Quotes About Landscape

The presence of flowers, as even I understood as a boy, is a reliable predictor of future food. People who were drawn to flowers, and who further could distinguish among them and then remember where in the landscape they'd seen them, would be much more successful foragers than people who were blind to their significance.

the marvel of consciousness," as Vladimir Nabokov once called it, "that sudden window swinging open on a sunlit landscape amidst the night of non-being"—maybe

Everything I saw was in such perfect harmony with the landscape, and the people fitted in so well with their surroundings and lived a life in such perfect accord with their needs and beliefs - that the whole structure formed a solid entity with never a crack, and at times I began to wonder whether any other way of life really existed. Was I living in a dream, an illusion (or at times a nightmare)? No false note broke the spell and brought me back to myself.

The result may be a realignment of our socio-political landscape by the advent of a fifth power—the power of data—which is independent of the four other powers: legislative, executive, and judicial powers, and the media.

The gigantic invisible broom that transforms, disfigures, erases landscapes has been at the job for millennia now, but its movements, which used to be slow, just barely perceptible, have sped up so much that I wonder: Would an Odyssey even be conceivable today? Is the epic of the return still pertinent to our time?

I love to get into a landscape and paint my horses.

As readers can probably tell from my books, I love the outdoors.

I've been to Australia a couple of times, but never to the north or the centre. I would love to see Ayers Rock.

we shall be getting close to the old Roman county, and you will naturally want your eyes.

Over a razor-edged horizon the shimmering atmosphere was filled with pastel colors of sunrise. In a brief instant the clean stillness of Arrakis allowed warm light to flood over the wrinkled landscape Ã¢â'¬Â¦ a sudden deluge of brightness and rising heat. The white sun lurched above the horizon, without much precursor glow in the arid air.

Blinking as he pushed himself into the open air like an infant emerging from a womb, Liet stared at the storm-scoured landscape. The desert was reborn: Dunes moved along like a marching herd; familiar landmarks changed; footprints, tents, even small villages erased. The entire basin looked fresh and clean and new.

Were the "pampas," perhaps, flatter than the land they were crossing? He doubted it; what could be flatter than a horizontal plane?

A few birds flew out from the mountains and glided for a while without sound. Standing out against the sky on high slopes beyond a range of low hills, they saw an endless herd of deer, rendered mute by distance. The landscape was reminiscent of a cardboard cutout, but on a huge scale, which gave the impression they were the ones who had become miniatures…All three of them were equally lost.

The citrus belt . . . has three dominant symbols: the church, the orange, and the 'no-trespass' signs.

It is worth noting that the writers who have most vividly captured the feel of the California landscape have been native sons, like John Steinbeck, or long residents like Robinson Jeffers.

In Yellowstone, where ravens have dotted their black exclamation points onto the white pages of the snows of many thousands of winters

The landscape was snow and green ice on broken mountains. These weren't old mountains, worn down by time and weather and full of gentle ski slopes, but young, sulky, adolescent mountains. They held secret ravines and merciless crevices. One yodel out of place would attract, not the jolly echo of a lonely goatherd, but fifty tons of express-delivery snow.

It was raining in the small, mountainous country of Llamedos. It was always raining in Llamedos. Rain was the country's main export. It had rain mines.

Geography is just physics slowed down, with a couple of trees stuck in it.

Music, landscape gardening, architecture—there was no start to his talents.

Midnight glided across the landscape like a velvet bat.

I dinna like this, Rob,' said a Feegle. 'It's too quiet.' 'Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that-' 'You are my sunshine, my only su-' 'Daft Wullie!' snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange landscape. The singing stopped. 'Aye, Rob?' said Daft Wullie from behind him. 'Ye ken I said I'd tell ye when ye wuz guilty o' stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behavior?' 'Aye, Rob,' said Daft Wullie. 'That wuz another one o' those times, wuz it?' 'Aye.

I could not separate the Bird Refuge from my family. Devastation respects no boundaries. The landscape of my childhood and the landscape of my family, the two things I had always regarded as bedrock, were now subject to change. Quicksand.

This is a landscape that should not be sold.