Best 299 quotes in «mountains quotes» category

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

Father once told me that would-be lovers were similar to mountains. Two peaks, wonderfully akin and compatible in every way, may rise to the clouds but never witness each other's majesty because of the space between them. Like a man and a woman from different cities, they would never find each other. Or, if the peaks were blessed, as my parents had been, they might be two mountains of the same range and could bask in each other's company forever.

Fawn supposed Black's treaty had been made long ago. He was tall and unwavering, like one of the shaded lighthouses scattered across Cadoett's waters. How many ships were still lost? How many sailors never made it home? Black was resolute, and the mountain appeared to empower him.

Feeling LOW? Go on mountains.

Fjordene fylder sine lunger med uvørne drag der nord, og himlen har kort mellem glæde og sorg.

...fjældene slutter sig tættere og tættere omkring os, det synes som om alt håp er ute, bare litt himmel er synlig ret over vore hodet. Det virker beklemmende på os, vi overvældes og tier. Pludselig ved en skarp dreining av veien åpner sig et svært gap tilhøire og vi ser aldeles nær os istinden Kasbek med sine bræer som hvitgnistrer i solen. Den står os kloss ind på livet, stille og høi, stum. Det rykker en sælsom følelse gjennom os, berget står der opsvoren av de andre berge, det er som et væsen fra en anden verden som står der og ser på os.

...Following the bird you lay into a deep turn in the steepening descent. It [the snow] is super soft, bottomless and amazingly light, yet supportive. It feels like something in between floating on top, and within the top of a deep-pile carpet as you link turn after turn down the open glacier. Each side of you are fellow riders, though not too close, whooping with exhilaration and flying down, down towards the valley below. The pitch gets steeper and the slope widens out, with seemingly endless space to the sides and an untracked oblivion ahead and beneath you. Each turn is delicious softness; you can almost feel every snow crystal reacting with the base of your skis. Those skis feel like extensions of your feet, and you connect with the mountain through a portal link created by the snowpack, as the spray from the turn hangs in the air behind you...

Forget about the money for a moment. Lose yourself in the wilderness, listen to the music of the softly blowing winds, feel the rain on your bare skin, let the mountains take the burden off your shoulders.

For there are moments in all our lives, great and small, that we must trudge alone our forlorn roads into infinite wilderness, to endure our midnight hours of pain and sorrow--- the Gethsemane moments, when we are on our knees or backs, crying out to a universe that seems to have abandoned us. These are the greatest of moments, where we show our souls. Thee are our "finest hours." That these moments are given to us is neither accidental not cruel. Without great mountains we cannot reach great heights. And we were born to reach great heights.

Geographically, Liberia borders the Atlantic Ocean and is situated at the bottom of the “West African Bulge.” It has a wonderful diversified terrain and an abundance of natural resources. This little known country is located southeast of Sierra Leone, south of Guinea and west of Cote d’Ivoire. Liberia has a coastal plain extending 25 miles in from the ocean and is about 350 miles long extending the length of the country. Inland from the coastal plan are rolling hills and low mountains. In this mountain range is Mount Wuteve with an elevation of 4,724 feet. However the highest mountain, although but not wholly within Liberia, is Mount Nimba with an elevation of 5,748 feet.

Für einen Augenblick horchte er in den lautlos fallenden Schnee hinaus. Die Stille war vollkommen. Es war das Schweigen der Berge, das er so gut kannte und das doch immer noch imstande war, sein Herz mit Angst zu füllen.

Gazing out from the mountains, the clouds are whiter, the sky is bluer, the air seeping into your lungs is as clear as the water roaring down from the snow, melting on the high peaks. A place where heaven is a little closer.

God begins to paint the clouds in the eastern sky when the mountains butterflies come flying home

God reigns from the deepest depths to the highest heights.

God is not only something metaphysical, but also the physical world, the plants and animals, the mountains and rivers, the air and the sun and the earth.

God's gift to the world are the Trees, Sun, and Mountains

Gran always said our West Virginia mountains is like the bosom of the Almighty, keeping us protected and still in Him.

Having been bred amongst mountains I am always unhappy when in a flat country. Whenever the skirts of the horizon come on a level with myself I feel myself quite uneasy and generally have a headache. (Letter to Sir Walter Scott, 25 July 1802)

...gripping the rim of the sink you claw your way to stand and cling there, quaking with will, on heron legs, and still the hot muck pours out of you. (p. 27)

Hardships are hills of mountains, which must be overcome for the highest accomplishments.

Hans andakt er undringen ved det å være til, taknemmelighet over kroppens og sansernes og sindets virkelighet i en verden av fabler. Når tanken går mot den store gåde, da blir kanhænde tinden til hans altersten - og det som damper av den er ikke blod (skønt den kræver sitt offer iblandt), men nattens stigende tåker gjennemlyst av soloppgangen.

He couldn't be more than forty-five, but Murray Miles was stooped, old before his time. The mountains of Alberta had the ability to bend those who lived here. That, or it broke them.

Here there was no monster greater than the ragged mountains.

Here, if nowhere else in the land, the sense of satiety is unknown; and it is to this mental tonic, even more than to the bracing air of the heights, that we owe the unwearied spirit which nerves us to walk more leagues upon the mountains than we could walk miles upon the plain. For in the lowlands we walk with the body only; in the highlands we walk with the mind

He stood at the edge of town feeling very small, powerless. Night in the mountains could do that to you, reminding you of your place in the world and laughing at any sense of self-importance.

He stood there a moment, listened to the creek, and let the mountain air blow against his face. Even with all this heartache, it was beautiful here.

I asked the mountains and valleys about you. And they said that they miss you as much as I miss you!

I ascended the mountains to hear the voice of God, and was answered in echoes from afar.

Heydar Baba, when the thunder resounds across the skies, When floods roar down the mountainsides, And the girls line up to watch it rushing by, Send my greetings to the tribesmen and the village folk And remember me and my name once more.

His voice jerked Lou from her memory. She blinked and the dim bedroom returned. Outside the parted curtains, the inky surface of Bertha Bay lay silent. Above it ran a saw’s blade of mountains. Beneath, Lou knew, but didn’t dare say.

I ‘am shaggy as rivers, forests and mountains My eyes see the universe natural and super My mind is of many cuts Non-identical I have fought demons Half-horse, half alligator I ‘am victorious, I bled

I couldn’t describe the smells of West Virginia, even if I tried. It has something to do with the leaves composting in the woods, the cold trickle of little creeks and waterfalls, the ferns greening up everything. But somewhere deep below, I can smell the rock and the coal this state is built on.

I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)

I couldn’t work out how to get home. Someone moved the mountains.

I disse sekunder, som koncentrationen gjør tidløse, oplever jeg hvordan hele min skjæbnes brede væv løper sammen til en eneste tråd i denne passage på en tolv-femten forbitrede fingertak.

if i told you that i talk to the mountains quite often would you think that i am insane? if i told you that i secretly hug trees would you think that i am an idiot? if i told you that i love fragrances would you think that i am less masculine? if i told you that i dislike talking because i hate my own voice would you think that i lack confidence? if i told you that i cry in movies when an emotional scene unfolds would you think that i am a weak-heart? if i told you that i keep staring at the sky most often would you think that i am crazy?

I don't like either the word [hike] or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not 'hike!' Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It's a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going they would reply, 'A la sainte terre', 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them.

If I was to establish a system, it would be, that Mountains are produced by Volcanoes, and not Volcanoes by Mountains.

I do not find myself beguiled, let alone enchanted by mortal man or woman with their pretense, show or adornments, yet when I’m alone in the pine-scented cloak of forested mountains, I’m both. It was nearing sunset in the treasure state with not another soul in sight and despite my own plainness and insignificance, I never felt more grounded or at peace; it’s a tranquility only the curvaceous, imposing landscape of the frontier can provide and I was free of the trepidation within my thoughts as I gratefully and prayerfully walked with God. All was well within me and around me for that blissful yet brief moment in time.

I dream that one day I would be a published writer and people would read my books - if not, I would be living in the mountains in a small hut, near a pond where swans swim, writing a diary for myself.

I force myself to get up and lock my eyes on the painting, my birthday gift. It’s the essence of everything I want to remember about us. I pick it up and imagine the stars shimmering over us and the brisk air on our skin. The way the cold dissipated when we touched and nothing else mattered, how perfect it was.

If you get the taste of the mountains once, you will always find the cities horribly tasteless!

If the mountain despises the valley, the valley reminds him of the clouds and the Moon!

If you are a kind person and love animals, you may be lucky enough to find the Magic Valley. There you will discover a land where snow leopards play and mountains smile. I should tell you, though, that it will be a very hard journey. But I should also tell you that it is well worth the effort.

If you ignore the mountain, doesn't mean mountain will ignore you too..

If you have the high spirit of the high mountains, even the greatest powers of the outer world will respect and admire you!

…I have never seen mountains before, and they fill me and oppress me so much that I could not sleep; I must keep awake this first night, and see that they don’t fall on the earth and overwhelm it." [- Miss Benson to her brother, Thurstan]

I grow into these mountains like a moss. I am bewitched. The blinding snow peaks and the clarion air, the sound of earth and heaven in the silence, the requiem birds, the mythic beasts, the flags, great horns, and old carved stones, the silver ice in the black river, the Kang, the Crystal Mountain. Also, I love the common miracles-the murmur of my friends at evening, the clay fires of smudgy juniper, the coarse dull food, the hardship and simplicity, the contentment of doing one thing at a time… gradually my mind has cleared itself, and wind and sun pour through my head, as through a bell. Though we talk little here, I am never lonely; I am returned into myself. In another life-this isn’t what I know, but how I feel- these mountains were my home; there is a rising of forgotten knowledge, like a spring from hidden aquifers under the earth. To glimpse one’s own true nature is a kind of homegoing, to a place East of the Sun, West of the Moon- the homegoing that needs no home, like that waterfall on the supper Suli Gad that turns to mist before touching the earth and rises once again to the sky.

If your mind can move mountains and swallow gods, Why does it worry with helpless yesterdays and unborn tomorrows? If it can vomit stars and walk on split hairs, Why must it follow the same path to despair? Everyone will tell you: 'An orgasm here is just as good.

I had this dream about you. We went hunting up in the mountains and I caught a unicorn. You told me now I know how it feels to be you.