Hills Quotes - Page 39

• Anybody who is born in Santa Rosa must turn out to be either an artist or a poet, for the spirit of the hills gets into your blood out there.

  Robert Ripley

  Artist, Blood, Santa

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• If you're 28 and singing about being over the hill, you're pretending. When you're 67 and singing about it, you know what you're talking about.

  Loudon Wainwright III

  Talking, Singing, Pretending

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• Don't stop. Keep right on going. Hitch up your trailer and go to Canada or down to Old Mexico. Head for Europe if you can afford it, or go to Mardi Gras. Go someplace you've heard about, where you can fish or hunt or collect rocks or just look up at the sky. Find out what's at the end of some country road. Go see what's over the next hill, and the one after that, and the one after that.

  Wally Byam

  Country, Europe, Sky

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• I went home one afternoon to pick up a script without bothering to change, and a half an hour later the Beverly Hills Police were at my door because a neighbor had reported a suspicious stranger lurking around Ross Martin's house. I had to peel off my beard to prove who I was.

  Ross Martin

  Home, Doors, House

  "Personal Quotes/ Biography". www.imdb.com.

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• I touch God in my songas the hill touched the far-away seawith its waterfall.

  Rabindranath Tagore

  Waterfalls, Far Away, Touched

  Rabindranath Tagore, “Fireflies”

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• If you stay in Beverly Hills too long, you become a Mercedes.

  Robert Redford

  Funny, California, Long

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• The streets of L.A. undulate over short hills as though a finger is poking the landscape from underneath ... laid over this crosshatch are streets meandering on the diagonal creating a multitude of ways to get from one place to another by traveling along the hypotenuse. These are the avenues of the tryst which enable Acting Student A to travel the eighteen miles across town to Acting Student B's garage apartment in nine minutes flat after a hot-blooded phone call at midnight.

  Steve Martin

  Phones, Creating, Acting

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• Heroic figures are now obsolete,So Demigod and Devil find retreatIn minds of children - as rare beasts and men,Elsewhere extinct, persist in hill or fenFrom man protected - where each form assumesGigantic stature and intention, loomsFrom wind-moved, twilight-woven histories:For them each flower teems with mysteries.

  Osbert Sitwell

  Children, Flower, Twilight

  Osbert Sitwell (1931). “The collected satires and poems of Osbert Sitwell”

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• I don't consider myself bossy, but I do know what I want. You know, I have a gut feeling about a piece of material, but I've never envisioned myself as the director on top of the hill with a megaphone in my hand, screaming at 1,000 extras.

  Jason Reitman

  Hands, Feelings, Pieces

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• Outcasts of war, misfits, rebellious souls, Seekers of some vague kingdom in the stars - They hide out in the hills and stir up trouble, Call themselves prophets, too, and prophesy, That something new is coming to the world, The Lord knows what! Well, it's a long time coming, And, meanwhile, we're the wheat between the stones.

  Stephen Vincent Benet

  Stars, War, Long

  "A Child Is Born". Poetic Christmas drama in one act by Stephen Vincent Benet (first presented on radio as part of the anthology program "Cavalcade of America"), December 21, 1942.

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• Never did form more fairy thread the dance Than she who scours the hills to find it flowers; Never did sweeter lips chained ears entrance Than hers that move, true to its striking hours; No hands so white e'er decked the warrior's lance, As those which tend its lamp as darkness lours; And never since dear Christ expired for man, Had holy shrine so fair a sacristan.

  Alfred Austin

  Flower, Moving, Warrior

  Alfred Austin (1873). “Madonna's child [a poem].”, p.4

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• Liberty knows nothing but victories. Soldiers call Bunker Hill a defeat; but liberty dates from it though Warren lay dead on the field.

  Wendell Phillips

  Soldier, Victory, Liberty

  Wendell Phillips (1864). “Speeches, Lectures, and Letters”, p.274

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• Flat fields produce mediocre grapes, but rolling hills produce the greatest grapes. Why? Because the vines must struggle for survival.

  Billy Cannon

  Struggle, Survival, Rolling

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• the streams buck like rams in a tent / whips crack and from the hills come the crookedly combed /shadows of the shepherds. /black eggs and fools' bells fall from the trees. / thunder drums and kettledrums beat upon the ears of the donkeys. / wings brush against flowers. / fountains spring up in the eyes of the wild boar.

  Hans Arp

  Spring, Flower, Fall

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• Cincinnatus was ploughing his four jugera of land upon the Vaticanian Hill, the same that are still known as the Quintian Meadows, when the messenger brought him the dictatorship, finding him, the tradition says, stripped to the work.

  Pliny the Elder

  Land, Ploughing, Four

  Pliny the Elder (2015). “Delphi Complete Works of Pliny the Elder (Illustrated)”, p.845, Delphi Classics

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• It was actually books that started to make those pockets of freedom, which I hadn't otherwise experienced. I do see them as talismans, as sacred objects. I see them as something that will protect me, I suppose, that will save me from things that I feel are threatening. I still think that; it doesn't change. It doesn't change, having money, being successful. So from the very first, if I was hurt in some way, then I would take a book -- which was very difficult for me to buy when I was little -- and I would go up into the hills, and that is how I would assuage my hurt.

  Jeanette Winterson

  Hurt, Book, Successful

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• The fields from Islington to Marybone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, Were builded over with pillars of gold; And there Jerusalem's pillars stood.

  William Blake

  Gold, Fields, Pillars

  'Jerusalem' (1815) 'To the Jews' (plate 27, l. 1) "The fields from Islington to Marybone"

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• When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my breastAnd everything else is still.

  William Blake

  Children, Heart, Voice

  William Blake (2005). “Collected Poems”, p.58, Routledge

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• There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in the words of Faust; "O gentle moon, that lookest for the last time upon my agonies!" --or something to that effect.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Moon, Opposites, Agony

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1967). “The Letters of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Volume I-II: 1814-1843”, p.469, Harvard University Press

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• See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Heart, Moon, Night

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Edwin Edwards (1871). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Edited, with a Critical Memoir, by W. M. Rossetti. Illustrated ... by E. Edwards”, p.165

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• Time's horses gallop down the lessening hill.

  Richard Le Gallienne

  Horse

  Richard Le Gallienne, “Time Flies”

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• Legends of the Silver Stallion had been told for years now, whenever mountain stockmen met round the campfires or on the winding hill tracks. Songs were sung about him to the cattle and both songs and tales had become even stranger since his supposed death when he vanished through the wind and the night over a great cliff. Tales kept cropping up of a ghost horse seen, or imagined, roaming over the mountains at night, of stockmen waking in a hut at midnight, hearing the tremendous stallion’s cry which could only be Thowra’s

  Elyne Mitchell

  Song, Horse, Night

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• Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Dream, Rain, Ocean

  Percy Bysshe Shelley (1847). “The works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, ed. by mrs. Shelley”, p.259

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• The fields and the flowers and the beautiful faces are not ours, as the stars and the hills and the sunlight are not ours, but they give us fresh and happy thoughts.

  John Lancaster Spalding

  Beautiful, Stars, Flower

  John Lancaster Spalding (1901). “Aphorisms and Reflections: Conduct, Culture and Religion”

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• The tender Evenlode that makes Her meadows hush to hear the sound Of waters mingling in the brakes, And binds my heart to English ground. A lovely river, all alone, She lingers in the hills and holds A hundred little towns of stone, Forgotten in the western wolds.

  Hilaire Belloc

  Heart, Rivers, Water

  Hilaire Belloc (1962). “Hilaire Belloc: An Anthology of His Prose and Verse”

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