Quotes About Landscape

The higher the sky, the lower the people, he thought as he rang the doorbell. Why did there have to be people in every kind of landscape?

For anyone who lives in the oak-and-maple area of New England there is a perennial temptation to plunge into a purple sea of adjectives about October.

Siberia! The mainland of Asia … the delta of the mighty Lena River.

We dwell in the place in which we are not traveling but are at home. The landscape of God's self-revelation in Jesus Christ is our home. It is a landscape that we are never finished exploring, for new prospects are always emerging. Nevertheless, it is familiar to us and becomes all the more familiar the longer we reside there.

Golf is good, it means I get some fresh air and exercise, take my mind off work and see some of the landscape of the place I'm visiting.

In het ene landschap was ik het vorige vergeten, zoals je op straat onafgebroken gezichten ziet, die je onafgebroken vergeet

isn't there a point at which the mind should be able to surrender on behalf of the heart? or check it in to an asylum, somewhere safe and locked, if the heart keeps refusing to see a landscape for what it is? yet with some people in life, it seems you just can't lose yourself, even when you should.

In times of stability, when inherited wisdom allows individuals to prosper and spread across relatively homogeneous landscapes: Culture reigns. But in times of expansion into new frontiers, when innovation and interpretation, and communication of new ideas, are critical: Consciousness reigns.

I felt once more the strange equivocal power of the city—its flat alluvial landscape and exhausted airs… Alexandria; which is neither Greek, Syrian nor Egyptian, but a hybrid: a joint.

Sweet empty sky of June without a stain, Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hills Warm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain, That each dark copse and hollow overfills; The rippling laugh of unseen, rain-fed rills, Weeds delicate-flowered, white and pink and gold, A murmur and a singing manifold.

The sun was setting, giving the smog a sickly glow that made the landscape look to Eve like an alien world populated by creatures that breathed radiant vomit.

Eventually, he drove through a cleft between two rocky hills, what Ronnie called "Mother Nature's Glorious Cleavage," into a hidden clearing where a ramshackle compound had been built.

With Jackson there was quiet solitude. Just to sit and look at the landscape. An inner quietness. After dinner, to sit on the back porch and look at the light. No need for talking. For any kind of communication.

She has a memory of trees and fields and nothing more.

what a community erects on its historical landscape not only sums up its view of the past but also influences its possible futures.

He saw the black water and the declining sun and the swan dipping down, its white wings flashing, and slowing and slowing till silver ripples carried it home. It was a scene which seemed the heart of this land. The lowing sun and the one star waking, white wings on a black water, and the smell of rain, and the long lane fading where a voice comes in the falling night. --Ireland, said Scrotes. --Yes, this is Ireland.

Her eye fell everywhere on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination.

They are much to be pitied who have not been given a taste for nature early in life.

It exactly answers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility

the presence of buildings around a park is important in design. They enclose it. They make a definite shape out of the space, so that it appears as an important event in the city scene, a positive feature, rather than a no-account leftover.

and the thick, sugary covering of the snow...

The plant succession that had begun in March with snowdrops and early crocuses would soon flicker out in a blaze of orange chrysanthemums and show its last pinpoints of color in bittersweet and ash berries hanging like embers in the general misty brown of the world.

At sixty miles per hour, you could pass our farm in a minute, on County Road 686, which ran due north into the T intersection at Cabot Street Road.

Hmm, What did I love? I think all the scents. Mama's lilac trees, and the wild iris in the fields, and rain on the breeze on a hot day. Apple and pear blossoms. The hay just cut. The mix of odors in the barn when the sunlight was shafting through the cracks in the boards, heating everything up.