Quotes About Rural

I know a rancher like you down below Hell's Canyon. He runs about six cows and five thousand sheep. But he calls himself a cattleman.

You get used to sadness, growing up in the mountains, I guess.

I never rode in an automobile until I was 12.

Maybe," he said in a slow, rural drawl, "you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy." "Well," I said, "if you're going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn't it.

Maybe, he said in a slow, rural drawl, You could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy. Well, I said. If you're going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn't it.

Stealing goods from a town store would be a criminal offense and provoke righteous indignation. Stealing muskrats from his swamp would be just another example of what the hillmen were always doing to each other and provoke, at the very most, a sympathetic chuckle. Even

May the countryside and the gliding valley streams content me. Lost to fame, let me love river and woodland.

O farmers, pray that your summers be wet and your winters clear.

Draw Daphnis from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.

And no less happy he who knows the rural gods.

People always talk about good, fresh country air, but I kept getting wiffs of something that was neither good nor fresh but definitely country.

Once the city gets into a ba-hoys sa-hystem, he loses the ha-hankerin' for the ca-hountry.

You might be a redneck if your favorite Christmas present was a painting on black velvet.

You might be a redneck if on your first date you had to ask your Dad to borrow the keys to the tractor.

You might be a redneck if you give your dad a gallon of Pepto-Bismol for his birthday.

Urbanization in India is a slow but sure death for her villages and villagers.

It is the American pastoral par excellence and it lasts twenty-four hours.

their fields. They will be free

O fortunatos nimium sua si bona norint, agricolas

So, when Cole was two and I was four, we moved to Goshen Falls. Lucky us! The whole town is three blocks long. We have a cute little farm with a cute little farmhouse. And even though Mom and Dad are computer programmers — not farmers — we have a backyard full of chickens.

Small-town boy meets big-time evil.

What can be said about those fields? There were blackbirds circling above their own shadows, and beneath them the cows stood around smelling one another's butts.

Cyder was anciently the main drink of the country people in the West of England.

In a deserted village the jackass is king.