Moors Quotes

• We should not moor a ship with one anchor, or our life with one hope.

  Epictetus

  Philosophical, Anchors, Childhood

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• You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious.

  Arthur Conan Doyle

  Thinking, Secret, Mysterious

  Arthur Conan Doyle (2013). “The Complete Sherlock Holmes”, p.538, Race Point Publishing

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• And the peace which I always found in the silence and emptiness of the moors filled me utterly

  James Herriot

  Silence, Emptiness, Found

  James Herriot (2012). “All Creatures Great and Small: The classic memoirs of a Yorkshire country vet”, p.187, Pan Macmillan

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• I knew the stars, the flowers, and the birds, The gray and wintry sides of many glens, And did but half remember human words, In converse with the mountains, moors, and fens.

  John Millington Synge

  Stars, Flower, Bird

  John Millington Synge (2014). “Synge: Complete Plays: In the Shadow of the Glen; Riders to the Sea; The Tinker's Wedding; The Well of the Saints; The Playboy of the Western World; Deirdre of the Sorrows”, p.31, Bloomsbury Publishing

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• There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked--and laughed. It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water, And moor herself within my room-- My daughter! O my daughter!

  George Washington

  Daughter, Sunday, Night

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• My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was – liberty.

  Charlotte Bronte

  Flower, Eden, Rose

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• Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am

  William Shakespeare

  Heart, Long, Judging

  1603-4 Iago. Othello, act1, sc.1, l.60-5.

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• I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.

  Emily Dickinson

  Faith, Sea, Heaven

  Emily Dickinson, Helen Vendler (2010). “Dickinson”, p.343, Harvard University Press

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• A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
  So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
  And, deepening still the dreamlike charm,
  Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

  Emily Bronte

  Sweet, Sheep, Air

  "A Little While, a Little While". Poem by Emily Bronte, etc.usf.edu. 1846.

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• Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

  William Shakespeare

  Father, Eye, Looks

  William Shakespeare, Julie Hankey (2005). “Othello”, p.147, Cambridge University Press

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• To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted.

  Arthur Conan Doyle

  Dark, Son, Evil

  SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, Choi Hyun (2016). “The Hound of the Baskervilles”, p.17, ebookspub

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• The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.

  Emily Bronte

  Children, Struggle, Home

  Emily Bronte (2014). “Wuthering Heights”, p.31, Race Point Publishing

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• My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty. To you I am bound for life and education. My life and education both do learn me How to respect you. You are the lord of my duty, I am hitherto your daughter. But here’s my husband, And so much duty as my mother showed To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord.

  William Shakespeare

  Daughter, Mother, Husband

  William Shakespeare, John Payne Collier, Charles Knight (1847). “Romeo and Juliet. Othello. Hamlet. Macbeth. King Lear. Cymbeline. Timon of Athens. Coriolanus. Julius Caesar. Anthony and Cleopatra. Troilus and Cressida. Titus Andronicus. Pericles”

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• Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring,
  With sudden passion languishing,
  Teaching barren moors to smile,
  Painting pictures mile on mile,
  Holds a cup of cowslip wreaths
  Whence a smokeless incense breathes.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Daughter, Spring, Teaching

  Ralph Waldo Emerson (1854). “Poems”, p.163

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• On the Iberian Peninsula in the Spanish-Portuguese area, southern France that high state of a culture existed there because of Africans known as Moors had come there and brought it there.

  Malcolm X

  Southern, Culture, France

  Source: nyx.uky.edu

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• Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.

  Susanna Clarke

  Lonely, Play, People

  Susanna Clarke (2009). “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”, p.707, Bloomsbury Publishing

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• Being alone on the moors is scary; as the rain clouds settle in, it makes you realise your place in nature.

  Dave Davies

  Rain, Clouds, Scary

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• Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying,
  Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now,
  Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying,
  My heart remembers how!

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  Rain, Heart, Blow

  1894 Songs of Travel (published 1896), no.45,'To S.R. Crockett (in reply to a dedication)', stanza 1.

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• Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.

  Pablo Neruda

  Love You, Twilight, Tired

  Pablo Neruda, “Here I Love You”

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• The Moor has done his work, the Moor may go.

  Friedrich Schiller

  Work, Done, May

  Friedrich Schiller (1861). “Schiller's Complete Works”, p.224

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• The coast's a jungle of Moors, Turks, Jews, renegades from all over Europe, sitting in palaces built from the sale of Christian slaves. There are twenty thousand men, women and children in the bagnios of Algiers alone. I am not going to make it twenty thousand and one because your mother didn't allow you to keep rabbits, or whatever is at the root of your unshakable fixation." "I had weasels instead," said Philippa shortly. "Good God," said Lymond, looking at her. "That explains a lot.

  Dorothy Dunnett

  Christian, Mother, Children

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• Listen to th' wind wutherin' round the house," she said. "You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight." Mary did not know what "wutherin'" meant until she listened, and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which rushed round and round the house, as if the giant no one could see were buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.

  Frances Hodgson Burnett

  Wall, Mean, Fire

  Frances Hodgson Burnett (2016). “The Secret Garden”, p.38, Xist Publishing

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• The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

  Alfred Noyes

  Moon, Doors, Wind

  "The Highwayman" l. 3 (1907)

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• Fare well we call to hearth and hall Though wind may blow and rain may fall We must away ere break of day Over the wood and mountain tall To Rivendell where Elves yet dwell In glades beneath the misty fell Through moor and waste we ride in haste And wither then we cannot tell With foes ahead behind us dread Beneath the sky shall be our bed Until at last our toil be sped Our journey done, our errand sped We must away! We must away! We ride before the break of day!

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Rain, Fall, Blow

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Lord of the Rings: One Volume”, p.84, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.

  John Keats

  Home, Eye, Southern

  John Keats (2015). “The Complete Poetry of John Keats: Ode on a Grecian Urn + Ode to a Nightingale + Hyperion + Endymion + The Eve of St. Agnes + Isabella + Ode to Psyche + Lamia + Sonnets and more from one of the most beloved English Romantic poets”, p.660, e-artnow

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