Quotes About Agriculture

There is no sadder symbol of the crippling poverty in which millions of peasants were forced to live than the image of a peasant and his son struggling to drag a plough through the mud.

The corn is as high as an elephant's eye,An' it looks like it's climbin' clear up to the sky.

The condition of man is to till the soil; there is no other wholeness to his existence.

Anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there.

Anybody can be good in the country.

a town that smelled of chicken guts, hog manure, and rampant incest, which seemed to be the three main industries.

Now there are fields of corn where Troy once was.

Agriculture and war, we feel, were the primary businesses of life, and it was to these that the Roman mind instinctively flew when it was casting about for some means of expressing a new abstract idea—of realizing the unknown in terms of the known. Not often could the warlike city afford to beat her swords into ploughshares, but she was constantly melting both implements into ideas.

High yields do not in themselves imply lower quality: the balance of the vine is the crucial point. Casablanca's

If we lived close to nature in an agricultural society, the seasons as metaphor and fact would continually frame our lives. But the master metaphor of our era does not come from agriculture - it comes from manufacturing. We do not believe that we 'grow' our lives - we believe that we 'make' them. Just listen to how we use the word in everyday speech: we make time, make friends, make meaning, make money, make a living, make love.

?i vai, biet plugar pe p?mânturile ei roz È™i roditoare, nu m? în?lÈ›am niciodat? la nivelul delirului ei.

Tool lists from the fourteenth century indicate that pitchforks, spades, axes, plows, and harrows, which have teeth to break up soil, were widely used. Both plows and harrows could be pushed or pulled by peasants. However, during the Renaissance an increasing number of farms used horses for such tasks, as well as for pulling carts that would take surplus food to market in nearby towns.

going, they needed to see a profit. And just running cattle

The Prince had fallen in love. She was only a farmer's daughter, but she was was beautiful, and also smart, as the daughters of farmers need to be, for farms are complicated businesses.

There's no place tae farm on the bluffs, unless yoor growen rocks," he said hotly.

Founded in 1868, Dickens, like most California towns except for Irvine, which was established as a breeding ground for stupid, fat, ugly, white Republicans and the chihuahuas and East Asian refugees who love them, started out as an agrarian community.

Who was I kidding? I'm a farmer, and farmers are natural segregationists. We separate the wheat from the chaff. I'm not Rudolf Hess, P. W. Botha, Capitol Records, or present-day U.S. of A. Those motherfuckers segregate because they want to hold on to power. I'm a farmer: we segregate in an effort to give every tree, every plant, every poor Mexican, every poor nigger, a chance for equal access to sunlight and water; we make sure every living organism has room to breathe.

Research to date suggests silvopasture far outpaces any grassland technique. That is because silvopastoral systems sequester carbon in both the biomass aboveground and the soil below. Pastures that are strewn or crisscrossed with trees sequester five to ten times as much carbon as those of the same size that are treeless. Moreover, because the livestock yield on a silvopasture plot is higher

the typical calorie of food energy in your diet now requires about 10 calories of fossil fuel energy to produce.

In America the machine is invading all branches of farm production, from the making of butter to the weeding of wheat. Why, because the American, free and lazy, would prefer a thousand deaths to the bovine life of the French peasant. Plowing, so painful and so crippling to the laborer in our glorious France, is in the American West an agreeable open-air pastime, which he practices in a sitting posture, smoking his pipe nonchalantly.

I couldn't shake the feeling that Guy was more complicated than a good-ole-boy mango grower and Schein had more secrets than Freud's Wolf Man.

After a cup of this stuff, he'd be out there plowing fields himself, probably with his bare hands.

You're trampling my pasture." I

a country tamed and torn with plows and weighted down with stone buildings.