has a wild beauty of its own, although it is undoubtedly hostile to man," Richard Duvall mused. "But then, many things that are quite beautiful are hostile to man." "Like women?" Shiloh suggested.