Quotes About Landscape

They were surrounded by mountains and forest. There were no nearby houses. The closest neighbor was a half mile away.

This is important to writing. . . that is, it is important to my own writing. This. . . is landscape! Mine. This dirt came from the prairie where I was a child. I played in it, dug in it, planted in it, and walked over it. It is where I began. And all my writing begins with a landscape such as this. A place.

Montana may never be considered the epicenter of modern life, but about 65 to 70 million years ago, during the late Cretaceous period, it was a happening place.)

hatred can either strike us dead, like lightning, or illuminate us. It shocks us into seeing what is hidden in the landscape. Hatred can be confined to reason, but kept from the heart.

It had the look of an ambitious architectural breed of lichen that was trying to cover as many acres as it could.

And then I walked out, straight through the twilight, treading the beaten earth. There were no dust clouds, no signs of anyone, but I paid no mind. I was my own lucky hand of solitaire. The desert landscape unchanging: a long, unwinding scroll that I would one day amuse myself by filling. I'm going to remember everything and then I'm going to write it all down. An aria to a coat. A requiem for a café. That's what I was thinking, in my dream, looking down at my hands.

In the green of the hills, he saw red.' p.13

Mothers,fathers,our kind,tell me again that death doesn't matter.Tell me it's just a limitation of vision ,a fold of landscape,a deep flax-and-poppy-filled gully hidden on the hill, pleat in our perception a somersault of existence,natural,even beneficent even a gift,the only key to the red-lacquered door at the end of the hall,"water within water," those old stories.

De zee is blauw, het bos is groen

The world is always with us, but only those on the Short Path recognize the miracle that it is. In moments of exaltation, uplift, awe, or satisfaction—derived from music, art, poetry, landscape, or otherwise—thousands of people have received a Glimpse; but only those on the Short Path recognize it for what it really is.

The Landscape becomes reflective, human and thinks itself though me. I make it an object, let it project itself and endure within my painting....I become the subjective consciousness of the landscape, and my painting becomes its objective consciousness.

I am a consciousness. The landscape thinks itself through me.

There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country. A fine landscape is like a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo. Even a bicycle goes too fast.

The Mississippi Delta was shininglike a National guitar.

The desert looked if anything even more spectacular than it had on the first leg of their journey, the softening light teasing out its full panoply of colours – yellows and oranges and a dozen different shades of red – the lengthening shadows throwing the landscape into ever sharper and more dramatic relief

La saveur des fruits d'un arbre ne dépend pas de la figure du paysage qui l'environne, mais de la richesse invisible du terrain.

there is no substitute for walking in the landscape itself, or turning over dusty old pages in the archives of San Antonio.

Mas o panorama reduzia-se a porcos e galinhas passeando num monte de esterco, meia dúzia de palhotas, algumas ruínas de alvenaria e, ao fundo, na outra margem do Cubango, o Rundu, a Namíbia. Outro país, noutro planeta, a um segundo-luz.

The stream of the mountains pleases me more than the sea.

Forty years ago, I was riding on a train in India travelling from Delhi to Calcutta.

A lake five kilometers long and three wide, with islands of rock pinnacles whose crests were covered in a thatch of verdant vegetation.

I had painted a lot of landscapes, had stood before many while they burned their remote beauty into my skin, but had never done both at the same time. Don't know why. I was comfortable painting indoors and I liked best to retrieve those images from memory where they might be stained by awe and jumbled together with other things I loved. Now that I had tried the other, I wanted to do more.

twenty-eight miles to the next one, Godawful Falls. Then eighty-one miles of fast water after that, to the next huge drop and portage at Last Chance Falls, with a couple of bigger rapids between, dangerous but runnable. A large meander in this stretch, northwest to northeast,

I looked at the terraced hills and noticed how the people had changed the earth, taming it into dizzying staircases of rice paddies; but the Chinese looked at the people and saw how they have been shaped by the land.