Meadows Quotes - Page 7

• The boy and girl going hand in hand through a meadow; the mother washing her baby; the sweet simple things in life. We have almost lost track of them.

  Edward Steichen

  Girl, Mother, Baby

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• My heart can take on any form:
  A meadow for gazelles,
  A cloister for monks,
  For the idols, sacred ground,
  Ka'ba for the circling pilgrim,
  The tables of the Torah,
  The scrolls of the Quran.
  
  My creed is Love;
  Wherever its caravan turns along the way,
  That is my belief,
  My faith.

  Ibn Arabi

  Heart, Idols, Tables

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• How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains! To behold this alone is worth the pains of any excursion a thousand times over. The highest peaks burned like islands in a sea of liquid shade. Then the lower peaks and spires caught the glow, and long lances of light, streaming through many a notch and pass, fell thick on the frozen meadows.

  John Muir

  Pain, Islands, Light

  John Muir (1997). “Nature Writings: The Story of My Boyhood and Youth, My First Summer in the Sierra, the Mountains of California, Stickeen, Selected Essays”, p.351, Library of America

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• Some day there may be... machinery that needs but to be wound up and sent roaming o'er hill and dale, through fields and meadows, by babbling brooks and shady woods - in short, a machine that will discriminately select its subject and, by means of a skillful arrangement of springs and screws, compose its motif, expose the plate, develop, print, and even mount and frame the result of its excursion, so that there will be nothing for us to do but to send it to the Royal Photographic Society's exhibition and gratefully to receive the 'Royal Medal'.

  Edward Steichen

  Photography, Spring, Mean

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• The clever way death cuts us down, but makes it look like just a thinning-out. Generations never fall with one blow - that would be too sad and too obvious. Death prefers to do it piecemeal. The meadow is attacked from several sides at the same time. One of us goes one day; another some time afterwards; you have to stand back and look around you to take in what's missing, to grasp the vast slaughter of your generation.

  Alphonse Daudet

  Death, Clever, Fall

  "The art of suffering" by Julian Barnes, www.theguardian.com. May 10, 2002.

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• The only real river I knew was hardly more than a brook. It spilled through a tumbledown mill at the bottom of our road, opened into a little trouty pool, then ran on through water meadows over graveled shallows into Fakenham [England], where it slowed and deepened, gathering strength for the long drifts across muddy flatlands to Norwich and the North Sea.

  Jonathan Raban

  Real, Sea, Rivers

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• The boy and girl going hand in hand through a meadow; the mother washing her baby; the sweet simple things in life. We have almost lost track of them. On the one side, we over-intellectualize everything; on the other hand, we are over-mechanized. We can understand the danger of the atomic bomb, but the danger of our misunderstanding the meaning of life is much more serious.

  Edward Steichen

  Girl, Mother, Baby

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• I have to tell you I love living in a world without clocks. The shackles are gone. I’m a puppy unleashed in a meadow of time. -- Stargirl

  Jerry Spinelli

  Gone, World, Puppy

  Jerry Spinelli (2007). “Love, Stargirl”, p.112, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• Detroit right now is virtually abandoned at its core to the degree that a lot of what had been slums thirty years ago are now wildflower meadows. The rebuilding of Detroit will occur a much smaller scale. It remains to be seen what will become of Detroit's vast suburbs.

  James Howard Kunstler

  Years, Degrees, Wildflowers

  Source: www.treehugger.com

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• Her partially open lips now opened wide, and her soft, fragrant tongue entered his mouth, where it began a relentless search for unformed words, for a secret code engraved there. Tengo's own tongue responded unconsciously to this movement and soon their tongues were like two young snakes in a spring meadow, newly wakened from their hibernation and hungrily intertwining, each led on by the other's scent.

  Haruki Murakami

  Spring, Snakes, Two

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• They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it.

  Suzanne Collins

  Girl, Struggle, Eye

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• Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains of the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Stars, Flower, Eye

  J. R. R. Tolkien, “Roads Go Ever On”

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• Tis a strange thing, that the only friends I have I found in the same way, lying flat in the meadows, crying as if their hearts would break.

  Elizabeth George Speare

  Lying, Heart, Way

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• I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning.

  Mahmoud Darwish

  Morning, Horse, Eye

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• Finn always called it Enna's Stream. He tended to refer to most anything as belonging to her--Enna's Meadow, Enna's Mountain. When he referred to Yasid as Enna's Kingdom, she said, "Isn't that your heart?" Finn smiled and kissed her hand. Isi rolled her eyes. "Oh you two are impossible." Enna laughed. "This coming from the girl who calls her husband 'sweet little bunny boy'?" Isi blushed. "That was just once.

  Shannon Hale

  Girl, Sweet, Husband

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• deep in the meadow , under the willow , a bed of grass , a soft green pillow

  Suzanne Collins

  Bed, Green, Grass

  Suzanne Collins (2008). “The Hunger Games”, p.234, Scholastic Inc.

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• I respect not his labors, his farm where everything has its price, who would carry the landscape, who would carry his God, to market, if he could get anything for him; who goes to market for his god as it is; on whose farm nothing grows free, whose fields bear no crops, whose meadows no flowers, whose trees no fruits, but dollars.

  Henry David Thoreau

  God, Flower, Tree

  Henry David Thoreau (2012). “The Portable Thoreau”, p.261, Penguin

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• The Earth is beautiful, and bright, and kindly, but that is not all. The Earth is also terrible, and dark, and cruel. The rabbit shrieks dying in the green meadows. The mountains clench their great hands full of hidden fire. There are sharks in the sea, and there is cruelty in men's eyes.

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  Beautiful, Eye, Dark

  Ursula K. LeGuin (2015). “The Tombs of Atuan: The Second Book of Earthsea”, p.53, Hachette UK

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• The longer I live here, the better satisfied I am in having pitched my earthly camp-fire, gypsylike, on the edge of a town, keeping it on one side, and the green fields, lanes, and woods on the other. Each, in turn, is to me as a magnet to the needle. At times the needle of my nature points towards the country. On that side everything is poetry. I wander over field and forest, and through me runs a glad current of feeling that is like a clear brook across the meadows of May. At others the needle veers round, and I go to town--to the massed haunts of the highest animal and cannibal.

  James Lane Allen

  Country, Running, Animal

  James Lane Allen, William K. Bottorff (1967). “A Kentucky Cardinal, Aftermath, and Other Selected Works”, p.46, Rowman & Littlefield

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• We humans will never know how meadows or mountains smell, but deer and horses and pigs do. Bando sniffs deeply and shakes his head. We were left out when it comes to smelling things, he says. I would love to be able to smell a mountain and follow my nose to it.

  Jean Craighead George

  Horse, Smell, Pigs

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• I appreciate the misunderstanding I have had with Nature over my perennial border. I think it is a flower garden; she thinks it is a meadow lacking grass, and tries to correct the error.

  Sara Bonnett Stein

  Flower, Garden, Thinking

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• Play exists for its own sake. Play is for the moment; it is not hurried, even when the pace is fast and timing seems important. When we play, we also celebrate holy uselessness. Like the calf frolicking in the meadow, we need no pretense or excuses. Work is productive; play, in its disinterestedness and self-forgetting, can be fruitful.

  Margaret Guenther

  Fun, Self, Play

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• What if somebody came along who could teach me how my world works and how to control it What if I could meet a super-advanced ... what if a Siddhartha or a Jesus came into our time, with power over the illusions of the world because he knew the reality behind them And what if I could meet him in person, if he were flying a biplane, for instance, and landed in the same meadow with me.

  Richard Bach

  Time, Jesus, Reality

  Richard Bach (2012). “Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah”, p.4, Delta

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• When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.

  William Shakespeare

  Fear, Men, Blue

  'Love's Labour's Lost' (1595) act 5, sc. 2, l. [902]

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• Every kiss provokes another. Oh, in those earliest days of love how naturally the kisses spring to life! So closely, in their profusion, do they crowd together that lovers would find it as hard to count the kisses exchanged in an hour as to count the flowers in a meadow in May.

  Marcel Proust

  Spring, Flower, Kissing

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