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3e54ae9
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What we do see depends mainly on what we look for. ... In the same field the farmer will notice the crop, the geologists the fossils, botanists the flowers, artists the colouring, sportmen the cover for the game. Though we may all look at the same things, it does not all follow that we should see them.
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artists
botanists
farmer
flowers
fossils
game
geologists
inspirational
perspective
seeing
sight
sportsmen
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John Lubbock |
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d3aa175
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Have you heard of the illness ? Try to imagine this: You're a farmer, living all alone on the Siberian tundra. Day after day you plow your fields. As far as the eye can see, nothing. To the north, the horizon, to the east, the horizon, to the south, to the west, more of the same. Every morning, when the sun rises in the east, you go out to work in your fields. When it's directly overhead, you take a break for lunch. When it sinks in the west, you go home to sleep. And then one day, something inside you dies. Day after day you watch the sun rise in the east, pass across the sky, then sink in the west, and something breaks inside you and dies. You toss your plow aside and, your head completely empty of thought, begin walking toward the west. Heading toward a land that lies west of the sun. Like someone, possessed, you walk on, day after day, not eating or drinking, until you collapse on the ground and die. That's .
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arctic
emptiness
farmer
hysteria-siberiana
madness
siberia
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Haruki Murakami |
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c39b311
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They were relentless, brilliant scavengers with a keen sense of craftiness, and no human being could outwit them. The kind of cunning mischief and competition that a murder of crows possessed was unbeatable, and the war between farmer and fowl was a never-ending tale of woe which often led purely to bankruptcy.
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bird
country
crow
farm
farmer
nature
raven
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Rebecca McNutt |
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0859f25
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"If he had known unstructured space is a deluge and stocked his log house- boat with all the animals even the wolves, he might have floated. But obstinate he stated, The land is solid and stamped, watching his foot sink down through the stone up to his knee. From "Progressive insanities of a pioneer"
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farmer
nature
pioneer
poetry
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Margaret Atwood |
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cc37c0b
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The real mystery was how your farm bound you to it, so tightly that you would pay any price (literally, in interest) or make any sacrifice just to take these steps across this familiar undulating ground time and time again.
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farmer
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Jane Smiley |
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2fad4b0
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"What's your enterprise of choice?" Vane grinned. "Hops." Patience blinked. "Hops?" "A vital ingredient used to flavor and clarify beers. I own Pembury Manor, an estate near Tunbridge in Kent." "And you grow hops?" Vane's smile teased. "As well as apples, pears, cherries, and cob nuts." Drawing back in her saddle, Patience stared at him. "You're a farmer!" One brown brow rose. "Among other things." Recognizing the glint in his eyes, she swallowed a humph."
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farmer
hops
vane-cynster
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Stephanie Laurens |