Quotes About Landscape

If we should meet again I hope there will be something in the way of a wateringhole where I can stand you a round. Perhaps show you about the place. Look for a tall and somewhat raffish looking chap in a tailored robe.

He looked at me. "If I were a creek, I would be where the ground slopes." "Right." Sometimes it was good to have an Indian scout.

Time went on grey, uncloured, like a long journey where she sat unconscious as the landscape unrolled beside her.

She could hear a distant coughing of a sheep.

Paul, walking alongside, laced his fingers in the strings of the bag Miriam was carrying... the meadow was bathed in a glory of sunshine, and the path was jewelled, and it was seldom that he gave her any sign. She held her fingers very still among the strings of the bag, his fingers touching.

This Midwestern sky is the nakedest loneliest sky in America. To escape it, people live inside and underground.

Ah the dead to me mar not, they fit well in Nature, They fit very well in the landscape under the trees and grass, And along the edge of the sky in the horizon's far margin.

The crowd is the veil through which the familiar city beckons to the flâneur as phantasmagoria-now a landscape, now a room.

Something different is disclosed in the drunkenness of passion: the landscape of the body... These landscapes are traversed by paths which lead sexuality into the world of the inorganic. Fashion itself is only another medium enticing it still more deeply into the universe of matter.

Nature is beautiful.

Central Wyoming was like hell without the flames, an underworld thrust up onto the surface.

The beautiful pass of Leny, near Callander, in Monteith, would, in some respects, answer this description.]

It all began with the word itself. Grass. Gramina. The family Gramineae. Grasses. Oh, I responded doubtfully. The picture in my mind was only of a vague area in parks edged with benches for the idle.

The difference between a path and a road is not only the obvious one. A path is little more than a habit that comes with knowledge of a place. It is a sort of ritual of familiarity. As a form, it is a form of contact with a known landscape. It is not destructive. It is the perfect adaptation, through experience and familiarity, of movement to place; it obeys the natural contours; such obstacles as it meets it goes around.

Unfortunately, when choosing how to live or move, most of us are not as free as we think. Our options are strikingly limited, and they are defined by the planners, engineers, politicians, architects, marketers, and land speculators who imprint their own values on the urban landscape.

Paleolithic landscape:

It is a fairly general rule that the picturesque is based on someone else's inconvenience

Out of any two thoughts I have, one is devoted to death. Our days an uncertainty, a chaos and shapeless, all that our lives are blurs down, like a landscape reflected in water.

A caldera, it's called—a sort of mountain in reverse. A mountain that's had its very heart removed.

At length the sun's rays have attained the right angle, and warm winds blow up mist and rain and melt the snow-banks, and the sun dispersing the mist smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking with incense, through which the traveller picks his way from islet to islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing off.

Some of the most beautiful blues and purples in nature, for instance, are those of mountains in shadow against amber sky...

Trees are the fairest ornaments of nature.

Weeds are nature's graffiti.

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it — the whole story doesn't show.