Scenery Quotes

“When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side enlightened.”
― Criss Jami, Venus in Arms

“You are part of my story, memory and scenery, thank you.”
― kim taehyung

“They crossed before the sun and vanished one by one and reappeared again and they were black in the sun and they rode out of that vanished sea like burnt phantoms with the legs of the animals kicking up the spume that was not real and they were lost in the sun and lost in the lake and they shimmered and slurred together and separated again and they were augmented by planes in lurid avatars and began to coalesce and there began to appear above them in the dawn-broached sky a hellish likeness of their ranks riding huge and inverted and the horses' legs incredibly elongate trampling down the high thin cirrus and the howling antiwarriors pendant from their mounts immense and chimeric and the high wild cries carrying that flat and barren pan like the cries of souls broke through some misweave in the weft of things into the world below.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West

“Admirable, however, as the Paris of the present day appears to you, build up and put together again in imagination the Paris of the fifteenth century; look at the light through that surprising host of steeples, towers, and belfries; pour forth amid the immense city, break against the points of its islands, compress within the arches of the bridges, the current of the Seine, with its large patches of green and yellow, more changeable than a serpent's skin; define clearly the Gothic profile of this old Paris upon an horizon of azure, make its contour float in a wintry fog which clings to its innumerable chimneys; drown it in deep night, and observe the extraordinary play of darkness and light in this sombre labyrinth of buildings; throw into it a ray of moonlight, which shall show its faint outline and cause the huge heads of the towers to stand forth from amid the mist; or revert to that dark picture, touch up with shade the thousand acute angles of the spires and gables, and make them stand out, more jagged than a shark's jaw, upon the copper-coloured sky of evening. Now compare the two.”
― Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

“Scenery is fine -but human nature is finer”
― John Keats

“The really happy person is the one who can enjoy the scenery, even when they have to take a detour.”
― Sir James Jeans

“My mother said I should have a 'change of scenery.' The word scenery made be think of a play. And as we were driving around, it made sense that way. Because no matter how much the scenery changed, we were still on the same stage.”
― David Levithan, Every You, Every Me

“I can see myself before myself—
A being through dark scenery.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, Circling: 1978-1987

“Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, I walked along, forgetting all my cares, feeling as if I had wings to my feet, and could go at least forty miles without fatigue, and experiencing a sense of exhilaration to which I had been an entire stranger since the days of early youth. About half–past six, however, the grooms began to come down to air their masters’ horses—first one, and then another, till there were some dozen horses and five or six riders: but that need not trouble me, for they would not come as far as the low rocks which I was now approaching. When I had reached these, and walked over the moist, slippery sea–weed (at the risk of floundering into one of the numerous pools of clear, salt water that lay between them), to a little mossy promontory with the sea splashing round it, I looked back again to see who next was stirring. Still, there were only the early grooms with their horses, and one gentleman with a little dark speck of a dog running before him, and one water–cart coming out of the town to get water for the baths. In another minute or two, the distant bathing machines would begin to move, and then the elderly gentlemen of regular habits and sober quaker ladies would be coming to take their salutary morning walks. But however interesting such a scene might be, I could not wait to witness it, for the sun and the sea so dazzled my eyes in that direction, that I could but afford one glance; and then I turned again to delight myself with the sight and the sound of the sea, dashing against my promontory—with no prodigious force, for the swell was broken by the tangled sea–weed and the unseen rocks beneath; otherwise I should soon have been deluged with spray. But the tide was coming in; the water was rising; the gulfs and lakes were filling; the straits were widening: it was time to seek some safer footing; so I walked, skipped, and stumbled back to the smooth, wide sands, and resolved to proceed to a certain bold projection in the cliffs, and then return.”
― Anne Brontë, Agnes Grey

“Duga popodnevna sjenka, tmurna duša brda, puzila je poljem, zatamnjujući ga, prešla je i preko mene, opkolila me odasvud, a sunčana strana je bježala od nje, uzmičući prema drugom brdu. Daleko je noć, to je samo njen rani predznak, nešto zloslutno je u tim mrkim prethodnicama. Nikoga nema na polju prepolovljenom sjenkom, puste su obje strane, jedini ja stojim na toj zavađenoj širini što se zamračuje, sitan u prostoru što se zatvara, obuzet mutnim tjeskobama koje nosi moja prastara duša, tuđa a moja. Sam u polju, sam u svijetu, nemoćan pred tajnama zemlje i širinama neba. A onda se odnekle od brda, od kuća u pristranku, začula nečija pjesma, probijala se kroz sunčani prostor polja do moje sjenke, kao da mi je išla u pomoć, i zaista me oslobodila kratke i bezrazložne začaranosti.”
― Meša Selimović, Death and the Dervish

“And the sun would set, and then our riders could watch the actual process of colour fading from the world. Was that tree still really green, or was it only that they were remembering how a few seconds ago it had been green?”
― Hope Mirrlees, Lud-in-the-Mist

“A brisk autumn breeze flowed past, bringing with it scents from the city below: bread and cinnamon and oranges; roast meats and salt. Nesta inhaled, identifying each one, wondering how they could all somehow combine to create a singular sense of autumn.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“You’ve never seen the island as it looks now, tipping over into autumn. There are no bright colours out here to signal departure, they are simply erased, a withered tangle of greys and browns, the island shrinks and is somehow absorbed into the rain and sea and the evenings are dramatic with their desolate sunsets and banks of cloud. The darkness on an island such as this is like standing at the end of the world and all the night sounds are intensified, giving an impression of utter solitude – nature no longer frames one’s existence, but hurls it to the periphery and imposes its sovereign domination. Suddenly it’s just the sea and vast, dramatic autumn skies. Oddly enough I feel less and less inclined to leave, the less benign my surroundings grow – the security of town is more menacing.”
― Tove Jansson, Letters from Tove

“The lights of the city hovered in a nimbus and again stood fractured in the black river, isinglass image, tangled broken shapes splash of lights along the bridgewalk following the elliptic and receding rows of the pole lamps across to meet them. The rhythmic arc of the wipers on the glass lulled him and he coasted out onto the bridge, into the city shrouded in rain and silence, the cars passing him slowly, their headlamps wan, watery lights in sorrowful progression.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Orchard Keeper

“Trade Street was still like a fairy tale at night, with its old-fashioned streetlamps shining like lemon lollipops in front of the candy-colored businesses.”
― Sarah Addison Allen, Other Birds

“When I was back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the floor. I took my head in my hands and softly began to weep. I tried to determine the cause for my breakdown… (but) I came to realize that my sadness was caused by my own personal angst.
I had come to comprehend my own personal story in a more complete sense. I had a painful childhood, however privileged, and was now actively seeking for those things within myself that would break me away from the bonds of childhood and define me as a man. I was set on living my own life as my own man, not defined by the lives of my parents. And whether I succeeded or not, in the end I would die.”
― Tim Scott, Driving Toward Destiny: A Novel

“The current generation of huts might help creative folk focus on making new work but the bothy's original function was more egalitarian.
It wanted to offer shelter in remote Scottish locations for walkers and climbers, the idea being that if hikers made the sacrifice to explore extreme locations they should be rewarded by basic accommodation that was free of charge.
The concept was rolled out across the country and aroused a new kind of generosity among landowners.
More than a hundred of these shelters are provided by estate owners on the proviso they are left clean and undamaged.
"Bothying" came about as agricultural methods changed and farmsteads were increasingly abandoned.
During the 1940s the idea of leisure was shifting as it began to mean roaming in the hills and countryside.
Walkers looked for shelter on their meanderings and these small buildings did the trick.
All share the same unique highlight: they are sited within some of the most breath-taking scenery that rural Scotland has to offer.
To come across a bothy is the closest experience Scotland has to a palm tree dotted island mirage after hours stranded out at sea.
With one slight difference: this vision is real.”
― Gabriella Bennett, The Art of Coorie: How to Live Happy the Scottish Way

“When she slipped outside, she paused for a moment, captured by the magic of snow gliding gently down, the lights from the house shining off each crystal. It painted the world in shades of blues and silvers in a way that never failed to take her breath away.”
― Roseanna M. White, A Noble Scheme

“Angus turned to Domenica. "This view always makes me feel sad. I don't know why, but it does." He drew in his breath, savouring the freshness of the air. Freshly mown grass was upon it, and the smell of lavender, too, from Elspeth's kitchen garden. "Well, perhaps not sad--more wistful, perhaps, which is one notch below actual sadness.”
― Alexander McCall Smith, Love in the Time of Bertie

“...grand oaks, maples, and chestnuts muscle in on one another, flared in their autumn robes; a motley conflagration under the dazzling mid-October sun. We are in the middle of a beautiful nowhere, digging into sprawling hinterlands, into territories of wild earth.

The rolling, winding roads away from Bangor took us through towns with names like Charleston, Dover-Foxcroft, Monson, and Shirley, all with their own quaint, beautifully cinematic set dressing. It was like each was curated from grange hall flea markets and movie sets rife with small-town Americana. Stoic stone war memorials. American flags. Whitewashed, chipping town hall buildings from other centuries. Church bell towers in the actual process of tolling, gonging, calling. To me, the sound was ominous in a remote sort of way, unnamable.”
― Katie Lattari, Dark Things I Adore

“She sighed and walked over to the tall windows peering into the gloominess of smokefall. A thin scrim of fog huddled against the hills and the moon winked half-lidded in the murky sky that had merged with the horizon. The fire crackled for attention and she swerved to gaze at its throbbing
red-orange wood-heart that held a million days of sunlight.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood

“This city is a miscellany of parts smashed together and functioning in one collective stride, but place a gun to its head and it will only laugh in your face, misunderstanding the violence of such intent.”
― Chloe Gong, These Violent Delights

“Tiana's head seemed to turn of its own accord, drawn to a scene playing out like the moving picture shows on the big screen at the Prytania Theatre.”
― Farrah Rochon, Almost There

“I am a shepherd, not your sheep
I know that, by convention
I should draw my attention
To the beauty of this
Scenery
But my thoughts are my own
You may start to groan
Whenever I don’t show
Conformity to your expectations
Darn, you may see beauty in that river at night
I see vomit and vomit drippings
That’s not my fault
I have my own thoughts”
― Lucy Carter, The Reformation

“Off seen scenery is the up secure to undermined a plain sight folding”
― Ben Jr Grey

“Oh Tillietudlem, no matter whaur I be,
Tillietudlem Castle 'll aye be dear tae me.
T'was there I met my Mary when first I went to see
Tillietudlem Castle and its bonny scenery.”
― Neil Munro, Erchie, My Droll Friend

“The snowfall outside was a white wall of noiseless fury, the symmetry of the stars eclipsed by a cataract of quiet.”
― Ausma Zehanat Khan, The Language of Secrets

“This mysterious, celestial painter has put mystery into everything: the line of mountains in the distance, the river of asphalt running beyond the camp, even the patches of scrub pocking the ground. These are left navy, frosted with moonlight, but never given enough definition to look like plants, and so instead they give Beni the impression of crouching things—the kinds of things that wait until all the people have gone to sleep to uncurl from the earth and walk the land.”
― Addison Lane, Blackpines: The Magpie Witch: The North Star in Eclipse

“She gazed across the veranda to a formal garden beyond. An area of green lawn was set up with chairs and tables, while behind them a fountain shot water high and splashed those sitting too close to it. Behind the fountain, parterre hedges were clipped to perfection. People milled about or stood in groups chatting.”
― Ellen Read, Murder at Monterey

“The flat became more rolling, and the rolling became

hills, and the hills became the Hoggar, its odd volcanic peaks and spires struggling through the almost irides- cent violet haze that seemed to emanate from them. They had never seen such a place, and rode enraptured. The camels stepped tenderly through the rocks, which had changed from smooth gravel to rough cobbles to razor-sharp stones, at first spaced well apart but then closer and hard to avoid. It slowed their progress, and at times the caravan stretched out over two kilometers, a great undulating jumble of humps and baskets and bags and winding through the men, craggy passages and long wadis. The camels groaned as if mortally wounded when they cut their feet, their cries returning in haunted echoes from the rock walls. They shifted themselves in exaggerated motions to favor their feet, sometimes losing their loads altogether or having them slip out of place until their tenders had to stop and ad- just them. In the worst places the men walked, leading their mounts by hand.”
― David Ball, Empires of Sand by David Ball