Quotes About Woods

Though the Russians technically won, the world watched as the Red Army suffered losses in the snowy woods at the hands of a few proud Finns on skis, their artillery pulled by reindeer.

yet let us sing, Honour to the old bow-string! 50 Honour to the bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn! Honour to the Lincoln green! Honour to the archer keen! Honour to tight little John, And the horse he rode upon! Honour to bold Robin Hood

But to wander thus among the woods of Roussainville without a peasant-girl to embrace was to see those woods and yet know nothing of their secret treasure, their deep-hidden beauty.

on the evenings when we took our champagne out into the woods of Chantepie, her changed, provocative voice, her face lit by a pale fire reddening only at the cheekbones, which, since I found it difficult to see in the car in the darkness, I drew toward the moonlight and which I tried now in vain to recall or to visualize in the endless darkness.

Come to the woods, for here is rest, ...climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.

Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains.

The groves and thickets of smaller trees are full of blooming evergreen vines. These vines are not arranged in separate groups, or in delicate wreaths, but in bossy walls and heavy, mound-like heaps and banks. Am made to feel that I am now in a strange land. I know hardly any of the plants, but few of the birds, and I am unable to see the country for the solemn, dark, mysterious cypress woods which cover everything.

But no punishment, however sure and severe, was of any avail against the attraction of the fields and woods. It had other uses, developing memory, etc., but in keeping us at home it was of no use at all.

Any woodsman can tell you that in a broken and sundered nest, one can hardly find more than a precious few whole eggs. So it is with the family.

There are wolves in the night. The soldiers would say that, when I was a girl. My uncles and brothers in war. My friends. Raising me on the battlefield because there was no where else to go. There are wolves, they would say. And there are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up. Wolves and girls. Both have sharp teeth.

The wind came whistling up across the frosty open country, and through the leafless woods, and rattled fiercely at the window-frames.

Come with me, sweet lass, and I'll make good on me promise to chase ye through the woods like a highlander." Broen spoke in a rich timbre laced with good humor. " Ye there...Lads, be sporting now and let me ravish this charming creature the way only a Scotsman can!

A campfire blazed on the sand, the lake shone in the moonlight, and the stars twinkled high overhead. All around them the woods were black as pitch. There wasn't a sound except for the crackling of the fire, the chirping crickets

Even Henry David Thoreau, not known for kvetching, wrote in The Maine Woods that he was "seriously molested" by bugs.

as he held the candlelit cake out in front of him. With each step, the candles hissed and the flames shifted. Far off in the woods, something popped

last and certainly least Tom Woods.

Fick's eyes refocused, blinking from the cold wind of the incoming storm on his leathery face, he realized he was half-listening to some radio traffic. Something about some junior enlisted personnel caught fucking in the woods. Jesus Christ in an Alligator Fuckhouse, he thought, coming back from his unaccustomed philosophical maundering. What kind of goat-fellating third-world communist cock-suck military are they running around here?

The sun shone on the meadows and woods like a trusted employee.

It's really quite a beautiful setting for an estate, in a woods of towering aspen trees near a field of high soft blue grass where pink cows sleep.

Time is like a wheel. Turning and turning - never stopping. And the woods are the center; the hub of the wheel. It began the first week of summer, a strange and breathless time when accident, or fate, bring lives together. When people are led to do things, they've never done before. On this summer's day, not so very long ago, the wheel set lives in motion in mysterious ways.

Te voilà ! petit Parisien, me dit le père Dodu. Tu viens pour débaucher nos filles ? — Moi, père Dodu ? — Tu les emmènes dans les bois pendant que le loup n'y est pas ? — Père Dodu, c'est vous qui êtes le loup. — Je l'ai été tant que j'ai trouvé des brebis ; à présent je ne rencontre plus que des chèvres, et qu'elles savent bien se défendre !

With all the homeless folk in SF, the fact that these woods remain unmolested is sort of a mystery.

The woods and mountains opened her eyes to the beauty of Nature, and the teenaged city girl marvelled at views that Isabel regarded as commonplace. At the beginning of Mary's sojourn she was inclined to take a book to a rustic place with a view, then spend hours there alone, reading, brooding and daydreaming. But she soon learned that woods and mountains were made for hiking, and thereafter she rarely took a book with her on her daily excursions into the outdoors.

You know why?" Suzie says. "Because it's autumn. The leaves are falling. The woods open up. Anytime things are moving out, you're in love with moving in.