Hills Quotes - Page 14

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless. The houses are all gone under the sea. The dancers are all gone under the hill.

T. S. Eliot

Humility, Sea, House

1940 Four Quartets,'East Coker', pt.2.

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Amid the moon and the stars, amid the clouds of the night, amid the hills which bordered on the sky with their magnificent silhouette of pointed cedars, amid the speckled patches of the moon, amid the temple buildings that emerged sparkling white out of the surrounding darkness - amid all this, I was intoxicated by the pellucid beauty of Uiko's treachery.

Yukio Mishima

Stars, Moon, Night

Yukio Mishima (2011). “The Temple of the Golden Pavilion”, p.29, Tuttle Publishing

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WEATHERS This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I; When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nestlings fly; And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,' And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I. This is the weather the shepherd shuns, And so do I; When beeches drip in browns and duns, And thresh and ply; And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe, And meadow rivulets overflow, And drops on gate bars hang in a row, And rooks in families homeward go, And so do I.

Thomas Hardy

Dream, Weather, Shepherds

Late Lyrics and Earlier (1922) "Weathers"

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YES. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL. LIKE A SUAVE THING. In fact, from here on, please forward my mail to 1 Suave Hill, Suave Boulevard, Suavieland, Planet of She's-So-Smooth-I-Can't-Believe-She's-Not-Butter.

Michele Jaffe

Believe, Suave, Mail

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Men can be very stupid. We cease to value what we have until it's gone, and only then do we realize the gold we glimpsed in distant hills pales as dross compared to treasure we had in hand.

Ann Aguirre

Stupid, Men, Hands

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My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.

Vladimir Nabokov

Summer, Mother, Memories

Vladimir Nabokov (2016). “Lolita”, p.3, Hamilton Books

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In our town there is a secret spot where you can still see the stars at night, believe it or not. It is the only spot like that left, unclouded by the dwindling skyscrapers rising nearby. It is a good place to go to walk and talk in whispers. Following the little hill that rises from the park to a small clearing which overlooks the statue of the armless general on his bronze steed, most of us later remember this spot as the first place we knew we might be in love.

Joe Meno

Stars, Believe, Night

Joe Meno (2006). “The Boy Detective Fails”, p.221, Akashic Books

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Gossip says she hanged herself from the turret on the tower, but when you have a house like Hill House with a tower and a turret, gossip would hardly allow you to hang yourself anywhere else.

Shirley Jackson

Gossip, House, Towers

Shirley Jackson (2013). “The Haunting of Hill House”, p.76, Penguin

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All the well-meaning advice in the world won't amount to a hill of beans if we're not even addressing the real problem.

Stephen Covey

Real, Effectiveness, Advice

Stephen R. Covey (2013). “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change”, p.262, Simon and Schuster

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The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them; before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever and ever on the beach. And oh, the cry of the seagulls! Have you ever heard it? Can you remember?

C. S. Lewis

Beach, Sea, Waves Breaking

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There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Science, Clouds, Sea

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Illustrated)”, p.845, Delphi Classics

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The storm had now definitely abated, and what thunder there was now grumbled over more distant hills, like a man saying 'And another thing...' twenty minutes after admitting he'd lost the argument.

Douglas Adams

Men, Storm, Twenties

Douglas Adams (2010). “The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy”, p.585, Del Rey

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You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?" My problems? "Yes.' And you'll give me answers? "I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?" I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space. It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk. "Ah, talk . . . " He closes his eyes and smiles. "Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen.

Mitch Albom

Eye, Feet, Space

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O Thou who art my quietness, my deep repose, My rest from strife of tongues, my holy hill, Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still. Back let them fall from me, my clamorous foes, Confusions multiplied; From crowding things of sense I flee, and Thee I hide. Until this tyranny be overpast, Thy hand will hold me fast; What though the tumult of the storm increase, Grant to Thy servant strength, O Lord, and bless with peace.

Amy Carmichael

Christian, Art, Fall

Amy Carmichael (1999). “Mountain Breezes: The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael”, p.466, CLC Publications

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Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world

Robert Browning

Song, Morning, Spring

Pippa Passes pt. 1 (1841)

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It sort of floated toward me,” said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, “right to my chest, and then — it just went straight through. It was here,” he touched a point close to his heart, “I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere. . . .

J. K. Rowling

Heart, Snow, Movement

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So let the way wind up the hill or down, O’er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy; Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown. My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road’s last turn will be the best.

Henry Van Dyke

Heart, Adventure, Journey

Henry Van Dyke (1904). “Music, and Other Poems”

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When he went blundering back to God, His songs half written, his work half done, Who knows what paths his bruised feet trod, What hills of peace or pain he won? I hope God smiled and took his hand, And said, "Poor truant, passionate fool! Life’s book is hard to understand: Why couldst thou not remain at school?" A poem by Charles Hanson Towne

Mitch Albom

Song, Pain, Book

Mitch Albom (2009). “For One More Day”, p.11, Hachette UK

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Rome was mud and smoky skies; the rank smell of the Tiber and the exotically spiced cooking fires of a hundred different nationalities. Rome was white marble and gilding and heady perfumes; the blare of trumpets and the shrieking of market-women and the eternal, sub-aural hum of more people, speaking more languages than Gaius had ever imagined existed, crammed together on seven hills whose contours had long ago disappeared beneath this encrustation if humanity. Rome was the pulsing heart of the world.

Marion Zimmer Bradley

Heart, Fire, Rome

Marion Zimmer Bradley (1995). “The Forest House”, p.424, Penguin

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The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Heart, Fire, Light

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Illustrated)”, p.295, Delphi Classics

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And thus ever by day and night, under the sun and under the stars, climbing the dusty hills and toiling along the weary plains, journeying by land and journeying by sea, coming and going so strangely, to meet and to act and react on one another, move all we restless travellers through the pilgrimage of life.

Charles Dickens

Stars, Moving, Night

Charles Dickens (2014). “Little Dorrit: Extended Annotated & Illustrated Edition”, p.75, Jazzybee Verlag

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But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said

J. R. R. Tolkien

Yellow, Fire, Light

J. R. R. Tolkien (1980). “The Lord of the Rings: The return of the King”

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When he awoke it was dawn. Or something like dawn. The light was watery, dim and incomparably sad. Vast, grey, gloomy hills rose up all around them and in between the hills there was a wide expanse of black bog. Stephen had never seen a landscape so calculated to reduce the onlooker to utter despair in an instant. "This is one of your kingdoms, I suppose, sir?" he said. "My kingdoms?" exclaimed the gentleman in surprize. "Oh, no! This is Scotland!

Susanna Clarke

Light, Scotland, Rose

Susanna Clarke, Portia Rosenberg (2005). “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”, p.604, A&C Black

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We swung over the hills and over the town and back again, and I saw how a man can be master of a craft, and how a craft can be master of an element. I saw the alchemy of perspective reduce my world, and all my other life, to grains in a cup. I learned to watch, to put my trust in other hands than mine. And I learned to wander. I learned what every dreaming child needs to know -- that no horizon is so far that you cannot get above it or beyond it.

Beryl Markham

Dream, Children, Men

Beryl Markham (2012). “West with the Night”, p.204, Open Road Media

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One day the stars will be as familiar to each man as the landmarks, the curves, and the hills on the road that leads to his door, and one day this will be an airborne life. But by then men will have forgotten how to fly; they will be passengers on machines whose conductors are carefully promoted to a familiarity with labelled buttons, and in whose minds knowledge of the sky and the wind and the way of weather will be extraneous as passing fiction.

Beryl Markham

Stars, Men, Curves

Beryl Markham (1994). “The Illustrated West with the Night”, Stewart, Tabori, & Chang

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