Quotes About Wilderness

How long can I listen to the lies of prejudice? How long can I stay drunk on fear out in the wilderness? Can I cast it aside, all this loyalty and this pride? Will I ever learn that there'll be no peace, that the war won't cease, until He returns?

Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe.

Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.

For always and for always I pray remember me Upon the moors, beneath the stars With the King's wild company.

Bear-time seems slow to us, perhaps, because we do not have the patience for such a life.

The domesticated wilderness of pine, maple and oak rolled to a halt and stuck in the frame of the train window like a bad picture.

Tunsin itseni veltoksi ja hylätyksi, olin kuin jonkin pelottavan eläimen luoma nahka. Oli helpotus päästää irti eläimestä, mutta se näytti vieneen mukanaan minun sieluni ja kaiken muun, mihin se saattoi iskeä kyntensä.

I do not know much about gods;but I think that the river is a strong brown god-sullen, untamed and intractable . . .

The wilderness is cracked and browned But through the water pale and thin Still shine the unoffending feet And there above the painter set   15 The Father and the Paraclete. .

Do you listen to the wolves, Seoman?" Jiriki asked. "It's hard n-not to." "They sing such fierce songs." The Sitha shook his head. "They are like your mortal kind. They sing of where they have been, and what they have seen and scented. They tell each other where the elk are running, and who has taken whom to mate, but mostly they are merely crying 'I am! Here I am!'

Lured by the wilderness, and by the chance of spotting rare desert elephants, a few intrepid tourists make their way to the Skeleton Coast each year. It's just about as remote as any tourist destination on earth, but one that pays fabulous dividends.

I can't believe there's a prison anywhere out here,' Blaine said, turning the engine off. 'It's the middle of nowhere.

They were hardly fit for life, much less the forests. And yet they would likely defile the lakes, ravage the forests, and plant their desert wheat. These were the people of the colored forest gone amuck. The walking dead. Better buried at the base of a cliff than

The Hawk in the Rain I drown in the drumming ploughland, I drag up Heel after heel from the swallowing of the earth's mouth, From clay that clutches my each step to the ankle With the habit of the dogged grave, but the hawk Effortlessly at height hangs his still eye.

He heard the dog bay two or three times, then the cry of the screech owl at the nearby edge of the forest, then nothing more: the earth around him was as dead as a plain of snow. Life fell back to this sweetish silence, the peace of a field of asphodels, only the faint rustle of blood within the ear, like the sound of the unattainable sea in a shell.

As the buck darted below the drop-off, she raised her blade and launched herself into the air.

That's exactly why nature always trumps gardens. Gardens are just reality pruned of chaos. What doesn't work you rip out.

Getting out of the briar tangle was significantly harder than getting in . . . The brambles ran their fingers down his face and tugged at his clothes like children wanting attention, as if they were sorry to see him go.

The desert feels Irish in a way - lonely and barren.

'Island of the Blue Dolphins' by Scott O'Dell had a huge impact on me.

Oh, Star of Hope, that shines to bless The Wanderer through Life's Wilderness! Angels of Love—say "Are ye come to lead the Weary Wanderer home?

How precarious that safety was, he didn't realize. It was shattered, at last, by means of a trifling accident. Christmas had passed. By this time the sudden splendours of spring had waned. Now Meerlust lay like an island of heavier green in a tawny sea of veld that swept upward wave beyond wave to the arching sky. The rivers ran down to the sea in a gin-clear trickle. The scattered rocks of the wilderness radiated fierce heat.

Is this what a nun feels when she runs wild? Perhaps running wild needn't mean dressing in satin and taking to cigarettes. It might mean running into the wild, into the real, into the ooze and muck and the clean, muddy smell of life.

That girl was gone; wolfgirl had returned. Wolfgirl, who was leaf dance and moon claw and tooth gleam. When Jupiter sizzled the air with lightning bolts, she caught them on the fly. "Nice throw, Jupiter!" "Nice catch, wolfgirl!" Her mouth was a cavern of stars.