Quotes About Barren

Emotion links our internal and external worlds. To be aware of what we feel can open us to questions we would rather ignore. For many of us, that is precisely why it is easier not to feel. But a failure to feel leaves us barren and distant from God and others.

Our age is bent on trying to make the barren tree of skepticism fruitful by tying the fruits of truth on its branches.

And then she hears the sound of a helicopter, from somewhere behind her and, turning, sees the long white beam of light sweeping the dead ground as it comes, like a lighthouse gone mad from loneliness, and searching that barren ground as foolishly, as randomly, as any grieving heart ever has.

Art is a barren route, of which glory is the oasis.

and the rest of his life lay in front of him like a barren, meaningless postscript.

I'm in East L.A., like Mount Washington, Highland Park. There's a little strip that they're gentrifying, trying to make a hip spot, but you go there, and it's just kind of barren. Nobody hangs out anywhere in L.A. There's no loitering in L.A., so I don't know what to do with myself.

They rightly anticipate that if we don't reduce our stockpiles dramatically, and soon, that some megalomaniac will opt to bring about a nuclear Armageddon that will reduce the planet to a barren wasteland.

bleak and beautiful expanse of lifeless isolation.

accurately be termed wasteland

platform would look, well, abandoned. Not a

The far north of Manitoba. Forbidding wastelands. The center of nothing.

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold. Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with!

real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring." Beyond

possibility that she might not have been the sole one to be barren. She was the eldest

This was school, and everything he'd feared. Barren, jarring, stale, always lonely and never alone. He had known it would be bad, and it was.

Think Oman, and you think desert. But what we found was mile after mile of barren, spiky rubble, cliffs of jutting sharp rocks, unrelieved by a single piece of vegetation or water. We drove for hours across what felt like the surface of the moon. We saw goats foraging but couldn't work out what they could possibly be eating.

Aside from the fruit basket, the room was as empty as the inside of Dexter on the shelf marked SOUL.

There were black mountains on which nothing, no grass or trees, seemed to grow. Thin lines that twisted unpredictably, with tributaries arriving nowhere. Not rivers, but roads.

A fallow field is a sin.

But I owe it to the subject to say, that it has long afforded me what philosophy is so often thought, and made, barren of - the fun of discovery, the pleasures of co-operation, and the satisfaction of reaching agreement.

There is something in me in the deepest part of me, at the center of me, something infinitely barren that doesn't weep when I weep that doesn't laugh when I laugh but seems to say eternally I'm here, indifferent to everything.

The desert is a place of bones, where the innards are turned out, to desiccate into dust.

In the desert, the only god is a well.

All the verdant growth had been left behind them to the south. Up ahead, the roads dissected what looked like a vast wasteland. Far in the distance rose a lone hill, upon which a Roman fortress held its place like a stone buzzard. The desert plain seemed to go on forever. And over it all, the wind moaned.