Hills Quotes - Page 8

• Don't forget Mother's Day. Or as they call it in Beverly Hills, Dad's Third Wife Day.

  Jay Leno

  Smile, Mothers Day, Mom

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• The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Sunshine, House, Grace

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1866). “Kavanagh. Driftwood”, p.363

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• I love the English. My God, they brought us 'Benny Hill,' 'Monty Python,' 'The Office,' Neville Chamberlain.

  Seth MacFarlane

  Python, Office, Chamberlain

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• I think the hill one has to trudge in order to understand a man's baggage is more of a trek than I'd like to take right now.

  Shirley MacLaine

  Men, Thinking, Order

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• Environmentalists hate sprawl - except when it comes to the size of their expansive pet legislation on Capitol Hill.

  Michelle Malkin

  Hate, Pet, Size

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• Oft when the white, still dawn lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, I have felt it like a glory in my heart.

  Edwin Markham

  Heart, Sky, White

  Edwin Markham (1899). “The Man with the Hoe: And Other Poems”, W. Briggs ; New York : Doubleday & McClure Company

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• Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

  Christopher Marlowe

  Love, Life, Yield

  "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" l. 1 (ca. 1589)

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• I never run hills. My quads are already big enough. I don't run to build muscle; I do it for cardio.

  Lisa Ling

  Running, Enough, Cardio

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• Into my hear an air that kills through yon far country blows what are those blue remembered hills what spires,what farms are those? that is the land of lost content I can see it shining plain the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

  A. E. Housman

  Country, Blow, Air

  A Shropshire Lad no. 40, l. 5 (1896)

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• I do not want to know what you will hope for. I want to know what you will work for. I do not want your sympathy for the needs of humanity. I want your muscle. As the wagon driver said when they came to a long, hard hill: ‘Them that’s going on with us, get out and push. Them that ain’t, get out of the way’.

  Robert Fulghum

  Long, Humanity, Needs

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• Bastian had climbed a dune of purplish-red sand and all around him he saw nothing but hill after hill of every imaginable color. Each hill revealed a shade or tint that occured in no other. The nearest was cobalt blue, another was saffron yellow, then came crimson red, then indigo, apple green, sky blue, orange, peach, mauve, turquoise blue, lilac, moss green, ruby red, burnt umber, Indian yellow, vermillion, lapis lazuli, and so on from horizon to horizon. And between the hill, separating color from color, flowed streams of gold and silver sand.

  Michael Ende

  Blue, Color, Sky

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• Hill House, she thought, You're as hard to get into as heaven.

  Shirley Jackson

  House, Heaven, Hard

  Shirley Jackson (2010). “Novels and Stories: The Lottery, The Haunting of Hill House, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Other Stories and Sketches”

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• It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn’t do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.

  Terry Pratchett

  Lonely, Feet, Care

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• Joy, sorrow, tears, lamentation, laughter -- to all these music gives voice, but in such a way that we are transported from the world of unrest to a world of peace, and see reality in a new way, as if we were sitting by a mountain lake and contemplating hills and woods and clouds in the tranquil and fathomless water.

  Albert Schweitzer

  Music, Laughter, Reality

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• He domesticated and developed the native wild flowers. He had one hill-side solidly clad with that low-growing purple verbena which mats over the hills of New Mexico. It was like a great violet velvet mantle thrown down in the sun; all the shades that the dyers and weavers of Italy and France strove for through centuries, the violet that is full of rose colour and is yet not lavender; the blue that becomes almost pink and then retreats again into sea-dark purple—the true Episcopal colour and countless variations of it.

  Willa Cather

  Flower, Dark, Sea

  Willa Cather (1999). “Death Comes for the Archbishop”, p.279, U of Nebraska Press

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• Time passed slowly, like and old man climbing a hill.

  Roger Zelazny

  Time, Men, Climbing

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• ...he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he had left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges.

  Thomas Wolfe

  Eye, Men, Doe

  Thomas Wolfe (1997). “Look Homeward, Angel”, p.508, Simon and Schuster

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• I had not seen "Pride and Prejudice," till I read that sentence of yours, and then I got the book. And what did I find? An accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a common-place face; a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but no glance of a bright, vivid physiognomy, no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses.

  Charlotte Bronte

  Country, Flower, Book

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• I walked over to the hill where we used to go and sled. There were a lot of little kids there. I watched them flying. Doing jumps and having races. And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn't.

  Stephen Chbosky

  Growing Up, Kids, Kissing

  "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky, (pp. 73-74), 1999.

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• Or have I passed my time in pouring words like water into empty sieves, rolling a stone up a hill and then down again, trying to prove an argument in the teeth of facts, and looking for causes in the dark, and not finding them?

  William Hazlitt

  Dark, Water, Trying

  William Hazlitt (2015). “Delphi Collected Works of William Hazlitt (Illustrated)”, p.1100, Delphi Classics

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• we left about midnight and walked down the hill in silence. the night was muggy, and all around me i felt the same pressure, a sense of time rushing by while it seemed to be standing still. whenever i thought of time in puerto rico, i was reminded of those old magnetic clocks that hung on the walls of my classrooms in high school. every now and then a hand would not move for several minutes -- and if i watched it long enough, wondering if it had finally broken down, the sudden click of the hand jumping three for four notches would startle me when it came.

  Hunter S. Thompson

  Wall, Moving, School

  Hunter S. Thompson (2011). “The Rum Diary: A Novel”, p.101, Simon and Schuster

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• The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

  Maya Angelou

  Bird, Tunes, Trill

  Maya Angelou (2013). “Shaker, Why Don't You Sing?”, p.20, Random House

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• For, after all, every one who wishes to gain true knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone, and since there is no royal road to the summit, I must zigzag it in my own way. I slip back many times, I fall, I stand still, I run against the edge of hidden obstacles, I lose my temper and find it again and keep it better, I trudge on, I gain a little, I feel encouraged, I get more eager and climb higher and begin to see the widening horizon. Every struggle is a victory. One more effort and I reach the luminous cloud, the blue depths of the sky, the uplands of my desire.

  Helen Keller

  Running, Fall, Struggle

  Helen Keller (2016). “The Story of My Life”, p.62, Om Books International

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• I had found a new friend. The surprising thing is where I’d found him – not up a tree or sulking in the shade, or splashing around in one of the hill streams, but in a book. No one had told us kids to look there for a friend. Or that you could slip inside the skin of another. Or travel to another place with marshes, and where, to our ears, the bad people spoke like pirates.

  Lloyd Jones

  Book, Kids, People

  Lloyd Jones (2011). “Mister Pip”, p.23, ReadHowYouWant.com

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• Moonflowers blossom in the sand hills before dawn, just as I followed him.

  Leslie Marmon Silko

  Dawn, Sand

  Leslie Marmon Silko, Melody Graulich (1993). “Yellow Woman”, p.15, Rutgers University Press

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