Quotes About Harshness

Somewhere in the far north of Canada there wuld be snow, falling soundlessly overy the Beaufort Sea, falling over the Artic without a soul to see it. What kind of weather was that, Samson wondered, and how was one to use this information except as proof that the world was too much to bear?

Dur?, aspr? mai e, se pare, clima pe p?mântul ?sta, iar seminÈ›ele cele mai de preÈ› nu încolÈ›esc sau sunt în?buÈ™ite de salvie È™i urzici.

It's harsh. There's enough harsh in the world. I'm going to try a little optimism for a change.

Nature's a bitch and she barely tolerates us.

Divinamente hermoso es también divinamente despiadado.

Mother Nature doesn't care if you're having fun.

The winters came early, the rains not often enough, the locusts rose in biblical scale, the land broke hard to the plow, the price for the crops hardly ever enough, the isolation beyond imagination, the long nights forever, and summer sun exploding in their faces and searing their dreams with flames.

If you believe that the natural world is good, then you must also accept its brutality.

And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?

The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.

They trekked out along the crescent sweep of beach, keeping to the firmer sand below the tidewrack. They stood, their clothes flapping softly. Glass floats covered with a gray crust. The bones of seabirds. At the tideline a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as the eye could see like an isocline of death. One vast salt sepulchre. Senseless. Senseless.

keeping to the firmer sand below the tidewrack. They stood, their clothes flapping softly. Glass floats covered with a gray crust. The bones of seabirds. At the tide line a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death. One vast salt sepulchre. Senseless. Senseless.

They were all day among the dunes and in the evening coming down from the last low sandhills to the plain below among catclaw and crucifixion thorn they were a parched and haggard lot man and beast. Harpie eagles flew up screaming from a dead mule and wheeled off westward into the sun as they led the horses out onto the plain.

They stood among their horses in the squalid little alameda while the wind ransacked the trees and the birds nesting in the gray twilight cried out and clutched the limbs and the snow swirled and blew across the little square and shrouded the shapes of the mud buildings beyond and made mute the cries of the vendors who'd followed them.

Cormac McCarthy

It's a cruel world, don't you think?

Reality is unforgiving.

Summer has set in with its usual severity.

Winter bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail.

conditions, an effort to reconcile the spirit which loves freedom and goodness and beauty with its harsh, bare and disappointing conditions. It is, in its earliest form, a spontaneous and instinctive endeavor to shape the facts of the world to meet the needs

Love is harsh, and it consumes. And more than anything, it demands sacrifice.

Pervading all nature we may see at work a stern discipline , which is a little cruel that it may be very kind.

I am not a gentle shepherd like the ones in fairy tales, but a good woodsman who shares with you earth, wind, and moutain thorns.