Best 40 quotes in «new zealand quotes» category

I am not very happy the way things are going out there in New Zealand.

I was living in the U.K. I was back in New Zealand for the New Zealand Music Awards, which is like our annual New Zealand GRAMMYs.

New Zealand is not a small country but a large village.

New Zealand is a pretty no-nonsense place to work, like Australia. I mean it doesn't falter to anyone.

...and in Wellington women in the bakery trade were able "to perform certain skilled operations for which they are particularly suited, at rate equivalent to two thirds the journeyman's rate".

Alec is sitting deep in the saddle, holding the mare firmly between hand and leg, not letting her get away from him. After a couple of quick circles, she steadies her stride and gets into a proper rhythm, moving with ease and grace across the turf, turning easily and responding to Alec’s light aids. There’s not much muscle on her light frame, her neck is thin and held high, giving a slightly giraffe-like impression, and her unease shows in the slight roll of her eye. But I can see now, so easily, the pony she could be. I can imagine myself cantering her into the ring, her copper coat glistening in the sun and neatly pulled mane ruffling in the light breeze, her slender legs dancing across the grassy turf. I can feel my own legs against her sides, the thickness of rubber reins taut between my fingers. I hear the sound of the jostling crowd and know that all eyes are on us as we canter around the ring. We hold their attention and admiration as they watch us jump easily over the highest obstacles. In my mind, the chestnut pony’s neck is arched, tail proudly aloft, her dark eyes bright and full of life and enthusiasm.

I myself prefer my New Zealand eggs for breakfast.

And Goneville? It is a name that kept coming up as I was writing this book, and each time its meaning shifted a little. It's almost Gonville, the suburb of Whanganui where Johnny Devlin, New Zealand's first rock 'n'roll star, grew up, so arguably the birthplace of New Zealand rock 'n'roll. But it is also an imaginary place that might be every obscure New Zealand town that every obscure New Zealand band ever played.

But since President Obama allowed Colorado and Washington to legalize recreational use and sales of marijuana following initiatives in 2012, the United Stets itself is probably now violating international law. (Because we have traditional been the ones who interpret and enforce these laws, it’s hard to know exactly; of course, we say we are not.) And with even federal drug control officials slowly embracing harm reduction officially, we have remained silent on New Zealand’s law.

But for me to start the journey of writing a book about my life, the first place I had to re visit was my past. A book written from the deepest part of my heart as so many tears at times did fall upon the keyboard as I typed away.

Dawn is breaking, sending pale fingers of cold light across the hills that surround the Harrisons’ farmyard. Jess is being difficult, rearing and trying to bolt away from the truck, and we’ve been at it for some time when Liam comes out of the house and sees our predicament. He marches across the yard, picks up a piece of cut-off hosepipe and walks up behind the pony. I see the look on Alec’s face as his dad approaches, and he’s not happy. Liam tells his son to “walk her up” and then cracks the mare around the rump with the piece of pipe when she plants her feet. The sound of the pipe hitting the pony echoes across the hills and rings in my ears. Jess starts to rear but earns another whack around the backside, so scrambles up the ramp and stands trembling in the truck. Alec quickly ties her up, his expression unreadable.

But the thought of New Zealand instantly sent her mind to Watson, the possibly-Australian, possibly-Kiwi, definitely paranormal young fellow with videos of dead guys on his phone.

It may seem strange to some of you - a Christian minister conducting the funeral of a Mohammedan, he said. No clergyman of his faith is in New Zealand, and we should like to think that were we to die in some land of Islam, similarly situated, there might be found some Sheikh of their religion who would give us a Christian burial.

Education is highly respected in Japan and so there is a cultural desire to be highly educated which drives Japanese to undertake study, particularly English

I have heard that in the New Zealand native tradition, the soul, when it dies, becomes a star.

In dividing the light, things are seen. And we notice ourselves.

I remember standing in the bush above this unbelievably wild river, and thinking this is as good as it gets. Exquisite birdsong, jagged peaks of the Alps beckoning like the spires of mystical cathedrals, the smell of moisture in the beech forest like an elixir. Nature in its raw, unpredictable state – at an entirely different end of the spectrum from the confines of a test tube or comfort of a biotech lab.

I shall always attribute my uncertain start in New Zealand to the fact that I was introduced too early to what is knows as the 'five o'clock swill'. The phrase has, when you consider it, a wonderful pastoral - one might almost say idyllic - ring to it. It conjures up a picture of fat but hungry porcines, all freshly scrubbed, eagerly and gratefully partaking of their warm mash from the horny but kindly hands of the jovial farmer, a twinkling eyed son of the soil. Nothing could be further from the truth. The five o'clock swill is the direct result of New Zealand's imbecilic licensing laws. In order to prevent people getting drunk the pubs close at six, just after the workers leave work. This means they have to leave their place of employment, rush frantically to the nearest pub, and make a desperate attempt to drink as much beer as they can in the shortest possible time. As a means of cutting down drunkenness, this is quite one of the most illogical deterrents I have come across.

It’s a beautiful morning that’s promising to be stinking hot by the afternoon. We ride the ponies down to the warm-up ring, surrounded by horses and ponies of all shapes and sizes, Alec calling out greetings to people he knows. I love everything about the atmosphere of a horse show. The smell of crushed grass, the drum of hoofbeats across the ground, the clatter of the poles coming down, the scattered applause from spectators.

It seems I had personally laid my past to rest and when writing volume two of my book, it reminded me how I managed to get through it all back when I was young and how I made a personal choice to leave New Zealand in search of a better life.

Japanese people like New Zealand, the quality of education, the beautiful natural surroundings, the value for money and the perceived high safety aspect. These unique characteristics attract tourists, working holidaymakers and students alike.

It is almost as though something else is breathing quite close by, invisibly. The mystery of the names… Albizzia. Gleditsia. Aucuba japonica. And I am listening, seeing. Seeing, like someone twice alive.

I have never found a solo life is devastated.At times it is lonely.It is a selfish life doing only the things you want to do. That is what the general public are jealous of but are not prepared to take the loneliness to reap the excitement that only solos can accept without having to consider others.

Japanese consumers require and expect a lot of detailed information when making a purchase decision.

New Zealand has the best government money can buy.

Our house has its back to the sea,' writes Hester in her journal. 'Below us, the ocean spreads to the sky, twitching wide and blue and hungry. One would think it to be infinite. But we, of course, know better.

Our people once were warriors. But unlike you, Jake, they were people with mana, pride; people with spirit. If my spirit can survive living with you for eighteen years, then I can survive anything.

Poetry for me is a result of lyrical meditation, pre-verbal in origin, and much of the craft has to do with finding a contemporary diction that embodies, at times subverts but never betrays that pre-verbal lyrical source: the presence of song before it is sung.

The endangered Kiwi is aptly New Zealand's icon. There is so much promise to lay a large egg but without the ability to get it off the ground.

The fleabitten grey mare's short legs are slightly over at the knee, she has a Roman nose and a neck of solid muscle well-practiced at pulling her rider out of the saddle. Her head is up and a layer of sweat darkens her pale shoulders, but Alec’s holding his reins tight and he’s maintaining control. All the riders who have gone before on beautifully turned out, well-schooled ponies were merely passengers as their ponies jumped. Alec has harnessed the raw talent of his mare, her power barely held in check as the bell rings and he canters her around towards the first jump. Jess strains against the martingale as she charges towards the first fence and with one strong push off her hocks, flies over the jump with her knees tucked into her chest.

Mrs Bennet was a great connoissuer of feminine beauty and indeed it must be owned that she herself was a very handsome woman. As to the sweetness of her temper, there was less compelling evidence; yet in all her forty years she had given none of her family or general acquaintance reason to suppose her a murderess.

So the convict establishment, born of poverty and hatred, gave birth to wealth and hope.

The book, and the CDs, are taonga. The result of a mission by poets Jan Kemp and Jack Ross, they reproduce the poetic voices of our past. … But what is the bigger story of this collection? It is a treasure of voice and poem. I am hoping it is the beginning of a longer series. Every school should have one. There is much to ponder on, to celebrate here. And people searching for poems for significant occasions could do well to buy this book. It is of our people. – Peter Wells, New Zealand Herald

The problem with New Zealand is that the coasts are too close. It is a psychological squeeze on the people.

Though she had been surprised to find that murder was so thoroughly enjoyable, Mrs Bennet did not believe that this reflected any fault or wickedness in her character. She knew she only committed these acts to secure the future well-being of her daughters. Naturally, she would be able to stop killing once her daughters had husbands and there was no further use for such bloodthirsty deeds. Indeed, she felt adamant that she only enjoyed the planning and execution of such matters because her daughters had not been so good as to provide her with wedding preparations to occupy her active mind.

When Margot died after a car accident in which my sister was also seriously injured in November 1970, I sat on a hill behind a friend's house in Greymouth trying to get my head around having to identify the body of my university sweetheart. Yvonne was the only one who came with condolences (Paul Caffyn)

What do you think, Mr Alleyn? If there's another war will the young chaps come at it, same as we did, thinking it's great? And get the same jolt? What do you reckon?" "I'm afraid to speculate," said Alleyn.

Altogether too many sheep

With his fingers, he followed the shape of her chin, her jaw, and learned her features, committing them to memory. Her face was small, her bones fragile. Exquisite.

Twenty two year old Connie Jones, who had boarded in the home of charismatic Methodist and pacifist Ormond Burton, was a member of the No More War movement and the Christian Pacifist Society. She first attended the Friday night public meetings at which the pacifists argued their case in 1941. She stepped onto the podium, stating, "the Lord Jesus Christ tells us to love one another," and was promptly arrested by Wellington's chief inspector of police. Charged with obstruction under the Emergency Regulations, she was sentenced to three months' hard labour with harsh conditions at the Point Halswell Reformatory - an experience that did nothing to dampen her commitment to pacifism.