Quotes About Landscape

It's true in everything, not just in drag: To be a success, you have to understand the landscape. You have to know thyself, and you have to know your history so that you can draw from people who have figured out the equation you are faced with. It's not rocket science.

Tibet is a beautiful and richly endowed region of our great motherland.

The sentimentalist in me loves it when the important things we say and do can be tied to buildings and landscape.

Velliangiri" literally means "silver mountain

Working in the inexhaustible natural pageant before me, I came to wonder if the the artist who commands the landscape might in fact hold the key to the secrets of the human heart: place, personal history, and metaphor. Since my place and its story were givens, it remained for me to find those metaphors; encoded, half-forgotten clues within the southern landscape.

I always paint those vast sandy expanses that go as far as the eye can see. I don't know why; I have never been in North Africa. I suppose it's an atavism of the Arab blood.

Come mai l'Italia, che grazie agli italiani d'un tempo si meritò il nome di 'giardino d'Europa', sta facendo scempio di se stessa? Quello che sta accadendo è un'involuzione culturale passeggera o una profonda mutazione antropologica? Siamo accecati solo davanti al paesaggio, o anche alla tutela del patrimonio culturale, alle esigenze della scuola, dell'università, della ricerca, dell'arte e della scienza, della musica, insomma della cultura?

Noi, che vediamo le nostre città dilagare e dissolversi in anonime periferie-sprawl, e sappiamo che in quell'ambiente senz'anima cresceranno milioni di cittadini, nessuno dei quali saprà davvero che cosa è (meglio: che cosa fu) il paesaggio italiano fino a ieri celebrato. Siamo, ci sentiamo fuori luogo. Siamo spaesati, in senso sia metaforico che letterale.

these entries we can see Smith focusing on the human landscape and the tension he felt between isolation and the teeming churn of collectives, a tension he never reconciled, and many themes of home—creating or finding a home, leaving and returning home.

MORE MICA THAN SAND.

You can only appreciate the engineering feat of the Trans-Siberian railway by travelling along it in winter. They might as well have laid tracks across Antarctica.

Ahead was an ocean of rabbit brush bursting with yellow blossoms. The prairie under hoof was lavender in the dimming light.

It was great to work in Ireland because it's such a beautiful country, but it's not particularly easy to film in because the weather changes all the time.

Yeah, I had a tremendous time shooting in Nebraska. I like that state a lot, all over it.

Time sheds a softness on remote objects or events, as local distance imparts to the landscape a smoothness and mellowness which disappear on a nearer approach.

I pay two full-time assistants in my studio, plus consultants who are architects, engineers, and landscape architects, as well as lighting designers.

Ireland's just a place...people go there all the time.

Esos ríos fluyen depreisa, se derraman como si la tierra se inclinara

They are neither happy nor unhappy. Their union is constructed upon indifference, in a way which is general and which they apprehend moment by moment, a union from which all preference is excluded. They are together, two trains which meet and pass, around them the landscape, sensuous and lushly green, is the same, they see it, they are not alone.

Construir es colaborar con la tierra, imprimir una marca humana en un paisaje que se modificará así para siempre [...] Fundar bibliotecas equivalía a construir graneros públicos, amasar reservas para un invierno del espíritu que, a juzgar por ciertas señales y a pesar mío, veo venir.

The landscape of the desert changes very gradually as little breezes lift grains of sand and move them, sometimes a few feet, sometimes miles and miles, so that at the end of the day, when the sun sets, the face of the desert is completely different from the landscape it had in the morning when the sun rose on it.

It has been my experience that guilt can burst through the smallest breach and cover the landscape, and abide in it in pools and danknesses, just as native as water.

Fingerbone was never an impressive town. It was chastened by an outsized landscape and extravagant weather and chastened again by an awareness that the whole of human history had occurred elsewhere.

We walked north, with the lake on our right hand. If we looked at it, the water seemed spread over half the world. The mountains, grayed and flattened by distance, looked like remnants of a broken dam, or like the broken lip of an iron pot, just at a simmer, endlessly distilling water into light.