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b5331ee
|
We need the tonic of wildness...At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature.
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|
nature
unexplorable
unfathomable
wildness
explore
exploration
wild
land
mystery
sea
mysterious
wilderness
|
Henry David Thoreau |
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4450ec0
|
But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window--maybe rearrange all the furniture.
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|
life
hyper
excitement
wild
fireworks
crazy
|
Raymond Carver |
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2d721a2
|
He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight.
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happy
life
wild
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Jon Krakauer |
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868bd92
|
She had wild eyes, slightly insane. She also carried an overload of compassion that was real enough and which obviously cost her something.
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women
love
wild
insane
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Charles Bukowski |
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13bb4be
|
He lay on his back in his blankets and looked our where the quartermoon lay cocked over the heel of the mountains. In the false blue dawn the Pleiades seemed to be rising up into the darkness above the world and dragging all the stars away, the great diamond of Orion and Cepella and the signature of Cassiopeia all rising up through the phosphorous dark like a sea-net. He lay a long time listening to the others breathing in their sleep while he contemplated the wildness about him, the wildness within.
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stars
constellations
wild
sky
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Cormac McCarthy |
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810f6bc
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Anthropocentric as [the gardener] may be, he recognizes that he is dependent for his health and survival on many other forms of life, so he is careful to take their interests into account in whatever he does. He is in fact a wilderness advocate of a certain kind. It is when he respects and nurtures the wilderness of his soil and his plants that his garden seems to flourish most. Wildness, he has found, resides not only out there, but right here: in his soil, in his plants, even in himself... But wildness is more a quality than a place, and though humans can't manufacture it, they can nourish and husband it... The gardener cultivates wildness, but he does so carefully and respectfully, in full recognition of its mystery.
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nature
life
nurture
gardening
wild
wilderness
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Michael Pollan |
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03b4abb
|
Of course the Man was wild too. He was dreadfully wild. He didn't even begin to be tame till he met the Woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. She picked out a nice dry Cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the Cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail down, across the opening of the Cave; and she said, 'Wipe your feet, dear, when you come in, and now we'll keep house.
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|
man
woman
walked
cave
tame
wild
cat
himself
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Rudyard Kipling |
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79f5ce5
|
But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.
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wolves
wild
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Jack London |
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9ed3579
|
Running in the wind, in the pollen and dust, a flower in flight
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|
youth
wild
girls
running
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Vladimir Nabokov |
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21461f5
|
But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
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|
untamable
wildness
tamed
untamed
restlessness
wild
space
trapped
|
Kahlil Gibran |
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9000c3c
|
She was beautiful in a way that only wild things can be beautiful.
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|
nature
wild
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Gary Paulsen |
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eeac943
|
That's what people do when they find a special place that wild and full of life, they trample it to death.
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|
wildlife
wild
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Carl Hiaasen |
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7a33913
|
Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.
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|
heart
footsteps
heavy
disbelief
wild
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Markus Zusak |
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e6fb0e0
|
In the same way that the picturesque designers were always careful to include some reminder of our mortality in their gardens -- a ruin, sometimes even a dead tree -- the act of leaving parts of the garden untended, and calling attention to its margins, seems to undermine any pretense to perfect power or wisdom on the part of the gardener. The margins of our gardens can be tropes too, but figures of irony rather than transcendence -- antidotes, in fact, to our hubris. It may be in the margins of our gardens that we can discover fresh ways to bring our aesthetics and our ethics about the land into some meaningful alignment.
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|
nature
gardening
wild
hubris
wilderness
|
Michael Pollan |
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5762486
|
"Oh, now my Erin, she'd smile down on me no matter where I walked." Grandpop smiled that little smile again. "But I'd be separated from her, and I'd feel that separation in my soul, you see?" Nathan shook his head. Grandpop sighed. "You have the Irish eyes, boy. One of these days, you'll see from eyes, not your own, feel with a heart outside your chest. Wild Irish eyes. Nathan. When you love, love well and love true, and take care, lad, because those Irish eyes are windows into not just your own soul, but the soul of the one you love." Grandpop looked out at his Erin's grave. "And when you lose that heart, you can't leave the places where your memories are the best. And if I left her, I'd not be buried beside her."
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|
elite
grandpop
lora
ops
malone
nathan
leigh
wild
irish
eyes
|
Lora Leigh |
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c86919a
|
"Going somewhere?" Tamlin asked. His voice was not entirely of this world. I suppressed a shudder. "Midnight snack," I said, and I was keenly aware of every movement, every breath I took as I neared him. His bare chest was painted with whorls of dark blue woad, and from the smudges in the paint, I knew exactly where he'd been touched. I tried not to notice that they descended past his muscled midriff. I was about to pass him when he grabbed me, so fast that I didn't see anything until he had me pinned against the wall. The cookie dropped from my hand as he grasped my wrists. "I smelled you," he breathed, his painted chest rising and falling so close to mine. "I searched for you, and you weren't there." He reeked of magic. When I looked into his eyes, remnants of power flickered there. No kindness, none of the wry humor and gentle reprimands. The Tamlin I knew was gone. "Let go," I said as evenly as I could, but his claws punched out, imbedding in the wood above my hands. Still riding the magic, he was half-wild. "You drove me mad," he growled, and the sound trembled down my neck, along my breasts until they ached. "I searched for you, and you weren't there. When I didn't find you," he said, bringing his face closer to mine, until we shared breath, "it made me pick another." I couldn't escape. I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to. "She asked me not to be gentle with her, either," he snarled, his teeth bright in the moonlight. He brought his lips to my ear. "I would have been gentle with you, though." I shuddered as I closed my eyes. Every inch of my body went taut as his words echoed through me. "I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre." He said my name like a caress, and his hot breath tickled my ear. My back arched slightly. He ripped his claws free from the wall, and my knees buckled as he let go. I grasped the wall to keep from sinking to the floor, to keep from grabbing him--to strike or caress, I didn't know. I opened my eyes. He still smiled--smiled like an animal. "Why should I want someone's leftovers?" I said, making to push him away. He grabbed my hands again and bit my neck. I cried out as his teeth clamped onto the tender spot where my neck met my shoulder. I couldn't move--couldn't think, and my world narrowed to the feeling of his lips and teeth against my skin. He didn't pierce my flesh, but rather bit to keep me pinned. The push of his body against mine, the hard and the soft, made me see red--see lightning, made me grind my hips against his. I should hate him--hate him for his stupid ritual, for the female he'd been with tonight ... His bite lightened, and his tongue caressed the places his teeth had been. He didn't move--he just remained in that spot, kissing my neck. Intently, territorially, lazily. Heat pounded between my legs, and as he ground his body against me, against every aching spot, a moan slipped past my lips. He jerked away. The air was bitingly cold against my freed skin, and I panted as he stared at me. "Don't ever disobey me again," he said, his voice a deep purr that ricocheted through me, awakening everything and lulling it into complicity."
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moaning
pick
high-lord
feyre
tamlin
intimate
bite
wild
scent
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Sarah J. Maas |
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348e3ac
|
They roared into the Lincoln Tunnel. A wild, inexplicable excitement mounted in Therese as she stared through the windshield. She wished the tunnel might cave in and kill them both, that their bodies might be dragged out together. She felt Carol glancing at her from time to time.
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romantic
die-together
to-die-by-your-side
patricia-highsmith
the-price-of-salt
wild
crazy
|
Patricia Highsmith |
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b79ee3f
|
I want to talk about another kind of high country now in the world of thought, which in some ways, for me at least, seems to parallel or produce feelings similar to this, and call it the high country of the mind. If all of human knowledge, everything that's known, is believed to be an enormous hierarchic structure, then the high country of the mind is found at the uppermost reaches of this structure in the most general, the most abstract considerations of all. Few people travel here. There's no real profit to be made from wandering through it, yet like this high country of the material world all around us, it has its own austere beauty that to some people makes the hardships of traveling through it seem worthwhile. In the high country of the mind one has to become adjusted to the thinner air of uncertainty, and to the enormous magnitude of questions asked, and to the answers proposed to these questions. The sweep goes on and on and on so obviously much further than the mind can grasp one hesitates even to go near for fear of getting lost in them and never finding one's way out.
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|
enlightenment
philosophy
high-country
montana
mountains
wild
meditation
reflection
consciousness
awareness
thought
introspection
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Robert M. Pirsig |
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7c93bdf
|
Give me a wildness whose glance no civilization can endure
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|
wildness
wild
|
Henry David Thoreau |
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c33c1fe
|
He's just a boy, pretending to be a wolf, pretending to be king
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|
free
make-believe
wolf
wild
|
Maurice Sendak |
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aea0d77
|
There are women's voices that sound like poetic, unearthly echoes. Then they change. The eyes change. I believe that all these legends about people changing into animals at night - like the stories of the werewolf, for instance - were invented by men who saw women transformed at night - from idealized, worshipful creatures into animals and thought that they were possessed.
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wild
|
Anaïs Nin |
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3b9f197
|
I was stirred by the dark mystery of mortality. I couldn't resist stealing up to the edge of doom and peering over the brink (...) That was a very different thing from wanting to die.
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|
freedom
life
wild
wilderness
|
Jon Krakauer |
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c77cbee
|
I wouldn't live in a colony like that, myself, for a thousand dollars an hour. I wouldn't want it next door. I'm not too happy it's within ten miles. Why? Because their soft-headedness irritates me. Because their beautiful thinking ignores both history and human nature. Because they'd spoil my thing with their thing. Because I don't think any of them is wise enough to play God and create a human society. Look. I like privacy, I don't like crowds, I don't like noise, I don't like anarchy, I don't even like discussion all that much. I prefer study, which is very different from meditation-not better, different. I don't like children who are part of the wild life. So are polecats and rats and other sorts of hostile and untrained vermin. I want to make a distinction between civilization and the wild life. I want a society that will protect the wild life without confusing itself with it.
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|
history
idealism
commune
colonization
crowds
civilization
wild
study
society
privacy
noise
human-nature
|
Wallace Stegner |
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86820c5
|
One of my own stray childhood fears had been to wonder what a whale might feel like had it been born and bred in captivity, then released into the wild-into its ancestral sea-its limited world instantly blowing up when cast into the unknowable depths, seeing strange fish and tasting new waters, not even having a concept of depth, not knowing the language of any whale pods it might meet. It was my fear of a world that would expand suddenly, violently, and without rules or laws: bubbles and seaweed and storms and frightening volumes of dark blue that never end
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|
world
fear
whale
excitement
wild
ocean
|
Douglas Coupland |
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18fa0d9
|
But a wild creature will always go back to the wild, in the end.
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|
returning
wild
|
Susan Cooper |
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d5fce86
|
The world had to change and for some reason the prosperity of men always results in them taking ever more from wild creatures and places.
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|
time
men
nature
world
people
human
change
prosperity
beasts
creatures
humankind
animals
take
wild
growth
destroy
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Robin Hobb |
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14370be
|
Let the wild ruckus commence.
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|
ruckus
wild
|
Karen Joy Fowler |
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5a2b875
|
She was not just a wild creature, she was a wounded creature.
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|
the-message-to-the-planet
iris-murdoch
wounded
wild
|
Iris Murdoch |
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c40ba90
|
Her eyes met his. Garner started, feeling the implosion like a silent lightning bolt all through him. Those eyes, as green as river moss, watched him just above the surface of the water. Her pale hair floated all around her like the petals of some extravagant flower. In the next moment he caught his breath. It was not, could not possibly be Damaris, silent as a wild thing, her nose under water, and from what he could see, naked as an eel. A river creature, he realized, his pulse quickening again. Sunning in the shallows, breathing water like air as she gazed at him. He wondered whether, if he spoke, she would vanish with a twist and a ripple, like a fish. From the short story Knights of the Well
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|
spirit
wild
water
|
Patricia A. McKillip |
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8080e5c
|
Weetzie could not even cry and make Kleenex roses. She remembered the day her father, Charlie, had driven away in the smashed yellow T-bird, leaving her mother Brandy-Lynn clutching her flowered robe with one hand and an empty glass in the other, and leaving Weetzie holding her arms crossed over her chest that was taking its time to develope into anything
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|
ducky
offbeat
witchy
weird
wild
different
|
Francesca Lia Block |
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0f3201a
|
If you go out for several hours into a place that is wild, your mind begins to slow down, down, down. What is happening is that the clay of your body is retrieving its own sense of sisterhood with the great clay of the landscape.
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|
wonder
slowing-down
wild
|
John O'Donohue |
|
4541d29
|
The need for wildness is written within our genes, in a language we are just beginning to understand. And in wilderness we will find the Rosetta Stone that can unravel this ancient language of our bones.
|
|
wild
wilderness
|
Krista Schlyer |