Best 478 quotes in «desert quotes» category

I could just like down, right here, and let the sand cover me like a blanket. But my legs, clumsy as they've become, keep stumbling forward on their own. I'm not frightened and I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit. Nikko and I shared this fate, six years apart. We both walked into the desert, and we will both have died out here, under the wide open sky. At this moment, I feel closer to him than I have in years. Maybe that's what Endd meant when she said that none of us are ever truly alone.

I didn't know where I was going. My life was a hard and difficult desert. I was wandering aimlessly. I was drifting like a crazy man and wandering from place to place. I would wake up in the morning in one city and sleep in the night in another city. What was the meaning of my life? Nothing! What was the meaning of happiness? I did not know! I was a nomad. I was a wanderer. I was a drifter. Why was I drifting? Yes, I wish I knew why? I was not aware of the reason myself. Why was I drifting? And then one day I met you. You came to my life like the clouds to a parched desert! For a while, I discovered peace! I discovered that I too had a heart! I began to smile for the first time in life!

If a flower can flourish in the desert, you can flourish anywhere.

If not prevented, desertification of the world can one day make the camels as the best and the sole cars of our civilisation!

In a land that knew only dark beauty, she was something of a hybrid no one dared touch. But the tall Arab did not appear in the least daunted by her abnormality. No, she saw his eyes. He was not daunted in the least.

If seeds waited for perfect conditions to grow, there would be no plants in the desert.

If you live in the desert, view the sun not as your enemy, but as your friend. If you live in the wilderness, view nature not as your adversary, but as your companion.

I knew I was a grain of sand in the vast desert that never ended and he was a sparkling star in the sky. I was a fish who couldn’t breathe in air and had to stay in dark waters forever while he was a majestic bird who soared so high that he barely touched the ground. I did not deserve him. I could only watch him from down here and wish, wish that he could come here someday. That he could know that I existed. But for that, he had to fall. He had to drop to the ground but I could not let that happen. And then I thought, birds are meant to fly and stars are meant to shine and if someone takes it away from them, they can't be the same anymore. So, I just prayed that his wings never fail him, that the star never explodes. And I was at peace.

Il deserto batteva qualsiasi cosa avesse mai visto. Non era per un fatto estetico, perché non poteva certo dire che fosse stupendo o meraviglioso. Era una questione di stazza. il deserto era lì. Stava. Ovunque guardasse. Monotono, imponente, come il mare. Però il contatto era più stretto, sentiva il calore, sentiva la sabbia. Era strano, gli piaceva.

I left a piece of my soul that will always rightfully belong in the desert.

I love like I’m thirsty. Can I offer you a tall glass of Sahara sand?

I have never felt like I was creating anything. For me, writing is like walking through a desert and all at once, poking up through the hardpan, I see the top of a chimney. I know there's a house under there, and I'm pretty sure that I can dig it up if I want. That's how I feel. It's like the stories are already there. What they pay me for is the leap of faith that says: "If I sit down and do this, everything will come out OK.

I looked up at the ivory towers above us all. Nowhere else equals the feral design of this city. Tall skyscrapers that act as gorges hollowing out between flat cement dancing into narrow alleyways like bottomless pits. Building walls rusted the color of blood. Sometimes when you look down the horizon from afar the city looks wider than it is, like a thin field of magical lights gleaming with the hopes of children and idealists; a light on at midnight in one of the penthouses or the changing hues of the Empire State Building. Most of the time though, the city is covered with a layer of honking cars and greed, sirens and the war cry of solicitors, all full of brambles and impenetrable conscience; garbage, steaming manholes, and heat waves twirling smog and pollution through your lungs like mirages as you walk breathlessly through a boiling desert.

imagine the desert mothers, with hair tangled tighter than their theology and breasts that flowed milk and mystic wisdom. they knew how to draw the singing sigils in the sand, how to dig rough and bitten fingers into desiccated dirt for water to wet the lips of their young. women of hips and heft, who learned how to burn beneath the wild and searing sun, who made loud love against the star-flecked threat of night, who knew that strength is not always a matter of muscle. imagine your ancestresses, the prophetesses of the arid lands, before these starched traditions and pews too hard to pray from, who bled true ritual and birthed their own fierce souls at creation's crowning --

In the desert of the heart, tears do not touch the ground. (Dans le désert du coeur, - Les larmes ne touchent la terre.)

Inside her head or out in the desert was the same, and the air inside her throat was very dry to keep from crying and her neck sore from forcing herself not to look down, not to look back.

It is poetic and lyrical; words that spill forth like cool waters into the dusty dry rock bed of the Soul desiring love. It has been said that I’ve lived in the desert all my life and do not know what it means to be wet.

I picked up one and then a second and then a third of these stones, finding them at about the rate of one stone to the acre. And here is where my adventure became magical, for in a striking foreshortening of time that embraced thousands of years, I had become the witness of this miserly rain from the stars. the marvel of marvels was that there on the rounded back of the planet, between this magnetic sheet and those stars, a human consciousness was present in which as in a mirror that rain could be reflected.

I saw Sonora before me, so otherworldly, so desolate, some cast-out mistress on the pale blue planet, and longed suddenly to stay.

It is the desert that tests a seed's strength.

I pray that we would let God take us through the desert - not just so that we can arrive in the Promised Land, but so that we can talk, or simply listen, to Him along the way.

I shivered in those solitudes when I heard the voice of the salt in the desert.

-I think you are inhuman. If I leave you, who will you go to? Would you find another lover? I said nothing. -Deny it,damn you!

It is better to make an irrational noise in a bush than in a desert.

No doubt you are wondering what you will find, out there.' The Commandant said it for me. 'Well, it would be useless for me to try and tell you. The desert tells a different story every time one ventures on it...

It was a place as blank as a sheet of paper. It was the place I had always been looking for... Flat expanses would call to me... These are the places where the desert is most itself: stark, open, free, an invitation to wander, a laboratory of perception, scale, light, a place where loneliness has a luxurious flavor...

It was either the chaos of a crowd of thoughts or the silence of solitude... nothing in between..

I will love you like the desert burns along the sun when they are together, and when you will be gone, just like every one else, I will cry for you like the snow that melts at the first hint of summer... and hoping that you'll be back I will miss you like the clouds lose themselves when it rains...

My life was a hard and difficult desert. I was wandering aimlessly. I was a nomad. I was a wanderer. I was a drifter. Why was I drifting? Yes, I wish I knew why? I was not aware of the reason myself. Why was I drifting?

...nobody ever takes from the desert anything but aridity and monsters...

Love is wild; its whole beauty is in its wildness. It comes like a breeze with great fragrance, fills your heart, and suddenly where there was a desert there is a garden full of flowers.

No man can live this life and emerge unchanged. He will carry, however faint, the imprint of the desert, the brand which marks the nomad; and he will have within him the yearning to return, weak or insistent according to his nature. For this cruel land can cast a spell which no temperate clime can match.

On Caladan, we ruled with sea and air power," the Duke said. "Here, we must scrabble for desert power. This is your inheritance, Paul.

Often I would hear other people ask, “When will I be normal again?” What you don’t often hear is a blunt truth: things will never be normal again. Not the “old" normal at least. You have to invent the new normal. I knew that I needed to take an honest appraisal of my life. Were my problems really bigger than me? Of course not. That’s why I remained in constant motion. Resistance to life’s changes meant death. No matter how depressing and bleak my past looked, I knew that I needed to keep moving and adapting in order to survive.

Oh, wind and rain may haunt me, Look to the north and pray. Send me, please, his kisses; Send them home today. I'm begging Jesus, 'Please, Send his love to me!' Left alone in desert, This house becomes a hell, This love becomes a tether, This room becomes a cell. Mummy, Daddy, please, Send him back to me! How long must I suffer? Dear God, I've served my time. This love becomes my torture; This love, my only crime. Oh, lover, please release me. My arms too weak to grip, My eyes too dry for weeping, My lips too dry to kiss. Calling Jesus, 'Please, Send his love to me!

One by one and then together the birds chanted, warbled, whistled, and cooed, like a rare desert plant bursting into life after the rain.

One mile farther and I come to a second grave beside the road, nameless like the other, marked only with the dull blue-black stones of the badlands. I do not pause this time. The more often you stop the more difficult it is to continue. Stop too long and they cover you with rocks.

Rich people always had someone to call who could arrange something that the average guy couldn't get done, no matter how right or wrong. The only call the poor man could make was to Jesus. If Jesus didn't answer, Smith and Wesson always did.

Planting a flower in the desert takes greater skill than growing a garden in a rain forest.

Out in the desert what doesn't kill you just pisses you off and will probably kill you the next time.

Shall I run back into the desert ... and stay there until the devil has passed out of me and I am fit to meet human kind again without driving it to despair at the first look? I haven't had enough desert yet.

She was rain to a parched desert She was color to a gray sky She was the beautiful butterfly you longed to possess But I let her fly For fear of breaking her wings!

She was rain to a parched desert She was color to a gray sky She was the butterfly you longed to possess But I let her fly For fear of breaking her delicate wings!

She hated religion as much as she loved its architecture. She detested the pomposity of its spiritual leaders, be they Muslim, Christian or Jews. Whenever she spoke to them, she was outraged by their confident certainty that they were right and all others were wrong, their self-righteousness, haughtiness and aggrandizement. The art and architecture of religion had been amongst mankind's finest achievements, but its inspiration had brought destruction to countless millions. Even the ancient artefacts she'd personally uncovered in the desert, monuments to humanity's earliest attempts to come to terms with spiritual explanations for natural phenomena, had been exquisite, but etched into their stone or marble were the blood and bones of those who believed differently.

She smiled, and said, “Take care that the voice of God and the Devil sound one in the same in the desert. Trust your instincts. You were not put on this earth to be naïve, blindly optimistic, or passive; you are here to be vigilant, to survive.

She thirsted for love, but found only a mirage. Some hearts are a desert you can die wandering in.

Strangely it came to Gale then that he was glad. Yaqui had returned to his own — the great spaces, the desolation, the solitude — to the trails he had trodden when a child, trails haunted now by ghosts of his people, and ever by his gods. Gale realized that in the Yaqui he had known the spirit of the desert, that this spirit had claimed all which was wild and primitive in him.

The desert lay in wait, more infinite than God, no less remote.

The desert became grim, dark and foreboding. A silence of death lay over the land, and it seemed as though the very stars held their breath and twinkled no more.

Sunshine - sunshine! tedious, changeless, monotonous. Not that discreet English Sunshine which varies its charm with clouds, with rainbows, with golden mist... here the sun has ceased trying to please so venerable a world.